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venomhound · 2 days

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Hazbin Hotel - Petname Headcanons

Headcanons for what terms of endearment Vox, Alastor, and Lucifer use in their relationships. I was going to do more characters, but this post got too long (AGAIN), so I just did my favs. If enough people want it, I can do a part 2? Maybe? MAYHAPS?

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; talks about what yall like to be called during sex; Daddy/Mommy kinks; Valentino mention; Lucifer really needs therapy you guys (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Vox ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

(NOTE: Huge credit to @bindeds for the whole 'Vox does sappy petnames' headcanon. You should read their post with it >here<. Its lived rent free in my head since I read it.)

Honestly? Vox is a menace when it comes to terms of endearment.

Vox loves to get creative and call you super sappy stuff. Things like sugar bear, honey kisses, love dove, cuddle cake.... I pray you can at least tolerate this because I have no doubt that Vox has sent past partners running for the hills by doing this.

These silly names tend to come in waves. Vox will have one that he likes to call you, use it for a short bit, then switch it up for a different one. So if there is one you particularly don't like, at least you never have to deal with it for more then a few days.

Vox doesn't like to talk about you in front of the cameras (he has a deep fear that your going to end up stolen). But when he does, he avoids using your actual name. Instead Vox calls you more... conventionally sappy petnames. Like dearest, or starlight.

Not embarrassed at all about calling you these things in front of millions of viewers. He loves you so much and feels so lucky to have you. In a perfect world and if this wasn't, you know, Hell, Vox would just openly brag about you on air 24/7.

While Vox always seems to have something new to call you, the one name that sticks around and actually gets used consistently is sugar. A classic 50s petname. He thinks it particularly suits you because your, well, sweet as sugar. And you make everything in his life better.

What You Call Him

Vox could not care less what you call him. I don't mean that in a 'he doesn't care' way, no, its the opposite. I mean you could call him literally whatever you want and Vox will love it. He just wants to be called something special and to know he is special to you.

I'm not kidding here. Everything is on the table. Cutesy names, sappy ones, playful nicknames... Literally whatever you want as long as its not straight up demeaning or embarrassing.

Don't call him Voxy though. Yeah, its a cute name he will admit; and it sounds bittersweet coming from your lips. But that name is just far too associated with Valentino. It brings back so many painful memories and raw resentment that Vox would rather not experience in your presence. If he has to at all.

I've always pictured Vox being that guy who never wants to hear his real name come from your mouth once you two start dating. You all know the type of guy I'm talking about. Dude will have an actual breakdown.

You two could be having a serious conversation or heated argument, but as soon as you say 'Vox' nothing else matters to him. Vox just gapes at you and is like "Since when am I VOX to you?! I'M YOUR CUDDLE BEAR." Or insert whatever name you use for him. He says it completely serious too.

NSFW Section

A little ironic considering he hates hearing his actual name come from your mouth normally; but when you two are in the bedroom, Vox wants you to say nothing but his name.

Vox loves nothing more then when he fucks you stupid on his cock or overstimulates you to where his name is the only word you know. When you start moaning his name like a prayer or chanting it as your voice cracks.

There is nothing more beautiful to him then those sounds. Vox could cum from those sounds alone; and he has many times. Times when one of you was away or you two were otherwise separated.

Vox would play back the sounds of your pleading during your last time together to himself. He had been away from you for too long. He desperately needed to hear your voice, his name from your lips. Its like a drug to him.

Vox tends to lean towards gentler, more classic names in the bedroom. He whispers how much he missed you, darling. While his lips greedily take yours again and again. He will kiss down your neck, mumbling against your skin how he cant wait to make his sweetheart feel good. Gorgeous, beautiful, and handsome also frequently leave his lips once more skin starts getting exposed.

I have always headcanoned Vox as a switch. When he veers towards that more dominant, possessive side, he will start using more sexually charged names like babe or kitten. But if you two have been together a long time or you end up tying the knot.... Now Vox just babbles about how perfect his wife or his husband is as he plows into you over and over.

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Alastor ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

Poor deer man. Quite bluntly, he has no idea what to do when he gets actual feelings for someone. I mean, yeah, he know what to do; in theory. In practice however, its a whole different story. Things are always much easier in theory then actual reality.

Perfect example of this is when you two first become an item and Alastor tries to legitimately flirt with you. Alastor lays it on just a little bit too thick and goes straight to calling you baby.

The entire hotel gets thrown for a loop. Husk chokes on his drink, Angel Dust fucking yowls, and Vaggie is cringing into the next century.

Fun fact: 'baby' first started being used as a term of endearment in the 1920s and was all the rage during that time. So Alastor probably actually used it.

Poor boomer Alastor doesn't understand what happened until he vents to Rosie about it and she laughs at him too. Rosie has to explain to Alastor that the whole 'baby' thing has taken on a much more sexual connotation during the last, you know, hundred years.

Alastor is somehow even more embarrassed about the whole faux pas upon knowing the full context then he was before.

To avoid another, ahem... incident. Alastor just straight up asks what you would like him to call you. As long as its not something too weird or sappy he will oblige.

If you tell him to call you whatever he wants, Alastor is going to be like a deer in the headlights (pun intended) due to what happened last time. Will probably just stick to your name for awhile or test things out in private first.

Alastor is partial to calling you darling, my dear, or just love. Whichever seems to make your heart flutter most.

You can always tell when Alastor is in a particularly good/playful mood because he will call you my doe (if your female) or my buck (if your male). Alastor will also use this name if he is showing you off or you've done something to make him proud of you.

What You Call Him

If you were to ask him? Alastor would tell you to simply call him by his name or just Al. Says he isnt fond of petnames even though he uses them all the time. Guy is strange.

If you do start using petnames he wont stop you. Do keep it classy however. Don't call him anything super silly, or too sexual. He now has a vendetta against the name baby so don't call him that either.

Alastor will never directly say he likes the name, but you have noticed that when you call him love or my love his smile gets a bit wider and his eyes relax a bit.

You can get away with teasing names in private. Like princess for instance. When you first called Alastor that he gave you the dirtiest look. Not in a sexual way. I mean in a 'I dare you to call me that again, brat' way.

The second time you called him princess, Alastor's ears flattened against his head and he warned you to kindly refrain from that name. However, he couldn't hide how his tail was wagging playfully.

The third time you knew exactly what you were doing as you bolted in the opposite direction right after calling him a precious princess. Alastor, wide eyed and absolutely feral, immediately dropped everything in his hands, shattering several glasses, and gave chase.

Its become a weird game between the two of you. Alastor will never admit how much he loves to see that defiant spark in your eyes.

NSFW Section

Just like any other time, Alastor simply prefers to hear his name above all else when things get steamy. Although he does have a weak spot for being called master...

Likewise, Alastor tends to call you his pet. And like any good master with their pet, Alastor's ultimate goal is your safety and comfort. That doesn't mean he wont push you to your limits or make you perform for him however. The name is more of an unspoken promise that he will never actually hurt you.

Out of all the guys, Alastor is the one you would least expect to have a thing for calling you mommy in the bedroom (regardless of your gender). This usually happens when your overstimulated and/or Alastor is deep into a servicing mode, trying to make you feel as good as possible, and pulling as many orgasms from you as he physically can.

It also happens during his ruts. Alastor will vacillate between calling you mommy or his mate. He will growl into your neck how good of a mate you are as he fucks into you. How you are all his. Then after Alastor fills you to the brim with cum he will tell you how he, 'Cant wait for Mommy to have my fawns. Lets see how much more Mommy can take, hm?'

The whole mommy kink is a secret he will take with him to oblivion however. Alastor will make sure anyone who knows of it does too.

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Lucifer ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

What He Calls You

Sorry; but I'm on the bandwagon that Lucifer uses duck based petnames for his partner. Duck or ducky are his go to names. Period. Especially when he is excited about something or gushing over how cute you are.

Lucifer genuinely thinks your as cute as a duck. Coming from him, thats quite a compliment. If you let him, Lucifer will 100% do the cutesy baby-talk voice at you when you do something particularly endearing and his cuteness meter is overloading.

When Lucifer is in front of people and trying to act normal (as in, masking hardcore), he will instead address you by a rather curt darling or my dear.

Although it may come across like Lucifer is distancing himself from you, he isn't actively trying to be less affectionate to you at all. Crowds/people in general are just super stressful for the guy and he is trying his absolute best to look like he has his shit together.

Once he relaxes a bit, you get some liquid courage in him, or if you two are with some friends, Lucifer moves to more intimate names.

When you go to sit, Lucifer will beckon you to come closer, doll, until your practically sitting on his lap. Then he will look at you with the most adoring eyes as he asks how are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart? He really does love you more then you can imagine.

What You Call Him

Lucifer tends to like the sweetest, sappiest terms of endearment. The ones that make your chest fill with butterflies and anyone within earshot nauseous. God bless the hotel for dealing with your shit because you two are actual diabetes.

Call him teddy bear, cuddle bug, or snuggs because of how physically affectionate he is. Also just because of how wonderful Lucifer's cuddles are and how you both could spend the rest of eternity in each other's arms.

Other good options are muffin, honey bun, or cupcake. Why the food names? Because Lucifer LOVES to cook for you of course! Its not just the pancakes either, this guy actually does know how to cook. One of his favorite things is to surprise you with a night in and a completely home made three course meal. (But thats for another post!)

If you want to compete with Lucifer's whole duck thing and give him a matching bird petname, you can call him lovebird. Lucifer might return the favor and start calling you his lovebird too. Because its exactly what you are. You both really are just a pair of lovebirds.

If you don't like ANY of those, buttercup or sweetpea are also good options. Two cute flower names that tie nicely into Lucifer's whole 'garden of Eden' thing.

You could also straight up call him cutie. Its a vicious cycle with this one. Because whenever you call him that, Lucifer gets the happiest, most adorable smile on his face. So you end up wanting to call him it more...

You got lots of great options with him. But if you want something more """serious"""; sweetie, sweetheart, honey, or shortening his name to Luci will still make his heart flutter without getting too crazy.

Another fun thing you can do, is call him my King or my Liege before kissing the back of his hand. Lucifer cant help but get flustered and start giggling like an idiot.

NSFW Section

Do I even need to say it? Do I even need to say what two words turn this man into an actual puddle on the spot?

Like seriously. Those words hold so much power that you have to be super careful with how you wield it. Lucifer could be so distracted, excitedly telling you about a new project he is working on. Then you just mutter how much of a good boy he is and every muscle in Lucifer's body instantly tenses. You giggle as you see a surprised shudder run up his spine. His cock already standing at full attention.

Lucifer has a weakness for the name pretty boy as well. Caress his soft skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses, before whispering how much of a pretty boy he is; and Lucifer will reward you with the most sinful moans.

Be careful with him though; Lucifer may be the sin of pride, king of hell, and the fucking devil, but the man wears his heart on his sleeve and can easily be hurt by your words if your not careful.

Don't degrade him. This actually really hurts him and can easily send Lucifer spiraling. Before punishments, tell him he has been a bad boy, a naughty boy. Tell him he has to make up for it and prove how good he really is.

Praise on both of your ends. Lucifer constantly tells you how beautiful, gorgeous, and/or handsome you are. When you return the praise, the devil melts.

Lucifer will call you angel or my angel, because to him, your beauty rivals all of heaven itself. You also came into his life and saved him as if you were an angel sent just for him. He knows that would never happen of course; but he likes to dream.

Has a lowkey daddy kink as well but is ashamed of it since he is an actual dad. But you can easily get him riled up by playing into it and calling yourself baby or mommy. Ooohh boy will this devil then be ready to actually make you a mommy~

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AN: If you want a part 2, please say what characters you want. I started an Adam one, and I wanted to do an Angel Dust one. But Im open to whatever?

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trailerprk-princess · 1 day

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♰⋮ adrenaline rush | rafe cameron x fem!maybank!reader

!!!: my work is not to be reused without credit/permission!

request rulesᯓ𖤐

warnings: drug use & underage drinking. 16+. word count: 1.83k summary: reader finds that her summer is rather boring compared to her brothers. rafe is there to fix that. authors note: i have so many ideas for maybank!reader! might have to make a section on the masterlist specifically for that

“How has your summer been?” Your coworker, Ameilia asks you as you handwash the dishes in the sink. You are apart of the kitchen crew at the country club as Ameilia got to be a hostess. You were jealous of her because she had a job that you wanted. It was not fair that they hid you in the back of the building with little to no interactions each day while Ameilia got to go out and be social.

“It has been decent,” you lie. Truthfully, you could not have hated the summer more. It was hard to enjoy it when your brother, JJ got to do all the fun stuff. He gets to go out and have adventures with his friends while you had to work. It has been incredibly boring.

You were not going to ask Ameilia the same question. You do not think that you can handle hearing about someone else's summer without having an emotional breakdown. She just smiled at you and walked off with a small tub filled with cleaned and dressed silverware. All your built up jealousy has turned you into a bit of a grump. You try not to complain or show it too much, but you were about to reach your limit.

You clock out of your shift thirty minutes early because the day has been weighing on you from working a double shift and all you wanted to do was go home. You walk out of the building through the back door. The sun has already set giving the back of the building an eerie look as the only source of light is from the light posts from above. The troubling vibe made you shove your hand deep into the front pocket of your slacks to grip your pepper spray.

You walk out towards the road to find a boy, about your age, maybe a little older leaned up against a tree by the side of the road with a lit joint in his mouth. You walk past him still gripping onto the pepper spray in your pocket.

“Hey, Maybank!” He calls. You turn around to face him, not sure who he is. “You’re Maybanks sister, right?”

“Yeah…” You answer, still trying to remember from where you have seen him before. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

The boy almost looked embarrassed and he furrowed his eyebrows together as if you offended him. “It’s Rafe. Rafe Cameron,” he tells you. Which makes everything click together in your head. “Oh, right! Sarah's older brother.”

He nods his head, “I’m also known for that.”

“Sorry about your friend,” you apologize. “I heard JJ put a gun to his head.”

“Are you willing to testify that?” He jokes as he puts the joint back to his mouth. You shake your head, “No.”

“Is your friend okay?” You ask. “Oh, Topper! Yeah, yeah, he’s fine.” Rafe says cooly.

“Thats good to hear! I think I am going to head home now,” you say as you jab your thumb to point to the road behind you. You turn on your heels and face the other way to start walking down the dimly lit street.

“Maybank!” Rafe calls for you one more time. You stop walking and turn around to face towards Rafe. He flicks the joint to the ground and steps away from the tree. “I’m going to a party tonight. Would ya like to come?” He invites you.

“I’m not really a big party person,” you admit. Honestly, the last thing you wanted to do tonight was party after a long day of working. “Okay… You can come to my place.”

You contemplate on the thought for a moment. “Sure,” you hesitate. And walk towards to where he is standing. “My car is this way,” he says as he places a firm hand on your lower back and leads you to the parking lot. You release the pepper spray and take your hand out of your pocket. If anything bad was going to happen, it was not going to happen here.

You consider that you might have been stupid for letting a strange boy that you did not even know take you to his place. Probably because he wanted to get into bed with you. He could be trying to kill you. But in the moment, it did not seem to matter. This is the summer fun that you have been waiting for that has been dropped off like a package at your front door. You were not about to give it up.

He leads you to his car. You did not know the make or model. JJ would have known, he was the car person in the family, along with your dad. It was a pretty silver color and you could tell that it was expensive just from looking at the exterior. Rafe leaves your side to go to the drivers door and unlocks the car. You get into the car and sit on the leather seats.

Rafe presses the start button on the car and leaves the parking lot. “I didn’t get your name,” he says. You smile and tell him, “It’s Y/N.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” he flirts causing you to smile wider. You never gotten much male attention in your life. Mostly because you did not want or seek it since the male role models in your life is your dad and JJ. And them alone is enough for you to swear off any man who tries to date you.

“You’re a lot quieter than your brother, y’know.” Rafe tells you. You shake your head, “I get told that a lot. Think it is because I am used to him getting all of the attention.”

“Pretty girl like you? I’d think you get a lot of attention.” Rafe confesses causing you to shake your head. “No, I really don’t.”

“Not even at work?” Rafe asks. “Nope, not even work. I actually get stuck back in the kitchen doing dishes. They don’t like putting the pogues in the front to be waitresses or hostesses. Ameilia does, she gets everything she wants.” You tell him with envy radiating off your voice.

“That’s stupid.” Rafe scoffs as he rolls his eyes. “You’re prettier than Ameilia. If you were a waitress, I would be there everyday. I doubt I’d be the only one who would be there to see you too.” He flatters, causing you to smile at him. “Thank you,” you say almost at a whisper.

Rafe pulls up into the drive of his house and you get out of his car along with him. He starts to walk towards the front door. You stay still in awe of the house. “Are you okay?” He asks you as you stand frozen in the drive. “Yeah, I just never been in a house so big before,” you confess.

“C’mon,” he says jerking his arm towards the door. You nod and walk with him through the front door and into the house. “Do you drink?” He asks as you follow him into the kitchen.

“Socially,” you lie. You have never drank alcohol before because you were always turned away from drinking. Mostly because of your dad. “Good,” he says as he leans into the fridge grabbing two glass bottles of beer. He twists the caps off of the beers and hands you one while keeping the other one for himself.

“Follow me,” he commands and leads you to the tall staircase that spirals upwards. You follow him to the top of the stairs and into his room. He opens his bedroom window and climbs out of it and onto the roof. You go to window and he helps you out and has you sit down by him on the rough shingles.

“How has your summer been?” You ask him trying to make conversation. “It’s been pretty lame.” He tells you as he takes a drink from his beer. “What makes you say that?”

“Got nothin’ going on,” he shrugs. “How has summer been treatin’ you?” He asks.

“Just like yours, pretty lame,” you laugh. “Oh, c’mon! Girl like you, you must be havin’ some type of fun.” He laughs and nudges his elbow into your side.

“Not really. Been working a lot. And I have been covering JJ’s shifts because he’s not showing up to work no more… He’s been too busy hanging out and having fun with his friends.” You explain to him.

“What is he doin’ with his friends that you can’t do?” He asks. “I guess, I’m jealous of all of the fun he is having.” You say playing with the bottle of beer in your hands. You take a sip of it, noticeably cringing at the taste. Trying to hold yourself back from getting into a coughing fit or embarrassing yourself by throwing up on the cute boys roof.

Rafe watches your face and lightly smirks. “You never drank before, have you?” You shake your and say, “No.”

“That’s okay,” he says, taking the bottle away from your hand. He sets the bottle beside him alongside his beer before standing up. “What are you doing?” You ask as he throws his gray snapback aside on the roof.

“Having fun,” he says before he lifts his shirt above his head. He reaches his hand down to you for you to grab and lifts you up to your feet. “What are we doing?” You ask. He looks over the ledge of the roof and down to the pool below. “Jumping,” he smiles.

You look down at the pool and you feel a sense of fear over take your body. “This could seriously injure us. What if we hit the concrete? We are going to break a leg,” you nervously ramble.

“Wow, you’re so much fun,” Rafe mumbles under his breath. You roll your eyes and take off your black head band and strip to your bra and underwear. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” you gripe as you backed away from the ledge. As stupid as it is, you took the chance and ran off of the roof and jumped into the pool.

You swim up to the surface to see Rafe looking down from you. “I can’t believe you did it, Pogue!” He exclaims with a laugh. You shake your head in annoyance. “You going to jump?” You shout at him. He smiles and walks backwards disappearing behind the roof before he runs and jumps into the pool with you. You watch him swim to the surface and you give him a small applause which causes him to bow.

“Nice jump,” you compliment. He smiles and swims up to you. “Wanna do it again?” He asks and your eyes widen. “Oh, please, no.”

“It was a good adrenaline rush, though.” You confess. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” He says as he inches closer to your face. “But not as good of a rush as this,” he smirks, pulling you in by the waist to kiss you.

rafe cameron masterlistᯓ𖤐

masterlistᯓ𖤐

#rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron comfort #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe cameron one shot #outer banks #obx #maybank!reader

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fazedlight · 2 days

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Plummet (Cat's perspective on Falling)

Cat had started so optimistic. Kiera, finally dressing as an adult? It was a promising development for her executive-assistant-slash-vigilante, one that suggested the kryptonian could possibly grow a backbone in the near future. Goodness knows Kiera desperately needed to come out of her shell.

Cat had ignored the… well, cattiness emanating from the blonde. A bit of cynicism would’ve been icing on the proverbial cake, had it not heralded something darker.

But when Siobhan marched proudly into Cat’s office, showing her the security footage of Supergirl letting a dangerous criminal go, Cat knew something more was going on. And this morning she used my personal elevator. Perhaps she’s truly lost her mind, Cat thought. “It could be another Bizarro,” Cat said to a disapproving Siobhan, “Put this under your hat until we figure out what’s going on.”

---

Kiera seemed to only get more haughty over time. “You’ve branded me in the media as a girl scout,” the kryptonian said bitterly. “Everyone knows real people have a dark side.”

Where is this coming from?, Cat thought. Psychotic break, brainwashing? Carter loved that old TV show with the star treks, and once spent an entire month talking about mirror universes. Was this an evil Kiera with an invisible goatee? “I fear that you're having some sort of mental breakdown,” Cat said, “Don't worry, it happens to the best of us-”

But Kiera snapped back. “You are the most arrogant, self-serving, mean-spirited person I know.” Tell me how you really feel, Cat thought to herself, but she had to admit that those words struck a little close.

But that hurt was very rapidly replaced by a more primal fear as the kryptonian approached her. “You want to see what powerful really looks like?” Kiera said, “Watch.”

---

They say your life flashes before your eyes. That’s not what Cat saw. Nor did she have a single coherent thought, other than Carter’s face and endless screaming.

Luckily for her, her assailant didn’t kill her. Cat collapsed inelegantly to the ground, turning back up in a panic as the scornful kryptonian stared down at her. “True power, Cat,” Kara scoffed, “Is in deciding who will live, and who will die.”

Somewhere in the back of Cat’s mind - a stray thought as she tried to calm her pounding heart - she understood. She has all this power, but she couldn’t save her planet. Kiera was just as frustrated at her own powerlessness; her history would be enough to cause anyone to have a psychotic break.

Unfortunately, it didn’t change what Cat had to do next.

---

“People are in danger,” she said to James and Winn, as she shared her plan for a televised broadcast on the kryptonian’s erratic and terrifying behavior, “The public needs to be warned.”

“Miss Grant,” James started, “Look, I am sure that Supergirl is going to be fine soon-”

“Can you guarantee me that the public is safe?”

James and Winn shifted guiltily. I know this isn’t her, Cat wanted to say, I know this isn’t who she is. But Cat couldn’t carry a death on her shoulders of someone who trusted Supergirl because of her words. And Cat suspected that Kara - if the girl ever recovered - couldn’t bear that guilt either.

But she hated every moment.

---

Is there any recovery from this?

Kiera had been a wreck at work that day, scurrying around the office with slumped shoulders and stressed eyes, avoiding Cat entirely. Cat supposed she was breathing easier now that Kiera was back to normal, but it still evoked the same question - What happens with Supergirl next?

As Cat walked into her office that evening - intent to pour herself a stiff drink - she was surprised to find a metal tube set on her desk, with a folded piece of paper propped up against it. “I’m sorry,” the letter read, in familiar loopy, feminine writing. “I wasn’t myself.”

Cat opened the tube, noting a strange green glow inside. Kryptonite, she realized, sighing internally at the thought of Kara entrusting her with this sort of protection. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe. If you want me to stop interacting with you, I will,” the letter read. Cat closed the tube, mulling again over her assistant’s state of mind. Sighing, she placed the tube in a drawer, pouring herself a drink as she had planned, before making her way to her balcony.

She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the super when she stepped out, but somehow she was. Kiera sat far from the door, quiet as she looked out onto the city lights. Cat knew the super must’ve heard her, but she didn’t face her - perhaps waiting for the sendoff she thought she deserved.

Cat stepped forward quietly, reaching the railing of the balcony. And that’s what gave Kiera the courage to speak. “I love this city,” she said solemnly.

Cat stood silently, listening to the kryptonian’s words - weighing the tender passion with the agonizing remorse. “What I did to you, Miss Grant-”

“Oh please,” Cat said, shrugging off. “I’ve base jumped Kilimanjaro, do you really think you scared me?”

Well, that was a lie, and they both knew it. “Okay, yes, you did scare me.”

“I scared the whole city,” Kara lamented.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Cat said. “But if anyone can win this city back, it’s you.”

Kara nodded gratefully, biting back unshed tears. “Can I just… stay here for a while?”

“Of course,” Cat said softly.

In the soft breeze and the quiet night, the two looked back over the city, and wondered what was to come.

----------------------------------------------------

I found it a really weird writing choice that Kara never apologized to Cat - or didn't seem to understand the fear she must've instilled in her, after throwing her off a building - so I tried to fix it here. (I have thoughts on Kara's relationship with kryptonite, but I will spare this post of that ramble.)

#supergirl #cat grant #mel writes ficlets

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wisteria-lodge · 11 hours

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Guys who Cry in the Harry Potter Books (and Why)

Men do 30% of the crying in the Harry Potter books, even though they represent 66% of the characters (and that's pretty much as expected).* I’m interested in why the crying happens though, and what it says about the characters. For the ladies, crying is neutral - they all cry, and for all sorts of reasons (tired, frustrated, stressed, emotionally overwrought...) Bellatrix, Augusta Longbottom, Ginny, Tonks… all cry. *Hermione* cries thirty separate times over the course of the books.

Male crying though, that's something that gets mocked (usually by Slytherins.) Pansy calls Neville a “fat little cry baby,” and after Rita’s article (falsely) describes Harry crying, Draco comes in with “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” Of course there’s also “D’you think [Hagrid]’ll cry when they cut off his hippogriff’s - ” right before Hermione slaps him. So making fun of guys for crying is bad right?

Let’s get into it.

1 : Crying because of a death

The most “acceptable” reason for male crying. This happens a lot, we are definitely not supposed to think any less of the guys who do it. Mostly it happens *right* at the moment of death, or maybe at the funeral. The exception is Harry, who cries in Book 3 after talking about hearing his parents dying (although the narrative voice DOES let us know that he’s kind of embarrassed about this...)

“Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.”

Then he cries again in Book 7, while visiting his parents' graves. But it’s definitely still crying over a death. Just one that Harry takes a little bit longer to process.

Crying over a Death: Full Breakdown:

Amos Diggory: 1 (Cedric’s death)

Arthur Weasley: 1 (Fred’s death)

Harry Potter: 3 (Hedwig, Lily, James)

Rubeus Hagrid: 4 (Dumbledore, Buckbeak, Aragog, Harry)

Argus Filtch: 1 (thinks Mrs. Norris is dead)

Xenophillius Lovegood: 1 (thinks Luna is dead)

Fillius Flitwick: (thinks Ginny is dead)

Ron Weasley: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral)

Elphias Doge: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral

2: Crying because of Pain

You’d think this one would also be acceptable. But… it really isn’t? Dudley cries when Vernon hits him (but Harry doesn’t.) Peter Pettigrew cries when he cuts off his own hand, Saw style, but it gets framed as blubbering weakness. Pettigrew framed SO pathetically for the entire resurrection scene - and honestly, for the entire rest of the series.

(Which is strange when you think about it. Like objectively, Pettigrew did GOOD. Sure he only likes Voldemort because he’s powerful, but so do most of the Death Eaters, that’s nothing special. Peter found Voldemort, resurrected him single-handedly (ha.) Found Bertha Jorkins, i.e. the reason Voldemort was able to plan his comeback. Obviously he has god-tier bluffing and lying abilities, as well as enough willpower to cut off a limb. Being able to turn into a rat would make him a really useful spy. Also his spell, the one that killed thirteen muggles and destroyed a street? Most magic we see does not have a blast radius like that. Either he’s extremely powerful, or he somehow rigged the whole street up to blow beforehand? Maybe he planted magical bombs everywhere, and triggered them after luring Sirius to the right place. Either way, Peter’s formidable. But somehow his job is to hang out and be Snape’s servant? (Is it because he’s not cute? Is this JKR’s fatphobia rearing its ugly head? Unclear.)

Our last guy crying in pain is Book 1 Neville, after he breaks his wrist during flying lessons. He also “sniffs,” while walking into the Forbidden Forest for detention, which *might* count as crying? But really, Neville cries surprisingly little. We get a lot of “looked as though he might cry” and “on the verge of tears”... but that's not actually crying. And I think that’s because… early-books Neville, yes we’re supposed to see him as a little pathetic. But definitely not as pathetic as Dudley or Pettigrew.

3: “Childlike” Crying

Sometimes the people who cry are literally little boys. This is also okay. No one is going to judge infant Harry for crying when Voldemort is in the house, or little Severus for crying when his parents are fighting. Interestingly, when Myrtle is talking about Draco crying in her bathroom, Harry assumes she’s talking about someone much younger:

“There’s been a boy in here crying?” said Harry curiously. “A young boy?”

But of course, when an adult is crying in a childlike way, it immediately becomes… pathetic. Again we have Pettigrew, who “burst into tears. It was horrible to watch: He looked like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.” In the Horcrux cave, crying Dumbledore is described “like a child dying of thirst.” Which is also meant to be pathetic, but in more of a ‘Harry has to be the adult now’ sort of way. Also, the potion seems to have made Dumbledore mentally regress back to his youth, so it’s *closer* to a literal “child crying” moment.

(I considered putting Dumbledore drinking the potion in the ‘pain’ section, but at least in the book I think it’s clear he’s mostly in emotional rather than physical pain.)

Where this gets messy is with the house-elves. House-elves are not children, but they are presented as childlike. They are small and in-your-face, direct even though their problem-solving tends to be very convoluted/not especially logical. I like the present-tense, no pronouns way they speak, but I can’t deny it is kind of baby-talk adjacent. And… house elves are *really* emotional. Dobby, Kreacher (and Winky) cry a LOT. If I had to guess, I would say JKR likes treating house-elves as childlike so it’s more of a surprise when it turns out that one of them was behind everything. But considering that they are slaves, it is gross considering that one of the main real-world justifications for slavery was ‘slaves are childlike, and unable to take care of themselves.'

There’s also Hagrid. With seventeen separate instances of crying, Hagrid easily cries more than any other guy in the Harry Potter books. And… well… he’s also presented as oddly childlike. He seems much more like Harry and Ron’s contemporary than a peer of the other professors - which is weird, since if he went to school with Voldemort fifty years ago, he’s in his sixties now. But still, he’s helpless in the face of criticism, he’s comically out of his depth whenever he deals with the Ministry, he’s constantly letting things slip or drastically misjudging danger levels. The first three books use “Hagrid gets in trouble, the gang has to bail him out” as a plot point, and in Book 4 his sideplot with Madame Maxime gets treated like a schoolboy’s first crush, with all these jokes about him wearing suits that don’t quite fit, and trying and failing to style his hair. Not to mention, we know she’s flattering him because she wants insider info on the Tournament. But he doesn’t know that.

4. Crying because of Sports

Oliver Wood cries when Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup. That's all.

And that brings us to our stragglers. The only non-childlike guys who cry for reasons other than death, pain, or sports are as follows:

Harry Potter: 1 instance of crying

Draco Malfoy: 2 instances of crying

Severus Snape: 2 instances of crying

Albus Dumbledore: 4 instances of crying

Horace Slughorn: 1 instance of crying

Let’s see what’s going on here.

Harry Potter

Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that terrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him. Fang began to howl. He clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes

There’s a lot going on in this moment: Harry is tired, frustrated, disappointed, overwhelmed. But even though it is a complex moment, probably the main emotion is still Harry’s attempt to process Dumbledore’s death, now that he finally has a second to do so. So this honestly could have gone in the “Crying because of a death” category. It’s just different enough that I want to specially call it out.

Draco Malfoy

We hear about Draco crying once from Myrtle, and then see it first hand:

Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

The narrative takes a second to let us know that he was ACTUALLY CRYING, just to hammer in that this is something unexpected and not-normal. I think I want to attribute Draco’s tendency to cry - and cry because he’s overwhelmed, scared, lonely - to the character’s slight femme coding. What can I say, he cries for ""girly"" reasons. And so does Snape!

Severus Snape

“Snivellus” is clearly a nickname meant to evoke the idea of “crybaby,” since “sniveling” is a synonym for crying. We also get this:

Snape was kneeling in Sirius’s old bedroom. Tears were dripping from the end of his hooked nose as he read the old letter from Lily.

Crying over Lily’s letter could count as crying over a death… but since he’s crying over a letter, not over a grave or her body (like in the movie), I’m going to say that he’s probably crying because of guilt, emotional overload, or love (especially because he rips the ‘love Lily’ off the end of that letter.) Like Draco, Snape might be getting little bit of femme-coding here. He’s the mean-girl type of bully (versus the mean boy) He cries, he threatens to poison people, which is something we only see women (and Draco) actually doing in these books. Idk, he’s an odd one who JKR clearly has very complicated feelings about.

Albus Dumbledore

I was actually really surprised that Dumbledore cries as much as he does, and at such unusual times! He cries when he sees Snape’s doe patronus - because of love or just because he’s emotionally overwhelmed. He cries all through the Horcrux cave, primarily because of guilt. He cries twice during the King’s Cross Station vision-quest, once because of his complicated feelings about Harry while he asks for forgiveness, and once over … Grindlewald.

“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends . . . to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow . . .” “. . . or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

And okay. JKR announced that Dumbledore was gay just a few months after book seven was published, and I think she was folding in deliberate queer-coding as early Book 6. My proof of that is Dumbledore's increased emotionality - as we can see, it’s pretty unusual for men to cry in the Harry Potter books because they’re feeling “softer” emotions like love, regret, stress etc. It’s something she associates with femininity, and I’m sure she associates gay guys with femininity as well (I mean, that’s a very common thing to do.)

There’s also this interesting passage from Book 6:

This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. “Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled.

Now, this is subtle. Wizards out and about in the muggle world often wear unusual colors like purple and emerald green. However. That adjective flamboyantly is only used one other time in the entire series, to describe Fudge’s hand gestures. But here, it is used to describe an outfit, a purple velvet suit which is honestly a little bit Oscar Wilde. And “flamboyantly gay” … those are two words often heard together.

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure this is the only opinion about clothing Harry ever expresses aloud. And, I think @niche-pastiche hit the nail right on the head when were talking about this and they said, "'Nice suit, sir,' said Harry, before he could stop himself," is SO the response of a young adhd boy in the early 2000s trying not to say "thats gay."

Horace Slughorn

Horace Slughorn cries at Aragog’s funeral, not really out of grief for Aragog, but mostly out of a maudlin sense of togetherness, nostalgia, and camaraderie. And… I do think we have one more slightly morally ambiguous femme-coded guy on our hands? Like Dumbledore, Slughorn is very much a flashy dresser, with shiny hair and gold buttons on his waistcoat. He loves treats and candies (hey… so does Dumbledore. They’re the only adults with a sweet tooth like that.) He loves fancy dinner parties, and is well-connected without being ambitious the way Lucius is. He also (like Draco) is aligned with pureblood-supremacy, but hyper avoidant of violence and confrontation. Except for the Harry example, I think I’d be comfortable with calling all of these last few instances “Femme-Coded Crying.”

* Methodology - My list of 208 Harry Potter characters comes from TV Tropes, which had the most complete list. I am excluding characters from Cursed Child and the Fantastic Beasts Films.

In order to find instances of crying, I searched for the words “cried/cry/crying” “tears” “sob” and “sniff.” I counted each crying episode as one, even if crying was brought up multiple times throughout the scene. I made the fairest call I could whenever I hit a “the crying intensified” or the “the tears restarted,” but I mostly judge pretty conservatively when I’m ringing up data.

#hp #hp queercoding #hp close reading #literary analysis #albus dumbledore #horace slughorn #rubeus hagrid #house elves #draco malfoy #severus snape #crying #peter pettigrew

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hotvintagepoll · 2 days

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Machiko Kyō (Rashomon, Ugetsu, The Face of Another)—Probably a bit of a reach ik because she is absolutely traditionally attractive (like one of the most stunning people ever imo) BUT from ghost women to people having total breakdowns, my girl could absolutely play unhinged and spooky better than anyone when she wanted to and I believe that gives her a certain scrungle factor!! Also she's an icon and she should've gotten farther in the women's tournament

Timothy Carey (Convicts 4, Poor White Trash, The Killing)— The fact that Timothy Carey is an ACTOR is honestly an astonishing one. In most of his films you literally cannot understand what he says, why he's saying it, or again...how he became an actor. He frequently plays scum, delinquents, the criminally insane, and degenerates. Regardless, when he's on-screen he makes you want to watch him because by god he's going to do SOMETHING. WHO KNOWS WHAT THAT WILL BE!? He'll speak his entire dialogue through clenched teeth, dance his weird little heart out, and all the while looking at you with these big dark eyes that constantly have that quality of a dog that is too overstimulated. He is a greasy freak and I always get so excited when I see his names in the credits.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Machiko Kyō:

youtube

Timothy Carey:

Link to Convicts 4, Carey comes in around 48:00. According to the submittee "he will be eating sandwich and the first line is 'Johnnnnnny!'". [editor's note: as with all full movies submitted as propaganda, I didn't have time to watch them beyond a few minutes to gauge the scrungliness of the guys, so if you choose to watch in full be wary if you have triggers since I can't tag for them.]

#machiko kyō #timothy carey #京マチ子 #hotvintagepoll #scrungly 1 #Youtube

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freshlyrage · 13 hours

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Running Like Water

Chapter 32

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 6k

A/N: I fear its safe to say I don't do well with change. I moved back to school and couldn't find my groove. Who knew I just needed a little ovulation and commute to work time to bang this one out. Chapter 33 will be arriving shortly.

Well Javier was on the floor. Without a complaint. The two of you didn’t stay too long at the fair considering each ride had a wait time of forty five minutes. In the car you decided to keep your hotel but still be open to staying over, when it was appropriate. So now you’re on his bed, back in one of his shirts. Surrounded by him. Criss crossed while he’s sat up on the floor.

“You could come up here.” You offer, removing your rings and placing it on his nightstand. Already claiming his space as your own, too natural for you. The offer has him quirking a brow. It was a test, you know he shouldn’t. Shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” He settles into the mattress, pulling the blankets to his shoulders. “We could talk like this.” Grunting from adjusting his newly relaxed body. You move forward on your stomach so that he could see you. Resting your head on your arms. You smile feeling like two kids at a sleepover, whispering and peering over the bed to see if the other fell asleep yet.

“Good you passed that one. Let's continue shall we?”

The game of 21 questions was more like two hundred questions and it continued all the way into the house.

Did you date?

I thought you asked me not to tell you about all of that.

I said I don't want to hear about Camila or Daniela or whoever.

You remember their names?

Yes, I couldn’t sleep and thought about a Camila under you. He flexes his jaw at that.

I went on two dates, which were set up by my partner Steve Murphy and his wife. They ended with goodbyes after dinner. Never spoke to them again.

I went on some dates too.

I don’t want to hear about that. You pinch him on the elbow and he shrugs. We’re different about that stuff, I hate to hear it. You nod and get the urge to apologize but fight it.

Now in bed he clears his throat, “Alright. Tell me what your apartment looks like?”

You smile, “It’s a steal for the area. I actually have a bedroom for the price of a studio. My rooms a bit more eclectic than my one here. My bedding is white but my room walls are a burgundy color. There’s no closet so I have a clothing rack. None of my living room furniture is new… it’s all second hand from stoop sales or whatever. My birds shit without batting an eye so I opted not to be dumb about that. What did yours look like?”

His eyes are closed for a moment like he’s trying to imagine it. “Hmmm.. it was dim in there, always. The kitchen and living room were open, a few steps to lead you to the living room. I had a leather couch and a desk. My television was pretty nice. Nothing was really– mine. I tried not to make it feel lived in because I didn’t want to get attached to that place–that world.” There’s a face that you’ve never really seen from him until you’ve been here. It’s one nearly blank but you know the way his face moves, there's a small crease in his brows and he clenches his jaw. Like talking about Colombia pained him and he has to conceal it. Almost like a child admitting to their faults after a spanking. Quiet, embarrassed, unsure, and on the verge of breakdown. “You would have hated it there.”

Probably. You just nod the best you can while laying down. Waiting for his question.

“Um…” He closes one eye, like it’ll help him think. He opts to go silent for a moment like he conjured a question but was waging his options.

Should I? Is this a line I shouldn’t cross? Is the wound still open? “Have you heard from your father?”

You frown for a second. Off put and taken off guard. Remembering the day, remember the rolling grass, low hanging branches and the cold demeanor from the one person she needed warmth from. Hearing urgent and violent words like I love you. Promising to take care of you.

“No. I never went back there. He never called me even though I’m sure my grandmother told him I moved to Louisiana. I stopped needing him after I got to know him.” You rarely thought of him, just the concept of being without a parent. Then you became an educator and realized that anyone you call family is your own. Your students taught you that, so did Javier years earlier but you suppose maybe you weren’t ready to accept it yet.

Javier hums to himself, staring at the ceiling. Contemplating if he should really share the way he had felt. Afraid it would break some rule in this delicate game you’ve got going. Wondering if you’ll furrow your brow and turn you back to sleep or internalize what’s climbing up, up, up his throat.

“If this is… against your rules you don’t have to say anything or we could move on…”

“Okay.”

Again he can’t look at you. How is it that you reduce him to a shy young boy?

“There’s nothing more that I want in life than to be the father of your kids.” There he goes leaping over the bounds to which he’s left in, but he can’t help it. It’s all he thinks about, all he thought about three years ago and it plagued him every time you spoke of your own father. He doesn’t see you but he can feel your eyes closed, silent, internalizing it all. After all, you'd never turn your back on him. “No one will ever know you like me. Love you, sure, but not as much as me. You’re too easy to love. But I know that you could show me what a mother looks like and I could show you what a father looks like. Our kids will never be in pain the way we were. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or-or confused. It’s all I thought about when I was away. And I’m so sorry for ever making you think I didn’t want you in that way.” Because he should have known that it was a deep point of insecurity for you, a deep well created by your parents. Urge to be loved, to create something and love it in a much fiercer and kinder way than your parents did you. Lorraine being able to have all that you wanted came like slice to the stomach.

Sniffling, you rub your face into the crook of your arm. Hiding from Javier. He looks this time and he doesn’t try to hold your hand like you’re itching for.

“Thank you… I—.” You wipe your face. Not willing to open the can of worms this could conjure if you just told him straight up that you’d be willing to start now. Fuck the trial, fuck trying to learn each other again, let’s start a family. Be irrational but be happy. You decide to keep it together. You thank him and he knows it’s genuine, you see it in his eyes. He understands your reluctance. “I found that I don’t have the need for many people in my life-“

“I need you.” He says before you. Like he did when he said he loved you. Throat bobbing, he pulls his sheets over him. “I’ll wait for you, until you need me again.”

“Can never get enough of each other huh.” Chucho chuckles while washing his hands in the sink. Boots clean and squeaking against the floor. It was a part of his routine, cleaned his boots every night even if he worked the next morning.

Last night you fell asleep with your face buried into the crook of your arm. Hand dangling off the mattress, grazing Javier’s neck. Need to touch, woke up with a sore arm. Bleary eyed you notice there’s no-body by the bed. Silent but the sound of running water.

That’s how you found Chucho, ready for the day at 8 am. Embarrassingly you pad into the kitchen in Javier’s shirt and boxers.

You shrug, he hands you a cup of coffee. Nodding a thank you, “We have established clear boundaries. We are just spending quality time. We have a lot to make up for.” You say it with a bit of a half awake half still dreaming slur that has Javier’s father beaming.

“Well if that’s what you’re calling it nowadays, so be it. I won’t be back until four pm.” He places his cup down and starts walking away. Your jaw drops and you nearly run after him. But you know he’s fucking with you, his shoulders bounce.

“It’s not like that!” You call and he waves a hand at you over his shoulder and steps straight out of his own home. Screen door slamming with a brisk breeze.

You hear a sneeze, “What’s not like that?” Your head snaps and eyes lock with Javier’s. Freshly showered, hair so wet it droops on his forehead. He looks younger this way. Grey shirt loose with jeans to match. Socked feet, he looks like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. At least seeing him like this makes you want to find a nest for yourself in his bed. You can’t help but smile at him.

He’s skeptical of your cheery mood. Brows furrowing, nostrils flared but a hint of a smile. He’s cautious, like he knows you’re up to something. You aren’t, at all. You’re just giddy and it’s only been two days and you feel your boundaries loosening. Just wanting to find that place you yearn for. Just run to him now, kiss him, tell him to put a baby in you. Grab, pull, lick, love, whatever came with it. You decide to control yourself a bit.

Your eyes drop to his hands, he’s holding three VHS tapes. Your brows furrow just the same, wondering what movie he wanted to see with you. It wasn’t a thing the two of you ever did. Your time spent was short and only for conversations and kisses. And pot, back before everything. You had to stop smoking after getting your teaching gig.

You want to say something bratty like, assuming I’m staying for some home videos? But you can’t even do that, lord when did you become such a softie? “Big plans?” Is all you can manage to croak.

He shrugs, “Are you staying?” He says it without shame, you know it must take a lot for a man to nearly beg. You know he means please stay.

You look at him once more and down at your boxer clad legs. Shrugging. “I suppose”

Eric Fredricks' family owned a Haitian restaurant off main street. It was a small take out spot that had been bustling with business since 1961. Eric was your classmate. A friend of everyone, known for his large digital camera he carried around school. The loud, goofy kid shoved his damn camera in everyone’s faces. Annoyed or not, he would always say, “When you fuckers are forty you’re really going to appreciate these recordings!”

Well, each year he cut, edited and burned these tapes as his own NR rated yearbook videos. Selling them around school and you bought one each year. He was chill with the price for you just because you always perked up in front of his camera. Ready to gleam and answer whatever stupid questions he had like;

“Andrea, how does it feel to be the worst lacrosse player in Laredo history?”

“Or Andrea, what are your thoughts on today’s LHS Chilli special? “

You always answered with the same slapstick humor he had. You thought you lost these tapes years ago. Javier seemed to remind you that you left them at his house, might’ve been when Javier was in Houston.

He was right, your mother’s VHS player stopped working in 1982. You remember popping these tapes in and watching them during your winter break from Miami. Chucho snoring on the lazy boy, saved him from watching the closest thing he had to a daughter do a keg stand with her skirt flipped up towards her chest.

“I’ve never seen these.” Javier grunts when he straightens back up and walks to sit next to you on the brown couch. A couch with the tendency to swallow you whole. You remember Javier on his knees before you, pillow covering your spread legs while he unlaced your boots.

“Well you left so…” You grab the control and snicker, pressing play.

“Hah. Hand me that.” he gestures to the pack of cigarettes on the side table. You shake your head no and settle into the seat. “Cmon.”

“No. No smoking in the house.” You snap at the tv, “Watch.”

It’s Eric’s face, he’s sitting in his bedroom. “Hello. I’m Eric Fredricks. I’m fifteen and my passion is digital media. The yearbook club is full of hacks and strokes, so I’m going to make my own. The date is September 21st 1979. Ok bye!” the film glitches and the camera makes its way down the hall. Faces of people who you haven’t seen in years. Hairstyles forgotten, thank god. Winks at the camera, sly comments from Eric behind it. He asks questions in his interview segment that would never make it to the school's video yearbook.

“What does Eric do now?” Javier asks. It’s easy to forget that he missed so many crucial moments. He missed the infamous lunch box incident in 81', Laredos first soccer championship, the halloween rager that led to the assembly—all of that. You wonder if that’s normal, for the development of a person. To be plucked out of childhood and forced to be an adult while everyone else got to worry about if their drivers test aligned with their basketball practice schedule. Burdened with the responsibility of a person's livelihood is no place for a seventeen year old.

You bring your knees to your chest, finding the most comfort when you're guided and held. “Last I heard he was doing media production for Saturday Night Live. Like in New York City.”

He feels it too, you see the way his brows quirk. How he almost frowns. “That’s crazy—how different things went for everyone else.” You knew at that moment that the tape would be mere background noise.

“You— you know you made a name for yourself too.”

Hm.

You weren’t sure if that’s what you wished to say. He doesn’t get upset with you for it. He chooses to let it slide and for that you’re grateful because you hadn’t had a clue about what to say to him.

“Yeah.” He chuckles but doesn’t seem to be that amused. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his head against the back of the couch. There’s not much to be said anymore. Lorraine changed the fabric of his being, so did the DEA. And maybe you too. His hand splayed on his knee, knuckles red from repeated trauma to the area. You opted to abandon the topic in general. Seeing his stomach tighten up under the thin fabric of his t-shirt when the choice was your hand on his. Small, soft, against his.

The two of you relish in the harmless intimacy, you give each other this. Tiny touches could be enough.

The two of you watch the bootlegged documentary in mostly silence. Rotating who strokes the other with their thumbs. You think about turning your cheek, kissing him. Pressing close and making out for a bit. A casual make out, breathy and gripping. You decide against it. This would be so easy if it was anyone else but him.

It’s not because you feel like you can’t control yourself—it’s not like a make out with Javier Peña would have your panties at your ankles. You could control yourself more than that. What it is—is that you’ll take advantage of those little liberties. Sneaking kisses at any time and when you go back home, you’ll be lost without it.

Maybe you’re doomed anyway, because if this doesn’t work out you don't know what you’ll do knowing you can’t just hold his hand.

Your brother comes out on halloween with a fang induced lisp drunkenly reciting the alphabet backwards at a party while Eric cackles behind the camera. It makes you laugh so hard you cry, missing being young. Missing your brother.

Lorraine pops up. High ponytail with red cheeks from gym class. Hands on her hips, it’s wrong for such an evil person to be so beautiful. You look at Javier and there’s a frown on his face.

He wonders why she was so bad to him, what he did to deserve to be plagued by her. He regrets knowing her, it’s hard for him to watch her smile.

Then you show up and Javier’s eyebrows raise. “I remember that day.” He mutters. There you are, looking the same just with that baby fat at the apple of your cheeks. Your hair was the closest to its natural brown, your pants were severely high waisted and your shirt a lacy shawl like thing. You’re at a locker taping a flier about lacrosse tryouts when the camera rushes you.

“Andrea Diaz! How does it feel to be Laredos worst lacrosse player?” Javier snorts next to you, squeezing your hand. That’s what he would do, come up to you and ask the dumbest, rudest questions. There, a fifteen year old Andrea rolls her eyes and rolls her thumb to secure the tape.

Crossing her arms, “I’ll answer your dumb questions if you’re nicer about it.” You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding awfully juvenile. Javier’s entire demeanor goes soft. All it took was the sound of you—back then, for him to forget the panic in his gut when watching Lorraine in her prime.

“Alright sure-sure- Andrea Diaz how does it feel to be the sexiest girl in all of Laredo?” Eric had quite the country accent, it made every line delivered feel like that of a typecasted movie star.

Quirking a brow, “I wouldn’t know. I could ask your mother.��

“All right that’s enough! You’re impossible to please ,woman!” Eric yells from behind the camera and it fades in little blocks to you getting set up for a keg stand.

You’re in a skirt and a flowing yellow top. Stumbling a bit, Daniel holds your shoulder to keep you upright. You try not to think too hard about the images you’ve left in people’s minds while you were drunk. Javier is getting more and more tense each passing moment. His hold on your hand becomes just a hold and no longer a soothing stroke.

You’re cringing at yourself, flipping your hair and chanting that you could do it while Daniel holds your waist. Hands trailing over your stomach, you almost forget that before Javier you had your fair share of hookups, him your most consistent.

The date on the corner March 1st 1980.

Drunkenly you lean forward and another one of your peers holds your other leg while another shoves a tap in your mouth. The entire party off screen and on, start chanting your name with whoops. That’s when your skirt flips and exposes the plain blue panties.

You cover your eyes.

“I don’t like this.” Is all that Javier can say, on the screen no one covers you until a random classmate of yours, Jenna? Or was it Jessa? Runs to your aid and calls all the men pigs before holding your skirt in its place. You’re dropped down and again you stumble backward into the arms of your pseudo boyfriend.

And then you yak all over the floor.

“Jesus christ I forgot about that.” You rub your eyes afraid to look over at Javier.

“Did—anything-“

“No. Well I think we went to someone’s room and made out. Then I walked home.”

His head nearly falls off his shoulders. “He let you walk home like that?” Javi grits, letting go of your hand.

You shrug, “Dunno, high school shit.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Your brows furrow, he’s being ridiculous but you know he can’t help it. He wanted—wants, nothing more than to take care of those he loves. You watch the video back, seeing your young eyes and wish to take care of her too. You can’t even imagine him. He only lets you know the surface level of his concern for you. You know it’s more than wishing you had called him.

You had before, panicked and blushing using the party home phone.

You decide calling him ridiculous would be in bad faith. You just lean your head on his shoulder. Moving your hand from his and holding his bicep instead. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Face softening along with his tense shoulders. “I don’t know. I was sixteen and stupid. And drunk.” Your cheek feels too good there.

He’s studying you. You wished you could read him in these moments. When he’s so in his head, he’s taking you in completely. “Can you? Now I mean.”

Your lips quirk and the apples or your cheeks redden. Pulling your brows because sometimes he’s too sweet it gives you a toothache. “I live in New York, Javi.”

“I know.” He’s close enough to kiss. “But I want you to call me anyway. If you ever feel unsafe or unsure—i know how twisted a human can be—i’ve seen-“

There it is. He’s cut off by a kiss on his shoulder.

“I will.” It’s a featherlight whisper and he does that thing again. That look, this time with a bit of restraint. The two of you focus on the screen again.

Twenty minutes into the forty-six minute video the two of you revert back to telling stories about the students on the screen and laughing at how high school, your high school experience really was.

“This is great, hottest couple in the school right in front of me.” Eric laughs, camera pointed at the ground then quickly shot up. Blurring than focusing on Javier at his locker. He looked so young, red cap on his head with a Righteous Brothers t-shirt. The image of him as a seventeen year old in your head had been fading for a few years, but now you’re watching him living, breathing and moving as himself. Smiling once he sees Eric approaching him.

“What the fuck was I wearing?”

You laugh, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t know but I was obsessed with you anyway.”

He makes one of those grunts where you can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself or with you. You nudge his shoulder with your chin. “What?”

“Makes me feel like such an asshole.”

All you could do was sigh. You know he’d give it all to do it over again. You look at Lorraine and there seems to be love there. It never fails to make your blood boil. You know that loving Javier can make you feel sick, crazy or desperate. But you suppose her love was selfish. For a while you felt like your own love was selfish, not caring for the consequences. But you suppose it was just a natural progression. Miles away from scheming to keep him forever, by ways of manipulation. The look in his eye isn’t the same since you left him.

A young Javier takes Lorraine’s jaw in his hand and kisses her cheek. She rolls her eyes. “He’s obsessed with me.” She smiles and he mumbles a yeah. Your cheeks heat in a rage that’s so juvenile, you want to turn off the entire thing. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Watching your most insecure and turbulent years in front of you. You were obsessed with him, crying furious tears. Avoiding contact. While he was content with her. It’s a nerve that will always be left exposed.

He clears his throat.

“Were you?” You bite. Removing your head from his shoulder, he sinks at the loss. Leaning forward to get a full image of your face. His brows are pulled together in confusion until they soften when he notices this is nothing but you showing him you are still so into him.

He bites back a smirk and you want to smack it off of his face. “Was I what, querida?”

You swear you will-

“Obsessed with her.” Firm, no room for it to sound like a desperate question. This definitely breaks one of your rules. But fuck it, he’s flawed and so are you,

He shuts an eye and shakes his head no. “I liked her. She was pretty. She was my girlfriend…”

You frown, that title belonged to you.

There he is, an inch away from your face with such intensity. “But I would fuck her, and picture you. I imagined that you’d blush the whole time and would pretend like you couldn’t handle me just so I can fuck you harder. Would have to bury my head where she couldn’t hear because I’d come and say your name.” Your cheeks turn cherry red, just how he likes. Cunt pulsing, it betrays you. You’re so flustered and angry with him you want to lean forward and bite him. He doesn’t waiver, he leans much closer. You shudder, feeling crowded by his body. He has the strength to do what he’d like with you, you’re sure you’d put on a fight until you’re unable to lie anymore. You had been soaked the whole damn time. “What? Have I broken your rules?” He whispers, nose nudging your own lightly. You can’t help it, your mouth parts searching for his—

But he backs away and laughs at you. He laughs! Shaking his head like you’re some bastard child. Leaning back cooley and pressing play again. Lorraine’s voice ringing through the speakers.

Absolutely not.

You sit in silence. Staring at him while he’s glued to the image of him and his ex girlfriend. Your chin quivers, and you clench around nothing.

“G-give me the remote.” You blurt. Chest falling, bubbling with anger. He doesn’t look at you but smirks. He ignores you. Eyes welling with tears. “Javi.”

More silence. More her. You reach for his hand and he doesn’t look at you. He isn’t looking at you… so you pounce.

Jumping into his lap, clawing at him while he laughs and hurriedly finds different ways to keep you away from the remote. You’re seeping through your underwear and onto his boxers, your cunt rolling against his crotch unintentionally.

Your brows screw—“Just—Javi please turn it off.” He chuckles again and he’s all of this without focusing on the pain you’re in. Emotionally, sexually, whatever. You reach around him lifting your hips to get ahold of the controller but you lose again. Bouncing on his lap a bit. He grunts.

“Javi— Please- I’m not kidding.”

The tv shuts off with a wiring tone and his eyes finally land on your own. All the playfulness leaves when he realizes. And you feel like a heat sick kitten, rubbing on yourself this way. His brow raises, eyes falling to your tear stained cheek and down your grinding hips. You drop your face into his shoulder. At first he doesn’t touch you, he just watches you. Nose nudging your cheek. Wondering why after everything you’d give it up just to come quick like this.

“Hey… hey.” He whispers at the shell of your ear. “Fuck—Andrea—“

You can only whimper into the crook of his neck. Taking your feel for the girl in those tapes, for the girl who dreamt of him while he did the same. It drove you crazy, it made you violent and horny. “Baby…” His big hands span from your shoulder blades down to the small of your back and then splayed on your ass. Spreading you and rolling you harder. He grunts again. “Andrea… I can’t—we said we wouldn’t—I'm sorry for teasing you—cmon.” His hands move from your behind, come to your front, at your waist and lightly push you away from him.

He’s impossibly hard now, his tan cheeks have a bit more color now. He’s sweating. Feeling embarrassed, you freeze. Eyes dropped to his lap, cunt begging you to move again. You feel the length of him under you, mocking you. You shouldn’t. You know. You know he’s sorry for how rushed and stupid Christmas eve was. You’re still ticked off by it, but he’s doing so good for you.

“I’m sorry… we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Is all you can muster out.

“You know I want to.” He rushes, leaning forward so he can hold your face, it just makes him shift against you again. Your brows furrow at the release.

“Okay…” A drop of sweat builds at the nape of your neck, the both of you are so turned on you’ll fuck each other if you keep this up. “Can we…can I…” You swear if he brings up your rules again you’ll crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment.

He juts his chin at you, egging you to complete your sentence.

You think you’ll die before you say it. Your face brightens real red and you shimmy out of his hold. You crawl off his lap and mutter to yourself. “Sorry, it’s stupid. I should just go.”

He catches your wrist and sits you back down next to him. “Tell me.”

“It’s stupid! And gross probably.”

“We aren’t children.”

You’ve been so open sexually until now. You felt twenty two again, never having orgasmed with another person, afraid to tell him what you wanted. He gave you it all.

“Can we— or can I touch myself?”

Javier’s eyes darken, “You want to touch yourself.”

God it’s like he’s trying to humiliate you.

“Yes.”

He clenches his jaw so tight. “Can I watch? Or do you want to go to my room alone?”

Idiot.

“Can we do it together? Now.” You can’t let the moment pass.

Well, he can’t either. His nostrils flare and he places his hand on his belt. Unbuckling so fast you can’t help but watch. You watch him unbuckle and unzip while you shimmy out of his boxers. His eyes glued to your movements. You feel filthy exposing yourself like this. He lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down a bit, the heft of his cock making a print through his underwear. You remember leaning down and pressing your lips along his bulge once. You’d like to do it again.

You circle your fingers along your clit over your panties. He palms himself.

“Tell me what to do.” You whisper.

“Oh.” He reaches into his boxers and pulls his length out. Your pussy clenches at the sight, a thatch of hair at the base and curved. You touched yourself to the thought of it. You pull your panties down and lift one leg up on the couch, spreading yourself open. “Give me your fingers.”

You furrow your brow but remove them. Bringing your hand to him. His free hand grasps your wrists and he takes no time, he puts the same two fingers in his mouth. You gasp, while he sucks, stroking his dick at the same time. Your fingers are impossibly wet when he stops. Your wrist is still in his hold. “Don’t put any fingers in until I tell you. Just play with your clit for a little.”

You nod, bringing your fingers back to it. Moving in tight circles. Javier’s fist is dry, working his way up and down his shaft— your lips gather with drool—you want to-

“Spit on it. If you want. Or I can.” He reads your mind. You take no time, moving to your knees, your knees knocked together giving you a tighter squeeze for your fingers. Feels even better. You lean into his lap, back arched like a kitten.

Javier groans at the sight. You desperately want to put your mouth on him—my rules, my rules. Spit drips from your mouth and onto the red head of his pretty cock. His hand comes to the back of your head and you moan, wishing he’d push down and force himself into your mouth. But he just strokes the back of your head instead. You lean back into the arm of the couch, you’re no longer side by side. Your whole body is barred for him, you bring your free hand under your shirt. Grabbing your breast and rolling your fingers over your nipples.

He uses your spit and moans audibly now. Grunting in his low baritone, you collect your slick and use it for slip. Your stomach tenses, “Put your finger in. Middle.” You nod and feel even more unsatisfied. “Fuck, I missed that pretty little face you make when something goes inside your cunt.”

“Javi…” You whine throwing your head back, fucking yourself with your small finger.

“I know—fuck.” Pre-cum gathers all over the tips of his fingers. You’ll ask to lick his hand clean when you’re done. “I know your cunt wants my cock again—I’m sorry I can’t.”

“It’s not enough.” Your knees knock together in protest.

“I know-I know. Add another baby. Ring.” You watch his stomach go taut so he slows down his strokes. Licking his lips at the sight of you adding another. “Mm. I miss you so much.” He shudders.

“I’m right here.”

“Please don’t leave me—fuck.” He whines, it’s so unlike him. You watch his tip surge through the tight hole he’s made for himself, he’s close but you’re closer. You can’t believe it’s him asking you this. “I want to follow your rules—show you I’m good—but please let me kiss you.”

The ridges of your fingers aren’t enough, you use your other hand to circle your clit without permission. He’s so caught in his emotions that he doesn’t seem to care that you touched yourself without his command.

He tells you what to do but truly he’s at your will. His eyes well with tears and his brows are pulled together. “Let me take care of you, I’ll do everything you say if you let me kiss you—“

“I can’t— I’m going to come!” Your back arches and it builds. You can’t see him now but you hear his pace, his fist slapping against his base. You writhe and shiver and it comes crashing down. You come hard, you mutter I’m sorry, over and over. And he groans at the sight, you can’t give him what he wants.

You can try and give him something else. You catch your breath and open your eyes. Your own come dripping to the inside of your thighs. He watches in pain, “Baby—” You whisper, fuck that’s against the rules probably. He nods, submissive suddenly. “Come here, come on my cunt.” You want to be marked, he’s yours.

“Andrea—“ still he’s fighting his need to follow your rules.

You nod, “It’s okay, come here.” He lets his length go at once, it twitches at the sudden abandonment. You lean forward and grab his arms, and he finally climbs over you. Reluctant, “Please Javi. Let me have what I want.” Were you power tripping? Yeah. But it was always him in control. You open your legs and he clenches his jaw. “Do you want me to finish it?”

He shakes his head no, you know he wants it. Still he tries to be good. You begin to touch yourself under him. He begins to jerk himself off inches away from your cunt. Your knuckles brush against each other and you're already climaxing again. He slaps faster, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck—move your hand.” You do and he’s coming all over you. It shoots and covers the new growth of hair, it's warm against the bare part of you. Dripping and he instinctively slides his twitching, softening cock between your folds. The two of you gasp when just the tip of his cock prods your hole. Gasping at the way you pulse for him for that one second like muscle memory. “Sorry.” He mumbles, taking a hold of his still twitching and leaking length. He panics and tucks himself back into his boxers before he relaxes himself on you.

He’s catching his breath, you think he’s crying against your shoulder.

“It’s okay.”

You hold the back of his head, hoping to soothe him.

He had done this for you countless times. You find no issue doing it for him.

#fic!rlw #javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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lucagray813 · 1 day

Text

Knock 'Em Dead - Chapter 1

Rating: T

Word Count: 6,577

Main Characters: Macaque, Wukong, MK

Minor Characters: Táng Sānzàng (Tripitaka), Shā Wùjìng, Zhū Bājiè, Áo Liè

Relationships: Macaque & Wukong (Could be interpreted as Shadowpeach)

Summary: MK learns what happened between the Six-Eared Macaque and Monkey King. He's going to wish he hadn't.

Additional Tags: Angst, Canonical Character Death

Chapter: 1/3

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3

CW: Heavily implied torture, emotional manipulation

Link to AO3 Version

----

In the aftermath of the Azure situation, MK had promised himself two things. First and foremost, he was never going to be careless with another mystical artefact for as long as he lived. From now on, everything was handled with the utmost care and put straight into the vault with absolutely no exceptions - skeleton keys and memory scrolls had scarred him for life.

And secondly, he was going to commit every detail of Monkey King's life to memory. Mostly because chances were high that the next big bad was another person that Monkey King had pissed off but if he was being honest it was also at least a tiny bit because of Macaque's dig at him for not knowing his Monkey King lore.

Now, he was aware that the various recountings of Monkey King's life didn't have all the details - no book he could find ever mentioned Macaque for example - and so he had decided he would hear it all straight from the monkey's mouth.

It actually became something of a group event, all of them getting together at least once a week to listen to Monkey King's dramatic retellings of his life. Mr. Tang practically hung off every word that was said, while Mei and Pigsy didn't hesitate to start heckling if they felt he was embellishing too much.

MK was somewhere in the middle - part of him still unable to shake the childlike wonder he felt at the fact that he was hearing stories about the Monkey King from the Monkey King and part of him well accustomed to his many, many eccentricities by now.

It had been educational and entertaining and while he'd learned much about details missing from the book - there was still one glaring admission and so far no amount of begging or needling could get Monkey King to talk about his history with Macaque. Despite the fact the two seemed to be on better terms these days.

Macaque frequently invited himself to be a part of MK's training and after some token protests Monkey King usually allowed it rather quickly. His argument being if Macaque was here then he wasn't off scheming so he'd heroically put up with the other to ensure he wasn't causing trouble.

It was a weak excuse, but while the two could be unbelievably snarky and petty, they actually worked together pretty well and MK felt his training was coming on leaps and bounds as a result.

Macaque generally wasn't one for socialising however, and he rarely graced MK with his presence outside of training. But that's not to say MK didn't occasionally catch a glimpse of him around the island and today he was determined he was going to find him and get him to spill all the details Monkey King was holding out on him.

Macaque, of course, quickly cottoned on to the fact that he was trying to talk to him and seemed to take immense pleasure in playing keep away. His laughter rang out after every failed attempt to catch up with him, and it took a small frustrated breakdown for MK to realise that he was getting nowhere.

There was no catching Macaque if he didn't want to be caught and he was probably delighted by MK's growing frustration.

Time to stop and rethink things.

He'd have to make coming and talking to him more appealing than playing games. The solution was obvious in hindsight, and pretty confident that Monkey King was out of earshot, he shouted, "Macaque! I need your help dealing with Monkey King!"

For several long moments there was no response but just as he made to call again, Macaque's lazy drawl could be heard behind him, "Monkey King's beloved successor needs my help? And dealing with the Great Sage himself? My, oh my, who could have ever seen this coming?"

He turned around quickly to see, Macaque reclining on a branch grinning down at him, "What's that idiot done now?"

MK was quick to defend his mentor, "He's not done anything!" The fire left him quickly, "Look, Monkey King has been teaching me about his past but he's not telling me everything."

Macaque hummed thoughtfully, "Not surprising, as if he'd want you knowing the truth. Let me guess, it's me that you can't get any answers on, right?"

"Yes! I saw you both in the Scroll of Memory - I know you were important to him but you aren't in any version of Journey to the West I can find and Monkey King just refuses to talk about it!"

"I'm flattered, kid. But I'm afraid you're not entitled to my life story."

"What! Since when do you pass up on the chance to do something to annoy Monkey King!"

"Ah, but it's no fun if I just straight up tell you."

"Ugh! Well make it fun then! I don't care - I just want answers!"

Macaque titled his head, "That desperate to know you're willing to let me do as I please? That's a dangerous lack of foresight."

MK quickly backpedaled, "Tell me what you want in exchange for answers then - let's make a deal."

Macaque wasn't impressed and he sighed heavily before bringing a hand to rub at his temples, "Kid, don't go around making deals with shady demons."

A little offended he argued, "I'm not just going to agree to anything! C'mon, give me something reasonable to work with!"

"This naïvety is exactly why I stick around to help train you. We're not making a deal but I'll give you a chance to convince me why I should tell you anything."

With a wave of his hand darkness surrounded them - only leaving a cone of light surrounding MK. It was no brighter than it had been but he had to resist the urge to shade his eyes with his hand as he turned this way and that trying to find where Macaque had gone.

Macaque's voice echoed around him, "Stage is yours, kiddo. Knock 'em dead." He then chuckled at his own words, as if he'd said something funny.

He took a moment to try and centre himself and make a game plan. Somehow, "I want to know." didn't feel like it was going to cut it. In fact, that would probably have the surrounding shadows spit him out into the ocean or something.

He tried, "Look, it's not hard to see the pattern here. There's not one enemy I've come across that didn't have some tie to Monkey King, if not an outright grudge with him. I want to be prepared for whatever comes next - whoever comes next. I need to know the whole story."

Macaque hummed, "Not bad. But I'd say it's a little too late for this story to do you any good. Try again."

He hesitated for a moment, before silently asking Monkey King for his forgiveness, "Well, you've told me countless times why I shouldn't trust Monkey King but you've never actually properly explained to me why I shouldn't."

Macaque laughed a little meanly, "Do I really have to? Surely you've figured that out on your own by now. Or should we reminisce on all the ways he's let you down?"

"He's let me down, sure but he's also always come through for me in the end. And he's getting better! He's making a real effort to be open and honest - which is more than I can say for you!"

"Ooh. Ouch. Let me remind you why you're here. For information, the oh so open and honest Monkey King won't share with you."

MK resisted the urge to stamp his foot and instead crossed his arms as he took a moment to really think on what he could say to convince him. He thought back on the shadow play and what Macaque had been trying to teach him.

He took a breath, "I don't want to make the same mistakes that Monkey King did. I don't want to hurt the people I care about. Because that's what happened, right? He hurt you. He hurt you so badly you were willing to do anything to make him feel the same way."

The silence he received in return spoke volumes and he sincerely asked the shadows, "Please, help me stop that from happening again. Don't let me make those same mistakes. Help me to be better. That's why you're teaching me, right?"

The shadows swirl around him and suddenly he was sat front and centre before a dilapidated stage with Macaque standing in the middle, the shadows swirling around his peripherals.

"Not bad, MK. Your showmanship is lacking but we can work on that. Now, let me demonstrate how to really put on a show."

He moved with flair, hand flung out to the wall behind him as the shadows morphed to take the shape of five very familiar figures walking along a road.

Macaque grinned, "Our story starts with our hero and his companions travelling west. They've been on this journey for some time, overcoming every obstacle and defeating every demon that threatened their holy mission. Today's demon of the week is a little different from most though, he has no interest in immortality gained from feasting on monk flesh nor does he have a desire for revenge. He is here for one reason and that is to free the hero from his enslavement."

----

Macaque stared at the rubble that had once been Wukong's prison. For one terrifying moment he thought that Wukong was trapped beneath the carnage, dead or dying. But his ears quickly told him there was no-one alive underneath and when his brain finally started to function again he remembered Wukong's death was an impossibility.

Still, after shaking himself out of his stupor, he had his shadows investigate every nook and cranny and they confirmed that there was no trace of Wukong, which only led to more questions.

What had happened here? When had it happened? It surely hadn't been that long since his last visit? He racked his brain and felt dread bubble up as he realised it had been at least half a decade since he'd been here.

He tried to justify his absence - he'd been busy, between various threats to Flower Fruit Mountain and his research into the seals that kept Wukong imprisoned here he'd had little time for anything else.

Besides five years was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

And yet guilt still made itself known, he never let Wukong know he was here but that didn't mean he didn't try and offer him some comfort - a gentle breeze through his fur, droplets of water against his skin, a rock breaking away to land perfectly in his hand.

On occasion, he took the form of an animal that had somehow found their way into the cave or he would disguise his voice and pretend to be travellers that were unknowingly hiking above the Monkey King.

There was little he could do to break up the monotony of Wukong's punishment but he knew that these small acts were desperately received by him. If he had revealed himself he could have done more but there was only so much abuse he could take.

He understood that the mountain was driving Wukong mad but what good would bearing the brunt of that madness do for either of them?

He had been gone for too long regardless and now to make matters worse he had no idea where Wukong was.

He steadied himself, and searched for somewhere safe that he could Listen. Beneath the shattered mountain there were still caves that would serve as a safe spot. He moved through the shadows and once he reached a deep enough cave, he emerged and got to work setting up some protective seals.

Listening for anything further back than a couple of minutes left him defenseless and he might have to go back years to find out what had happened to Wukong. He was going to have one hell of a migraine after this but he had no other choice.

----

The recovery from the extended use of his Listening took longer than he would have liked, but as he lay there and processed everything he'd Heard he knew his fury at what had occurred in his absence would never be made peace with.

Wukong had been freed only to be chained like a dog expected to meekly obey the whims of an insignificant little human. He felt humiliation and injustice burn through him on Wukong's behalf.

Wukong's pained screams at that cursed circlet echoed in his ears, it haunted his nightmares. He wouldn't be able to rest until Wukong was free of it.

To that end he chased after Wukong and this monk as fast as he could. Forcing himself to stop only to Listen - he needed to know which path they had taken, he needed information on how Wukong was, and most importantly he needed to know how much this monk deserved to suffer for what he'd done.

It took some time to catch up and in that time his resolve and his anger had only gotten sharper.

When they finally came into sight he had to resist the urge to tear the monk and his little disciples to shreds there and then. He needed at least the monk alive in order to figure out how to remove the circlet. But the urge to kill was forgotten momentarily as he laid eyes on Wukong for the first time in almost a decade.

He wasn't truly free but he was freer than he had been - able to move as he pleased, able to bask in the world that existed outside of the mountain. Macaque forgot to breathe for a long moment as he took all of him in for the first time in five hundred years.

All his mind could focus on was how desperately he had missed him and with little thought behind his actions he opened a portal beneath Wukong and brought them both a safe distance away from his captors.

Wukong's surprise at being spirited away quickly turned to disbelief as he realised what had happened. Macaque grinned, and started to move towards him, "Wukong! You have no idea how glad I am that I finally found you!"

His elation was short lived and he stopped short as Wukong glared at him, "Wukong...?"

He got a growl in return, "Finally found me? You've known where I was for five hundred years! You think I want to see you now? After you left me to rot?"

Indignant he responded, "Left you to rot? I've done nothing but try and find ways to free you!"

He sneered, "Oh yeah, great job you did with that. Really appreciate you freeing me, bud. Wouldn't be here now without you." His eyes glowed dangerously, "You couldn't have spared a single moment to see me in five hundred years?"

In the face of his anger, Macaque felt his own rise in kind, "You think it's easy trying to break a seal made by the fucking Buddha? Maybe I would have figured it out by now if I wasn't still trying to tidy up your mess! Every demon and their mother wants a piece of Flower Fruit Mountain because of you!"

None of that seemed to matter as Wukong took an impassioned step forward, "You abandoned me! We were supposed to be in this together but when I needed you most you weren't there! You haven't been there for five hundred years!"

Macaque took his own angry step closer, "I was there! You think animals just wandered in of their own accord? Do you really think you could hear travellers talking above you when you couldn't hear anything else from outside? I was there!"

Wukong looked far from comforted, if anything he was enraged, "You think any of that makes up for the fact that you didn't even show yourself once? Do you have any idea how much I've suffered? You could have done something! If it had been you trapped there I would have been there every day!"

He was so full of it - Macaque would have given it a week before Wukong ran off looking for something to entertain himself with. Wukong couldn't even spend a full month on the island without getting bored and he thought he'd be able to tough it out when Macaque had no way to entertain him?

"Why would I show up every day just to be screamed at? Because that's what happened Wukong - I came to see you every week and you made sure I suffered every second of it! You should be grateful I tried to help you at all after that!"

"Oh I'm sorry! Did being trapped under a mountain make me a little short tempered? Did I hurt your feelings? I'm sure that must have been just so terrible for you. So terrible that even hundreds of years later you couldn't get over it! Five hundred years, Macaque! Is that getting through yet? Five hundred years and you weren't there!"

He felt his anger war with his guilt.

Was he just expected to suffer alongside Wukong? This punishment was the direct consequence of his actions - actions Macaque had tried to talk him out of multiple times. Was he expected to still disregard himself just to be by Wukong's side? Everything he had done in the last five hundred years had been for Wukong and it still wasn't enough.

But then he thought of Wukong alone and agonised under that mountain, the entire crux of Wukong's argument was that all he had wanted was to see him, and his weak heart couldn't take it.

His anger faltered, his entire body letting go of his tension as he conceded, "You're right. I wasn't there and I should have been..." He rallied somewhat desperately, "But I'm here now! I'm here to bring you home! I'm here to free you from this monk!"

Coldly Wukong replied, "I don't need you now. I don't need you to bring me home. I don't need you to "free" me from my master. All I need is for you to leave."

"You can't mean that..."

A loud voice cut across them, "Brother! Where are you?"

The water demon.

Wukong looked in the direction of his voice before he steeled himself and looked Macaque dead in the eye, "Go home. Once I'm done with my mission maybe then I'll be able to stand the sight of you. Until then, I don't want to see you again."

Macaque couldn't comprehend his words. He had Heard what this monk had done to him, Wukong needed him now more than ever.

He shook his head, "No. I know that you're being forced to do this. I've Heard the agony that circlet causes you. You need my help."

Irritation found its way back to Wukong's face, "You're the last person I need help from. My master is the only one who can help me. With this circlet, he's teaching me to be better."

Macaque could only stare. He thought a human that leashed him and forced him to comply with his orders and hurt him when he didn't was helping him? Had he missed the signs when he was Listening of some wicked spell this monk had cast on him. Or perhaps the mountain had finally caused Wukong to go truly mad.

"Brother! You're making our master worry for no good reason!"

The pig demon.

Wukong turned and walked away from him, towards the voices calling for him. He stopped only to look back and warn, "Go home. Don't let me see you again before I return to the island."

Macaque could only watch as he willingly chose to return to his captors.

----

Macaque did not go home.

It was even clearer now that Wukong needed his help - he had been bewitched by this human.

He stayed where he was and he Listened to Wukong as he reassured the demons that all was well, although it was clear to them that whatever had happened Wukong was not at all pleased about it. The pig simply mocked him for being taken off guard.

When they returned to the monk, Wukong was apologetic, "Sorry about that, master. A demon. Just the usual. They've been dealt with."

Macaque seethed.

The monk sounded wary, "Dealt with?"

"Yeah, I gave them a good talking to. We shouldn't be seeing them again."

The pig demon was in disbelief, "You talked to them? Why waste your breath?"

The monk's reprimand was sharp, "Zhū Bājiè!" He got a grumbled apology in return before he addressed Wukong, "Wukong, please tell me what happened. I am exceptionally pleased to hear you handled this situation without resorting to violence."

"Ah, there's nothing really to tell. Just some demon trying to tempt me away from our mission. But rest assured nothing could ever be enough to convince me to abandon you all."

He knew he was Listening.

The water demon spoke up, "What did they try and tempt you with? Don't tell me some poor soul thought they could seduce you?"

The pig snorted, "As if anyone would want the likes of him."

"Please, they don't call me the Handsome Monkey King for nothing but that's besides the point. They just thought mentions of my home would be enough to have me leave my post. As if it won't still be there once we've finished our journey."

The water demon replied, "Compared to most other ploys to steal our master from us this was a pretty weak attempt."

"Eh. It was a different take if nothing else."

The monk was not fooled, "I do not feel you are being honest with us. As much as I would like to believe you have finally learned to heed my words about abstaining from violence I doubt this was the case."

Very begrudgingly Wukong admitted, "Well, it was actually a demon I used to know. He wasn't interested in eating you at all, master. He... Just didn't understand what I was doing here. No need for a fight over that, right?"

The pig was derisive, "A demon's a demon, you should have sent him packing."

"You're a demon, you little idiot! I should send you packing!"

The monk cut in, "Enough. Wukong, it sounds like you handled the situation admirably. Zhū Bājiè, everyone is deserving of compassion, even a demon."

Wukong was tight-lipped about this demon he had known and deflected any questions regarding him. And eventually they let him be and continued to travel westward.

Wukong's submissive pandering to this mortal was almost unbearable to listen to. Had he forgotten who he was? What he was capable of? The circlet was no doubt keeping him in line but to be so subservient was surely beyond what was needed of him.

He supposed pain was a rare thing for Wukong to feel though- perhaps it truly had rattled him enough to hang off the monks every word.

A plan was slowly coming together but unfortunately any plan involving Wukong made his future Hearing all but useless. He created his own destiny, he always had. But it didn't matter, the monk was the key to all of this.

He could work with that.

----

Stealing away the monk in the dead of the night and taking his place had been laughably easy. And while it had been tempting to stay with the monk and torture him until he finally choked up the truth on how to free Wukong from the circlet, he couldn't risk anyone discovering he was missing so soon.

Leaving him in the dark with some sharp shadows however should be a nice warm up. Humans were fragile things after all, so easily frightened. Let him stew there until Macaque had the time to properly deal with him.

It made him both sick and elated to see Wukong look at him with eyes filled with love and devotion. Had he ever truly looked at him in such a way? Love perhaps but devotion?

It was best not to dwell on the answer.

Neither Wukong or his fellow demons had any suspicions. His performance was flawless - between his Listening and being exceptionally well read it was not a difficult role to play.

Eventually they stopped for a break and as the horse slept he sent the other demons away to find food and then he bid Wukong to take a short walk with him.

"Is everything alright, master? Why send away both Shā Wùjìng and Zhū Bājiè for food? One would have been enough surely?"

"You are quite right but I was hoping to have a moment to speak with you alone about this demon you encountered. You were reluctant to share any details the other day and I wanted to offer you the opportunity to speak more on the matter should you so wish."

Wukong deflated, "Ah. There really isn't anything to say. Just someone from back home that had tracked me down and wanted me to go back with him."

"I see. If I may ask, do you miss your home, Wukong? It has been sometime since you were last there, has it not?"

"Well, sure I do. You should see it, master! It's the most wonderful place in the world! I hope once we've received the scriptures you'll let me show it to you!"

He brought a hand to his heart and bowed his head ever so slightly, "I would be honoured. But I am pleased by your commitment, I could understand the temptation to visit your home."

"Of course! I'm a monkey of my word! And like I said, my home will still be waiting for me when we're done - what's a few more years away?"

"I must admit I am curious about this demon that sought you out. He travelled all the way from your home to find you? That is not an easy feat. Why did you send him away? He could have rested with us for a while, could he not?"

Wukong's face was a picture of forced neutrality, "If I'm being honest, he's not someone I was happy to see. Last time we saw each other was a long time ago and it ended badly."

"Yet he came all this way to find you? To bring you home? It does not sound as if he holds the same grudge."

Wukong's tail flicked irritably and he muttered, "He's not the one that was wronged."

Macaque feigned surprise, "He wronged you? And still you handled the situation with civility? I have underestimated you."

Wukong preened under his praise before admitting somewhat bashfully, "Well, I suppose I wasn't totally innocent in how it all went down..." He then looked away, "And he was someone I once considered a friend."

"Ah, it sounds like this is not a straightforward matter. A grievance between friends can be particularly painful. Know that should you wish for my guidance on this you need only ask."

Wukong smiled, "I appreciate that. I'd like some more time to think of it first but I've no doubt I will seek your wisdom."

"Of course. Take your time to reflect on this matter."

----

Macaque was a patient demon, but while he could play this role for some time without issue. The monk could not survive long without food or water so it was with great reluctance that he brought these necessities to him. He of course had to overcome painfully sharp shadows to reach them and that at least brought him some comfort.

His plan was simple - he needed to convince Wukong to go back to the island. Once he was there he could dedicate his time to the monk proper. He could chance it and slip away during the night but if Wukong woke and saw him missing it would jeopardize everything.

Not to mention, he was in a very lucrative position to persuade Wukong to make peace with him. Wukong listened to everything he said as the monk and he doubted he'd have to push very hard to get him to realise that the best way forward was forgiveness.

This was not a plan without risk - he had Heard about Wukong's Vision of Truth and it would only take one glance with those golden eyes for Macaque to be made. But as long as they didn't run into any trouble there really was no call for Wukong to use them.

In the meantime, he soothed Wukong's pain. Until eventually, the right opportunity presented itself.

"Five hundred years, master. I get that I wasn't great company but to just leave me there..."

"I will never understand the magnitude of such loneliness. It was part of your punishment but I can only imagine it was made worse knowing he was able to alleviate such suffering and didn't. I know it brings little peace but it does not sound as if he did this to hurt you."

A little angrily he responded, "No, he did it for himself." He then looked down eyes a little wet, "To protect himself from me..."

"I believe there may be more to it than that. I do not disagree that he likely could have visited you and that he did not out of fear of your reaction but from what you have told me that was not the only reason he was not there."

He mumbled, "He said he was trying to find a way to free me... And that he was busy protecting our home..."

Concerned he asked, "Your home is not often in danger, is it?"

"I... I don't know... But Macaque can handle it. I mean, he's not as strong as me but he's kept it safe this long, right?"

"I can only assume so. I do not know what he is capable of. Although I will certainly pray that demons the likes of which we have faced do not currently threaten him."

A small worried frown appeared on his face but still he muttered, "Macaque, can handle it..."

It did cut at his pride somewhat to sow these seeds of doubt in his ability but it was a small price to pay. He could prove himself capable when all of this was behind them.

He pretended to seriously consider the problem, "Wukong, you are capable of travelling great distances in the blink of an eye. I wonder if you promised not to be gone longer than a day if it would bring you some peace to check on your home?"

Wukong looked at him hopefully, "Are you sure, master? I could be there and back in no time at all. Just a quick check, I could leave some clones, and then when I would be free from any worries about its safety."

"Yes, I think that it is best we nip this worry of yours in the bud before it can distract you from your duty here. Just be back before dawn."

Wukong jumped to his feet, sickening adoration in his eyes, "Thank you, master! I promise, I'll be back in no time! Let me take you back to the others and I'll be on my way. I'll be sure to bring back all of your favourite fruit - oh just wait until you try them from my home!"

He patiently walked with Wukong as he continued to tell him how wonderful the food back home was and then as he explained to the others what he was planning to do. They all cheerfully put in their requests and waved off his lectures to keep their master safe.

Finally, he was gone and the pig and the horse eagerly accepted his suggestion that they rest here until he returned.

It really was exceedingly easy to cast a spell to put them all to sleep.

He returned to the monk, in the pitch black cave, and relished in his frightened sobs as he picked him up by the throat. He spoke with the monk's voice, "So sorry to have kept you waiting for so long but it took some time to convince your good, little disciple to take a quick visit back home. But for the next few hours my attention is only for you."

----

Well the monk had been disappointing to say the least, both in entertainment and in answers. Apparently only Guānyīn was capable of removing the circlet and she would only do so once the journey was completed. But there must be another way.

How to investigate it without giving himself away though...?

He pondered his next move as he watched over his sleeping disciples. There was a part of him that saw boundless opportunity by carrying on with this ruse but the risk of Wukong's Vision of Truth was too high. He needed to bring this show to its conclusion.

No doubt he could have a nearby demon kidnap them all. He just needed to explain away why the monk would think it had been almost a week and not only the day it would take Wukong to find them...

Ah, there was an artefact in the vault that might suffice - a little pocket dungeon that one could easily be fooled into thinking time moved differently within.

Easy. Reluctantly patch up the monk, shove him in the box, and hand them all over to the local demon lord. No-one need be any the wiser.

If only that's how it had all transpired.

Instead he only had seconds to leap to his feet at the sound of Wukong's nimbus hurtling towards him, he had even less time to realise that furious, golden eyes were glaring straight at him before having to dodge out of the way of the impact.

He dropped the disguise and immediately dove for a shadow portal. But he choked as his cloak was snagged and he was pulled back out and thrown through a forest of trees to slam against the side of a mountain.

He had no time to ponder the how's, not when Wukong was flying through the air, fist drawn back, and with murder in his eyes.

He managed to leap out of the way just as the mountain shattered under Wukong's strike.

Macaque had fought with Wukong many times over the years - and only occasionally had those fights ever been driven by anger and even then Wukong had never exerted his full strength.

This wasn't good.

Desperately called out, "Wukong, wait! I can explain!"

Wukong roared as he lunged at him, "You can explain!?"

Macaque was on the defensive as Wukong screamed, "You can explain why you were manipulating me!? You can explain why you tortured my master!?"

Wukong managed to catch his tail as he tried to dodge and he wasted no time using it to throw him into the nearest tree, reducing it to splinters.

He never got a chance to scrabble far before Wukong had him by the throat, and he wheezed, "I was doing it for you!"

He wasn't sure how it was possible for those eyes to burn any brighter with fury but his words managed it.

Wukong slammed him to the ground, voice terrifyingly level he said, "I told you to go home. I told you I didn't need your help. I didn't want to see you again." He increased the force in which he held him down, "And this is what you did instead?"

He grit his teeth, "They have you chained like a fucking dog. You're the Monkey King, not some pathetic mortal's pitiful slave."

He was picked up and slammed down again, "Don't speak of my master! You don't deserve to ever have laid eyes on him!"

The drive to survive and the fury of this misplaced loyalty had his shadows rise up and Wukong had no choice but to drop him and dodge their attempts to skewer him.

He stood up shakily, "Everything I ever did was for you... and yet some mortal that'll be dead in not even a fraction of our time together has more of your love and devotion than I've ever had..."

He'd seen it with his own eyes, felt the adoration Wukong had for this monk.

He had achieved Wukong's affection through force.

Is that what it took? Is that where he'd always gone wrong?

He summoned his staff and he watched as Wukong did the same. He took a haggard breath in, and he promised the impossible, "I'm bringing you home."

----

"It was a bloody fight but there's no prize for guessing how it ended. The Monkey King, of course, defeated the foul demon that had endangered his journey for the scriptures."

The shadows depicted a gruesome scene of a pleading Macaque on the floor trying to scrabble backwards as Wukong lifted the staff high above his head.

MK looked away before it could make contact with Macaque's skull.

When he looked back, it was to the scene they had started with - Wukong and the Great Companions walking along.

"And thus the pilgrims continued onwards, an event of such little significance it never even made it into the stories that would be written one day."

The shadows swirled into nothing and Macaque took a bow, "And there you have it folks, the end of the Six-Eared Macaque. Tragic, sure. But hey, not everyone gets a happy ending. That's just life for you."

MK could only stare horrified for a moment before he weakly asked, "He killed you...?"

Cheerfully Macaque responded, "Sure did. I was dead as could be until our old pal the Lady Bone Demon came by and well I'm sure you know the rest."

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't say he hadn't had some suspicions but to have it confirmed and for everything leading up to it to be so awful? It made him feel sick.

And yet his mind was a flurry of questions - How had Monkey King known what had happened? He couldn't have felt nothing about killing Macaque, right? Even if Macaque had done something that terrible - had he deserved to die? The two of them today were sort of getting on - how was that possible? How could you ever move past something like that?

"I can see I've rendered you speechless. I'd like to say it was my incredible performance but alas with a story this good the show is almost negligible."

MK stood, "Stop! This isn't- You can't-! You died! You shouldn't be-"

"What? Making light of it? Finding it funny? Hey now, do I go around telling you how to deal with your death? No, I don't."

He powered through all of that, "There's so much I don't know. How did Monkey King know? What happened after he... After you died?"

Macaque shrugged nonchalantly, "Guess you'd have to ask Old Monkey King that. Maybe he'll be feeling more inclined to share now that you have the other half of the story."

He then stretched, "Now if you'll excuse me - I'm not one for encores or for meet and greets - so I'm off to raid the wine cellars."

He grinned a little manically before falling into a portal, "See you around, MK."

MK didn't waste his breath shouting after him.

He needed to find Monkey King.

#lmk #lmk fanfiction #my fanfiction #lmk mk #lmk monkey king #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #lmk tripitaka #multi chapter #originally posted on ao3 #tumblr fic #shadowpeach

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bomber-grl · 2 days

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Grell Sutcliff Dating Hc! —☆⋆｡𖦹🖇️

Pairing(s): Grell Sutcliff x Gn!Reader

Disclaimer! I’ve only watched the anime and I’m semi aware of how she’s mischaracterized (according to others(?)) in it in comparison to the manga. So, these hc are solely based on the anime

We’ve seen how she is when she’s interested in someone and so just imagine her in an actual relationship 💀

She’s constantly fonding over you at minimum and spouting profanities you’d rather not have to hear again at most

I mean the fact you’re together is obviously because you matched her freak

Anyway, the more surface level of her personality is her constant coddling, hugs, and overall lovey dovey self

If anything it’s just her reaction to hot people which i can’t even blame😭

Now, if you’re more shy leaning Grell thinks you’re so cute

The urge to trap you in a bone crushing hug deepens immensely

However, if you’re more bold and straightforward she’ll really play into it

Again, everyone just disregards when she’s like this so she really falls head over heels x 2

And if you pick her up? Deceased x2

Obviously she’s glad to have you around for practically forever if you’re a divine being but if you’re human

The angst 😭

You’re the first person she’s every genuinely connected with and felt understood by

Especially with her identity

So I imagine you dying had crossed her mind a few times before but the thought was too painful to ever actually continue thinking it

So the day that she saw your name amongst the people she had to kill- two words

Mental breakdown

Either you choose to die by her hand or kys to become a grim reaper, literally the only solutions

It’s like that one audio where it’s like “bye Abby, I’ll see you when you wake up, and if you don’t wake up, I’ll still see you cause I’m gonna meet you in heaven or whatever

Sorry I just realized these are supposed to be relationship hc and not so gruesome 😭

Anyway, regardless of your race (?) Your relationship is still very much existent and there’s nothing grell or you could do about it

I mean I mighttt be going boarderline ooc like the the far depths sort of level but if you’re in a committed relationship and anyone alludes to you trying to leave her

Let’s just say we hope they don’t or she’ll be extra possessive to a crazy extent💀

Also if you’re constantly surrounding yourself with grell then you’re bound to interact with Ciel and his lot

So what I’m trying to say is, you’re like that one stereotypical couple with over the top PDA where it’s sickening to them

Also if you don’t like it (pda) she’ll be a bit sad but she’ll try to respect it

Now if you’re a romantic she’s constantly happy

Especially when you go out on a picnic, get her nice things and do silly things like carry her

Despite these “happier” moments there’s eventual solemn topics (like her death) that she talks about with you

I mean she’s sharing personal things with someone she trusts but it’s still nervwrecking

Also, you Can’t tell me Grell wouldn’t absolutely defend you with her life(?)

Even if it ends with her being trampled 💀

#grell sutcliff #black butler grell #grell sutcliff x reader #fanfic #gn reader #male reader #fluff #fanfic fluff #female reader #fluff headcanons #black butler #black butler x reader #black butler x you #grell x reader

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magpod-confessions · 3 days

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I've never liked Martin, it's not a big thing i just thought he was a bit annoying early on and then later he just gets a bit obnoxious. I'm so tired of how shocked everyone gets when you say you're just not a massive fan of him.

"oh but the incompetence was a façade"

Yeah, still a bloody annoying one though

🗣️

(also mods you're so strong because if i had to deal with this kinda thing I'd have a breakdown, 🗣️)

Fairr and real. My thing is I like him somewhat but also the fandom has kind of made me dislike him more. It went from him being my top 5 fav characters to not caring abt him at all lol. Also tysm we do our best - rosette

honestly i've always been a martin favourable person . i have a lot of headcanons for martin that just make him a little more understandable as a character . & what rosette said :::: ) . - deceit

#magpod #tma #the magnus archives #magpod confession #🗣

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hstayafanart · 11 hours

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Farmtale Sans! Not totally happy with him but I've been poking at him all week and I'm over it haha

I was aiming for a chubby farm cat. I was trying to make him a warmer brown but I just couldn't get it looking good. I considered ginger but I don't think Crop has ginger cat energy haha

Click here for all my UTMV kitty designs!

Sorry I haven't been posting much, I cannot begin to tell you how busy this course is keeping me. Still working on the fic as well, about a third of the way through my initial draft (I can't really call it a 'first' draft: I go through and edit the other chapters before writing new ones).

TMI - discussion of medical issues below

(bittersweet!) Personal Update

I must admit I'm falling out of the fandom a little - partly because I've been working on a personal project. I'm definitely finishing the fic - and I may keep drawing kitties/adding to the Down Under AU, but I think I'll be taking a break after this last story is done. Writing got me through one of the hardest points in my life, and I think part of the reason I'm ready to finish things up is because my life is so vastly improved.

107 days sober from skin picking, anxiety attacks are way less common and less severe when they do happen, I've halved my anxiety meds, and I've finally found something I truly love doing in bush regeneraton.

On top of that, after 11 years of trying to get doctors to believe my crippling period pain and suicidal depression during PMS, I've finally found a gyno willing to give me a hysterectomy. I've wanted this since I was 16. Having your pain believed makes such a difference.

My ulna nerve pain is under control, my mental health is under control - things are going so well I feel like I'm dreaming.

Fanfic things:

The final excuse reason the final story is taking so long to draft is because I want to wrap things up in a satisfying way. I want to give them a happy ending, but there's a lot of relationship issues between different parties to iron out first. There's a bit more focus on Ink & Error in this one, and a little on Nightmare's issues with other Outcodes too (I'm less interested in his relationship with Dream - I don't feel I have anything to add to a fandom gloriously saturated in them).

And! A bit more on Killer, too. A lot of fandom interpretations of him have him feeling, but I'm trying to stick a little closer to canon, as fun as those readings of him are. Working out the emotions of a monster incapable of feeling without having a complete breakdown is fun. :)

#undertale #utmv #cat #farm sans #crop sans #horror sans #nightmare sans

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year

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some hasty Laughingstock ft. butterfly!Howdy for your mild enjoyment...

#i have this... scene in my head #where howdy is having a bit of a breakdown over his Yassification™️#he just destroyed half his store w/ his wings and etc etc barnaby finds him curled up in the Back #howdy's all like 'i was such a handsome green.... now im this horrible blue w/ ugly black forearms blah blah blah'#and barnabys all '??? the fuck are you talking about youre literally stunning??? shut up lmfao ill make out w you'#and then i also thought Oh so butterfly howdy cant really fly #but what if he like.... does this cute lil flutter when he kisses barnaby #and it generates enough Lift that it makes him way lighter and lets him aaaalmost hover #because i think it'd be ADORABLE and im RIGHT-#anyway those are my thoughts behind these silly scribbles #scribble salad #laughingstock #yassified howdy <3 #i have soooooo much affection for laughingstock + butterfly howdy #barnaby and his girlboss gaslight gatekeep gorgeous husband <3 #he's ken & howdy's barbie #and he is Kenough <3 #and howdy is. uh. Barbalicious <3 #do i sometimes wonder why i lean towards viewing howdy more Feminine than the others? yeah #and then i immediately go 'bc its rad as hell and objectively Correct' (delusional)#and then i high five myself and move on with my day

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billford-dump · 2 months

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Red String of Fate AU

Most humans can't see them, it's usually witches and oracles who can. Ford doesn't have one, which isn't particularly unusual since not everyone has a soulmate, or they have a different kind of soulmate. Bill is like that too.

Fast forward, Bill dies, comes back as a human.

And the first time he looks at his hands he has to do a double-take because there's a string tied around his finger. And he looks at Ford and now FORD has a string too.

The reason Bill never had a string before is because they were in different dimensions and Bill didn't have an actual body made of matter instead of energy until recently.

Bill… he tries to remove it. Being close to people scares him, and he doesn't want it, at least at first.

He tries scissors. Enchanted scissors. Fire. Magical fire. Biting it. Scissors again. Untying it. Slipping it off his finger. Cutting off his finger (Stan stopped him). Cutting off his hand (that time Ford stopped him).

None of it works.

Ford is understandably concerned when he wakes up in the middle of the night on the cot in the basement to the sound of something moving around in his lab, and finds Bill with a surgical saw preparing to self-amputate. By then Bill is panicking. Nothing is working, he is permanently bound to Ford. And it's not that he dislikes Ford, not at all! He'd even say he's fond of the guy. But that string implies commitment, implies caring about someone else, implies Ford caring about him too. It scares him, and he wants it gone.

So when Ford confronts him, demands an explanation, Bill breaks.

He's so stressed and tired and anxious, this shitty human body won't let him calm down properly, he's been on the verge of a panic attack all day and Ford asking what's going on is the straw that broke the camels back.

Ford is even more concerned when Bill starts crying, collapsing into Ford's arms and holding on tight. He just. Can't. Can't deal with the chemicals in his brain and the fear and everything that's happened, and physical contact is a convenient little biological hack to make a body calm down. (That's what's he tells himself anyways) Bill tells him about the strings, that they're connected, bound, and he can't break them. He says it like an apology.

And then like, fluff happens idk.

#bill literally so scared of getting attached to people hed rather cut off his hand than think about it #more like he had a bit of a breakdown from all the stress of dying and changing species and finding out he is irrevocably bound to someone #but i think the other explanation is funnier #anyways fun fact the soulmate bond they have here isnt a fated one #the string formed because of feelings they already had rather than the feelings forming because of the string #billford #bill cipher #ford pines

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

Text

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite.

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go.

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids.

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum.

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy.

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy.

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens.

It happens like this:

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.

Something had to give.

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later.

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent.

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer.

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them.

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for — a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs.

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind.

It is not his fault.

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half.

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new.

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident.

It’ll never happen again.

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab.

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention.

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes.

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.”

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away.

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother.

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost.

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console.

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed.

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed.

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms.

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware.

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.

Nobody wakes up with their alarms.

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm.

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers.

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork.

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks.

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of.

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off.

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried.

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent.

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?”

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him.

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in; he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little.

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal.

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down.

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here.

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked.

He checks the garage, the car is still there.

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!”

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong.

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off.

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?”

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house.

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal.

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home.

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill.

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable.

#dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc au #dpxdc fic #blood blossom au #dpxdc ficlet #starry's writing #tw character death #cw death #angst #hurt no comfort #carbon monoxide poisoning almost sounds like a plain way to go when compared to the other batkids. but then you think about it for more #than a second and then the inherent horror of it all creeps in. danny found his family dead. he found their corpses.#i didnt feel comfortable writing it - just a little bit too heavy even for me yet - but just know that danny shook his parents as if he was #trying to wake them up when he realized they were dead. he went into emotional shock and kinda mentally shutdown.#he yelled and screamed and tried to wake them. and then rushed to his sister's room only to find the same thing. rinse and repeat #more time passed between danny finding them and him going to his neighbor's than what i showed #no more than an hour because the house was still full of carbon monoxide but longer than five minutes. long enough that when he finally wen #over - in hysterics and missing his shoes and jacket - he was completely inconsolable. he was having a breakdown.#when i was writing the ending scene with the paramedics and police and stuff i was very much calling on how i imagine Bruce's own experienc #might have gone. different but similar. with a thousand yard stare and water in their ears #two boys wrapped in shock blankets surrounded by police lights and having just seen their families dead. teehee

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