#the ugly son has once again returned

[samskaterguy]

MONDO GECKO IN A DIMENSION SHELLSHOCK BACKGROUND!!

[farfromstrange]

Now That We Don't Talk | Frank Castle x F!Reader

BONUS FIC

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Read Is It Over Now? for better clarity.

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader (past Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Summary: You go home with the guy from the bar, and he makes you forget about your ex.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "attagirl", slight Dom!Frank, song references, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: You wanted a part 2, so you're getting a part 2! Anyway, I don't write Frank often, so I hope it isn't too bad. It's also not as spicy as you probably expected, but I wanted this to fit the vibe of the previous fic (link above). You don't need to have read it to understand this, but it is highly recommended because some references might confuse you. Thank you all for taking part in this event!

You believed that your life had ended when you lost him. He painted your world in the brightest colors, but by breaking your heart, he took them away. All that was left to see was a boring shade of gray in a sea of sadness. 

Matt told you from the start that being with him wouldn’t be easy. You were willing to try. He needed someone, and you wanted to be that someone to him. You accepted him unconditionally. 

In the end, giving everything wasn’t enough. He chose her over you, and the castle you two had built came crashing down on you while he stood idly by. 

You’re not a bitter person, you have never been, but he made you fall for him; he made you believe that there was hope for the future and that you would grow old together. He stole years of your life in which you were trying to save him from himself. In return, he took the best care of you, but that doesn’t matter much now that he has taken your heart and shattered it like a glass of red wine on a white cloth. 

When you left him, you thought the distance would kill you. You truly believed that this was the end of everything, not just your relationship with the man you thought was the one but yourself as well. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he said the day you found out the ugly truth.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. The pain burned brighter than the sun, and it dried your eyes before they could even shed a tear.  

He argued with you that, “It was just a kiss,” but you not once believed him. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No.”

It was at that moment you lost all of your trust in him—in what could have been or should have been the two of you, forever—and it was also the moment that Matt realized he had lost you. 

You believed that he took everything you ever were that day because your life revolved around him, and only him. 

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said, begging you not to leave. 

“Fuck you!” you had never sworn at him until that day.

You still remember the way the necklace with his initial felt when you tore it off your neck and tossed it at his feet. He knew you better than anyone, and you felt like you finally belonged somewhere. That necklace was a symbol of your undying love, or so you thought, anyway. Now you know that he may have known you to some extent, but you didn’t matter enough for him not to climb into bed with his ex-girlfriend.

You couldn’t even look at the necklace. He told you, “This is a piece of my heart,” when he gave it to you on a snowy Christmas Day three years ago. You cherished it the same way you cherished his soul. He was broken, but he was your broken man. He was everything to you. 

Matt Murdock was your moon, your son, and your entire universe. It all seemed far away that you could ever feel about anyone this way again. 

You saw a future with him. Married, a house in the suburbs, and working with Foggy and Karen in their new law office after everything they’ve been through. You were a hopeful person back then.

Karen told you that he went to a party a couple of weeks after you separated. He didn’t look like himself. You wonder if he felt anxious, knowing his only source of comfort was no longer there. You wouldn’t know until you asked him, but you refused to answer his calls.

Part of you felt euphoric, knowing that he was broken too, but you also felt angry because he was the reason you found your heart beyond repair as he stepped on it like a burning cigarette, and in your mind, he had no right to feel this way.

You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock! I wish we’d never met.

“Another one for the lady,” a voice says beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears and a full one slides in its place. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He gets up from his seat and sits down on the empty bar stool next to you. “You look miserable,” he says.

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand. You introduce yourself. 

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

You thought nothing and no one could pull you out of the dark hole your breakup tossed you into. You believed yourself dead and long beyond the point of redemption. You accepted it. You swallowed in your misery, giving up on finding a new purpose in your life because the one great thing you had was no longer yours. He fell into a grave that he dug for himself, and he dragged your relationship down with him.

Looking into Frank’s eyes now though, you no longer feel like a corpse. And you realize that you are not dead, not at all—you are very much alive. 

The door almost breaks off its hinges when Frank shoves you into his apartment and back against it. The decision to come back to his place was fueled by a lot of alcohol and the way he looked at you. You were desperate to feel something other than the hollow ache that has consumed you every day for months. His eyes told you that he may be able to give you just what you need, no strings attached.

The way he kisses you breathes new life into your mangled soul. He swallows your mouth and your needy moans with his own, and his tongue forces itself down your throat as your teeth clash in a fight for dominance. You’re both tipsy, but he seems to know just what he’s doing.

His calloused fingers burn against your skin. In the back of your mind, Matt is still so present. His hands are the ones you can’t help but compare him to. 

The way he used to kiss you before fucking you into the mattress for hours on end, switching between tasting and fingering you until you were whimpering and begging him for release might have screwed you up forever. He told you one night that he wanted to ruin you for any other man. Back then, you both still believed that you would grow old together.

It is truly ironic how fast things change when you are truly happy and believe that nothing can burst your bubble.

Frank’s large hands brace against the door on either side of your head. His lips disappear from yours. “Who is he?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel.

You meet his eyes, unsure of what to say. Your mind is everywhere but here, and yet it is right with him. Whether it is alcohol or self-loathing, you’re not sure. 

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re trynna forget someone. Who is it?”

He is a lot more perceptive than you thought.

You swallow, blood rushing to your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you didn’t what? Think? You feel utterly pathetic.

Instead of throwing you out though, like you expected he would, he reaches out to caress your cheek. His eyes soften as they gaze at you. “Whoever he is, he obviously didn’t treat you right,” he says. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppin’ you, but if you wanna forget whoever is fuckin’ with your head, I’ll make damn sure you forget his name by the end of tonight.”

There is something excitingly terrifying about the look in his eyes. A shiver runs down your spine, and your thighs clench at the thought of feeling his hands somewhere other than your face. Somewhere other than your hips and thighs. His kisses knocked the air out of your lungs. You want more, you need more, but you don’t know if you can take it. Not him—even though you’re also not quite sure if you can take him—but also the offer he is presenting to you. As lucrative as it sounds, fuck, you are not over Matt. And you’re not sure if you can ever forget him.

You want to though. You have to. And you want to be thoroughly fucked into the next day and forget the name of the man that makes you so fucking angry.  

“Talk to me,” Frank coaxes your head toward him. “Do you wanna forget the useless bastard that made you feel this way?”

“Yes,” you manage a breathless whisper.

“Did he hurt you? Break your heart?”

You nod.

“You deserve better.” His grip tightens, and his hand slowly slides to your neck. “I’m not, but I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget his name and scream mine loud enough for this fuckin’ city to know who’s making you feel good. ‘s that what you want, hm?”

He’s dangerous, but that has never turned you off, even when it should have.

And when you finally open your mouth and tell him, “Yes, please. Make me forget,” the switch inside of him flicks completely.

He takes his time to worship between your thighs. His tongue buried in your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit without mercy. He eats you out roughly but sensually, keeping you spread wide open for him with both of his hands and a force unmatched—like a five-course meal, and he has all the time in the world for you. 

You’re lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to buck your hips against his mouth because no matter what he does, you’re on fire and you just can’t get enough, but he is so powerful that you can’t fight him. He has you at his mercy, your body in his hands, and all the control in the world over you. 

You pull at his hair, moaning helplessly as he feasts on your pussy. You’re going mad, you’re sure. He’s doing this on purpose, driving you to the edge before stopping the wave. Frank waits until your orgasm is just far enough for you to last a little longer, kissing the inside of your thighs, and then he dives right back into your wet folds. He thrusts his tongue into your hole, licks up to your clit, and then sucks on the swollen bundle until your legs are shaking in his hands. 

“Jesus, Frank!” you moan out. A trail of sweat runs from your temple down to your breasts. 

Your hands search for something to hold onto, tangling in the sheets and the pillow behind your head before pulling at the fabric. You tried pulling at his hair, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a desperate shout as your orgasm crashes into you. 

“Attagirl.”

Your brain is hulled into an endless fog, but Frank doesn’t stop. 

Soon, you’re on your stomach, gripping the headboard as he pounds into you from behind. He is long and thick, and with every thrust, he forces your face deeper into the pillows. Your eyes have rolled back into your head. He hits that spongy spot inside of you whenever he pleases, and the gurgled moans from the pit of your throat spur him on to speed up, change the angle and thrust even deeper. 

He pulls out all the way, thrusting back into you with full force until he is completely sheathed in your pussy. Your heat consumes him, and he sees red. But so do you. He has reduced you to a few incoherent thoughts, babbling his name in the wake of the drool that is dripping from the corner of your mouth. 

And when you come this time, it is pulled back straight against his chest with his fingers rubbing circles over your already abused clit. You come with a scream of his name, and nothing else matters but his cum in your cunt and the unbelievable depth of the feelings he is eliciting within you. 

You drop to the mattress like a wet towel, covered in his and your cum, and your sweat that has mingled with his. His smell lingers in the sheets as you bury your nose in it. He collapses on top of you. The crushing weight of him offers a sense of comfort that almost makes you cry. And he holds you as though you mean more to him than a One-Night stand he picked up to help forget a man who broke her heart. 

“What’d he do?” Frank asks into the silence later that night.

You are lying on his bed, covered by only his thin sheets. He’s sitting on the other side, nursing a glass of Bourbon. He held you, he cleaned you up, and he offered you some clothes, which you denied. He is kinder to you than you thought he would be, and it warms your heart in a way you can only deem utterly dangerous with how vulnerable you are. Broken people make dumb decisions, and you do not ever want to go through the same pain again. 

At least you know that you are still desired. That you’re not dead. Perhaps, there is still hope for a better future. You made Matt Murdock your life for the longest time, and maybe, as you realize now, that was a mistake. There is more to life than him, and you can live without him. That it took fucking a stranger after weeks of being miserable baffles you, but some things are just meant to happen. Maybe it was destiny, after all. 

You look at him when Frank repeats his question. “What’d the bastard do, hm?” he asks.

Where do you even start? 

When you last checked in on him through your mutual friends—you know it wasn’t the best choice, but you couldn’t help it—they told you that grew his beard, and he last had a haircut when you were still together. It suits him, apparently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at a picture of him.

Foggy told you that he isn’t taking home girls when they go to a bar, even though he could have all of them. He’s sad. He drowns himself at work and beats his fist bloody every night. The old you would have jumped up to help him. And it is true that you will probably always love him, in a way, but you refuse to crawl back to him.

The more you gave, the more he took, and at the first chance at getting a woman he claimed to no longer love when she came back into your lives, he took her. He couldn’t have wanted you as badly as he claimed if that was enough for him to flush years of loving each other and going through hell together down the drain, knowing it would break your heart into a million pieces. That is probably the worst part about all of it.

You take a deep breath. Frank is still staring at you intently, waiting for an answer. “He fucked his ex,” you finally confess. “Four years of being together and it still wasn’t enough.”

His grip tightens around his glass. “Want me to pay him a visit?”

You chuckle, but you know that he would. “No. But thank you.”

Matt was fading long before you left. Even if you did choose to forgive him, you couldn’t be his friend, so things are better the way they are now. You paid the ultimate price for sacrificing your heart to a man who had too many struggles to deal with himself.

In the silence, you find a little light. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like Jazz anymore,” you say. 

Frank takes another sip, asking, “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Jazz. He loves it. He…He’s special. Well, he was to me, anyway.”

“Special? Fuck, the guy did a number on you, huh?”

You scoff. “You have no idea.”

The only way back to your dignity is to learn how to be without him. You have to turn yourself back into a mystery and learn how to trust someone again before your fragile heart breaks again.

“You still talk?” Frank asks.

You shake your head. “No. It’s over now,” you say. “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Told ya. You deserve better.”

“Nah.” You reach for his glass, taking a sip of the bitter liquor that you used to despise. Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stretch his leg toward him. 

You need to keep forgetting Matt’s name, no matter what it takes or the reminiscing will surely kill you.

“Right now,” you murmur with an irresistible smirk that makes him leap at you as soon as the words pass your lips, “I just need to forget he ever existed by screaming someone else’s name.” 

Frank captures your lips in a bruising kiss, leaving you speechless and breathless all the same. 

Matt chased you, he caught you, and then he lost you. And now that Frank has you, you never want to look back. 

Now that you don't talk.

I don't have a tag list for Frank, so I'm just leaving this here.

[anonymous-dentist]

Despite what Apa Roier says, Pepito knows a great many things about the world.

Like:

The Ocean is big. It's where Pepito and Apa Roier and all the other Pepitos live, but there's still room for SO MANY other Pepitos!!

Pepito's gills don't work right all the time, so Apa Roier and Pepito's other dads all have to swim slowly so they don't lose him. This is called "asthma", and Pepito is probably gonna grow out of it soon!

Water Pepitos live in The Ocean. Sky Pepitos live outside of The Ocean. Pepito hasn't ever seen a Sky Pepito before, but Apa Roier has, and he says that Sky Pepitos are all ugly and they smell bad.

Apa Roier will return Pepito to the bottom of the ocean and get a new Pepito if Pepito isn't a good Pepito.

Pepito knows that last thing very well. He pretends that he doesn't because it makes Apa Roier said every time Pepito mentions being traded in for a new Pepito, but it's true. It has to be! Apa Roier and Apa Mariana both say it, and they're never wrong!

So, when Pepito does the Very Bad Thing, he doesn't wait for Apa Roier to find out. He swims himself to the bottom of the sea, and he curls into a ball, and he pulls his glasses off so he can cry without getting them all gross, and then he cries.

There's blood under Pepito's claws; he can't get it out no matter how hard he scrubs at them with the sand, it won't come out and that just shows how evil Pepito is, because Pepito is a bad Pepito and now Pepito may as well just die. Apa Roier will get a new Pepito, and they'll be much happier together because that Pepito won't be a monster like Pepito is.

The bottom of the ocean is silent, because the only people who live there are lost little mermaids (like how Pepito and Sunny and Empi all used to be) and bad people. Bad Pepitos, just like Pepito is now.

The worst of the bunch is the Sea Witch, known for his eight long scary tentacles and his glowing white eyes and his evil magic. Apa Roier says that the Sea Witch eats lost little Pepitos, and Pepito believes him, because Apa Roier is always right.

Pepito sniffles and rolls onto his back, staring blindly up at the sun rippling above. It's blurry, and its light barely reaches the bottom of the ocean, but it's pretty. It looks... warm. And Pepito is very, very cold.

Normally when the water is a bit too cold, one of Pepito's dads or Ama Rivers will take Pepito into their arms and hold him real tight until he's warmed up. He always treats it like a hug even if Apa Roier doesn't usually hug back, but that's fine because all the others hug back.

("He's a good boy," Apa Roier says. He glares over Pepito's shoulder at Luzu. "Not a killer. Can you get that through your skull, hmm?")

Pepito's lip wobbles and he covers his eyes with his hands before he gets any bright ideas. He doesn't deserve bright ideas, he's a villain. He doesn't deserve the sun, he doesn't deserve to be a son. He's no better than a... than a... than a pirate!!

Pirates are evil, Apa Roier says so. He met a pirate once when he visited the Sky, and he says that he never wants to see a pirate again. They stink and their teeth are rotten and their nails are blunt and they don't even have tails. All they do is kill and steal and fight and they're horrible- villains!

Maybe that's where Pepito belongs, with the pirates, not in The Ocean. He deserves to have stinky breath and bad teeth and whatever the heck "legs" are (Pepito doesn't know, but Apa Quackity always starts laughing when he describes them, so they have to be stupid.)

The Ocean is where all the Good Pepitos live. Pepito isn't a Good Pepito anymore, so he needs to leave.

There's only one person who can make Pepito into a Sky Pepito, and he lives at the bottom of the ocean.

Pepito whimpers at the thought, but he quickly wipes his eyes and sets his jaw into a firm, determined expression. He slips his glasses back on, and he pushes off of the ocean floor and goes in search of the Sea Witch.

It's what he deserves.

-

The Sea Witch isn't too happy to see Pepito, but he lets Pepito into his house and sits Pepito down with a plate of fish on his couch, and he listens.

With a frown on his scary face, the Sea Witch asks, "Okay, but what did you actually do?"

Pepito's eyes start watering at the thought, but he answers anyway, because he has to if he wants the Sea Witch to help him.

"I... I did a Very Bad Thing," he whispers, curling in on himself. He wipes at his eyes and looks away to the side. "If I don't become a pirate, then I'll have to go to jail down here, and I don't wanna go to jail, Mister The Sea Witch. Pepitos aren't meant for jail."

"Pepitos aren't meant to be pirates, either. You're a good kid! What happened?"

Pepito just shakes his head in response. He's crying again, but that's fine. Apa Roier always cries, and nobody ever notices, so the Sea Witch probably hasn't noticed Pepito's tears. Maybe he's blind? He doesn't have any eye holes in his eyes (what are they called, pupils?)

There's quiet, but eventually the Sea Witch lets out a long sigh and nods.

"Fine," he says. "But-" (He cuts Pepito off as Pepito snaps his head up and starts thanking him.) "-I get to pick the pirate crew you go with. I know a bunch of pirates, I'll find a super evil one for you to go with."

That sounds... scary. But Pepito has to be a Brave Pepito. If he says no, then the Sea Witch might eat him, and Pepito doesn't wanna die. Pepito just wants to live in misery agonizing over his mistake for the rest of his unholy, evil life. That's all.

So Pepito nods and reaches out to hug the Sea Witch (it's how Pepito thanks his parents at home, and they like it well enough.)

The Sea Witch hums and hugs Pepito back. "There, there. It'll all be fine, Pepito. This big, scary pirate is going to take good care of you, I promise."

And that sounds scary, but it's fine! Pepito is brave!!

A moment passes, and then the Sea Witch pulls out of the hug and leaves to go get his spell ingredients.

Pepito sits on the couch, and he closes his eyes, and he imagines feeling the sun for the first time in his life, and he pretends that he doesn't already have a big hole in his heart from leaving his parents.

(But, really, they were going to leave him if he didn't leave them. So it's fine.)

-

(Meanwhile, Roier gets home from visiting Bobby's grave to find an empty house. He, of course, panics. Mariana and Quackity are both on vacation, and Rivers is across the reef sparring with Fit, and gods only know where Carre is, and Pepito literally doesn't go anywhere without one of his parents so. So.

Roier's halfway through searching the house when the entire reef shakes. He dashes to a window and looks out just in time to watch a huge column of light erupt from the drop-off point to the bottom of the sea.

He swears and grabs his bag and rushes out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Fucking BadBoy...!)

-

The sun is warm. Pepito thinks he loves it, and he thinks it loves him back with how much sunlight is on him as he and the Sea Witch walk through the Sky Pepito town.

It's a shame he can't say as much. His throat hurts, but it isn't from asthma this time. It's from magic.

"Remember, Pepito, you can't talk when you're on land," the Sea Witch reminds him. "I got you legs and lungs, but you had to give me something in return."

A pause.

"If your dad asks, it was your idea. Not mine. I had nothing to do with this."

Pepito nods, duh.

The Sky Pepito Town is huge, though! So many Pepitos, all wearing different outfits and with legs.

Pepito looks down at his own legs thoughtfully. He doesn't know what to think of them quite yet. They look goofy, but he almost likes them better than he likes his tail.

...Liked his tail. Because he can never go in The Ocean again. If he does, then the magic will run out, and he'll have to go home and watch his parents all interact with the new Pepito they'll have gotten while he was away.

But the buildings in the Sky are so tall! They're taller than even Apa Mariana, and he's HUGE!! And all the Sky Pepitos are tall, too! Taller than Pepito, anyway...

Maybe Pepito would be taller if he got shoes. The Sea Witch had managed to magic up some clothes for him before they got into town, but apparently shoes are hard.

Pepito wiggles his toes as he walks. He smiles. Now these? Really silly.

Pepito walks obediently beside the Sea Witch as the Sea Witch leads him through the town's winding streets towards the docks, which is where the pirates live. Supposedly.

"Now, remember, this guy is super evil," the Sea Witch warns him. "So you need to watch out."

Pepito nods, though he only halfway listens as the Sea Witch continues talking about this super scary pirate captain they're going to. Because, really, how much worse can the pirate captain be than Pepito? It's not like he did the Very Bad Thing.

Pepito isn't paying attention, so he doesn't notice the enormous ship in front of him until he's being led up to a bridge leading up to its... roof?

(What are the parts of a boat, again?)

"Cellbit!" the Sea Witch calls, one hand cupped around his mouth. "I have a present for you!"

Pepito winces at the volume, but he doesn't cover his ears. That would be rude, and he needs to make a good first impression if he wants to show how evil he is to the captain.

Pepito watches the ship's roof until he sees a sign of movement. And then... there he is. The pirate captain, the evil one. Captain Celbi.

According to the Sea Witch, Captain Celbi is the most wanted pirate on the seven seas. The Sea Witch says that Captain Celbi eats people, but he didn't say that Captain Celbi murders them, so maybe he isn't that evil after all. Pepito's probably worse than he is.

Captain Celbi looks small when he's on the roof, but he gets bigger and bigger as he walks down the bridge, and then he's huge when he's standing in front of Pepito with his hands on his hips.

He has a sword, is the first thing that Pepito notices. Second is the scar stretching across his face from his left eyebrow down to the right side of his chin. His hair is long, tied back and hidden under a bit, three-pointed hat; but where are his ears? His eyes are so blue that they remind Pepito of The Ocean.

He looks down at Pepito with his mouth twisted into a worried line.

Pepito tries to look intimidating. He puffs his chest out and stands up tall and furrows his eyebrows the way Ama Rivers does before one of her fights.

Captain Celbi looks to the Sea Witch with a couple of rapid, confused blinks.

"Bad," he says, "what the fudge is this?"

Pepito can't introduce himself, so he just waves. Evilly.

The Sea Witch answers for him, how nice!

"This is Pepito," he says, putting a hand on the top of Pepito's head. "He said that he wants to become a pirate."

Pepito nods.

Captain Celbi blinks again before looking back down at Pepito.

Slowly, the captain crouches in front of him, hands on his knees to brace himself.

"You really want to be a pirate?" he asks.

Pepito nods again, firmly. Evilly. He's evil, just like Captain Celbi is.

"It's very dangerous," the captain continues. "Can you handle that?"

Pepito nods a third time. He squeezes his mouth into a determined line. He's got this.

The captain stares at him, and then he stands and grabs the Sea Witch by the arm and says, "Bad, can we talk?"

The Sea Witch doesn't get a chance to argue before getting dragged away and into the crowd.

Pepito watches them go. There's... a lot of people.

A lot of people.

Who knew there were so many Sky Pepitos!?

Pepito steps backwards until his back is against a tall barrel. He looks down at his hands and immediately tears his eyes away from them because there's still blood under his nails even now that his claws have been dulled into weird beige flat things.

Suddenly, and for whatever reason, Pepito misses Apa Roier. He's good with people. He'd be friends with the entire town by now, because he's a good person. Pepito isn't, though. His only friends are going to be the pirates on Captain Celbit's boat.

Yay.

Eventually, Captain Celbi and the Sea Witch come back.

Captain Celbi looks... less confused, but he still looks a little puzzled. He looks at Pepito like he's the puzzle, which is silly. Pepito's Pepito! Nothing crazy about him.

The Sea Witch, though, looks pleased. He bends down and ruffles Pepito's hair briefly before standing and cracking his back with a wince.

"Welp, I'll be on my way. Pepito," he says, looking Pepito in the eye, "take care of Cellbit for me. He might be a super evil pirate, but he can be a bit silly sometimes."

"Hey!" Captain Celbi protests, lightly smacking the Sea Witch's arm. "Fuck you, man!"

"Language!" the Sea Witch snaps.

Pepito giggles, surprising both himself and the Sea Witch. Huh, guess the magic only took away his voice, not his noise.

Captain Celbi's mouth twitches. He blinks slowly, crouching again and extending a hand.

"Pepito, right?" he softly asks.

At Pepito's nod, Captain Celbi continues, louder, "After you shake my hand, you'll officially be part of my crew. There's no going back, okay?"

Briefly, Pepito considers going back home. He never said goodbye; his parents would've said goodbye before abandoning him for a new Pepito, at least.

But he bites his tongue and takes Captain Celbi's hand, anyway. His hand only manages to hold four of Captain Celbi's fingers, but that's fine. Pepito will be a big Pepito soon.

Captain Celbi nods, and he stands.

He looks at the Sea Witch and says, "Tell Foolish I say hi, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." The Sea Witch nods. He glances down at Pepito. "Be careful, okay?"

"Please," Captain Celbi scoffs. "I'm always careful."

The Sea Witch rolls his eyes, and then Pepito blinks his eyes, and then the Sea Witch is gone.

"What a creepy guy," Captain Celbi comments.

He looks down at Pepito and smiles- he has fangs, what!? So cool...

"Come on, Pepito, we should get on board before my crew leaves us behind."

Pepito's eyes widen in panic, and he runs off for the bridge up to the ship's roof, accidentally pulling Captain Celbi behind him because maybe Pepito forgot to let go of his hand. Maybe.

But Captain Celbi doesn't say a thing. He doesn't pull his hand away, either. (He has to be soooo scared of Pepito!)

Pepito gets to the ship's roof and gasps, eyes flicking from the ship's big stick to the big wheel to the group of people watching Pepito and Captain Celbi back to the big stick.

There's another kid in the group of people, Pepito notices. He's glaring, arms crossed.

Pepito shrinks back and steps behind Captain Celbi; he may be evil, but this other kid seems scary. Cool, but scary.

"Everyone, meet Pepito," the captain announces. He's still holding Pepito's hand despite the stares, wow, he's tough! "Bad brought him up from underwater so he can learn how to be a pirate."

A woman in the group raises a hand. "Are we pirates now?"

Captain Celbi shrugs. "I guess. Can't be that hard, can it?"

What?

Pepito snaps his head up to stare at the captain in shock. What?

But...

Oh! They're lying. Just like Apa Roier said pirates do, they're all scumbags and liars!

That makes much more sense.

Pepito pokes his head out from behind Captain Celbi and offers the most evil smile he can muster. He even waves, evilly; to his confusion, most of the other pirates smile back. Except the kid, who huffs and looks away moodily.

(Captain Celbi is the captain, but this kid must be the boss. Hmm...)

"Baghera, can you help Pepito find a bunk downstairs?" Captain Celbi orders. "I need to finish taking inventory with Pac before we can get going."

The woman who had spoken up earlier grins and salutes, stepping forward and taking Pepito by the hand.

"Come on, Pepito," she says. "You can sleep near me. Unlike some people, I don't snore."

The captain starts shouting in protest, but Baghera just giggles and skips away with Pepito by her side.

As they head down into the bowels of the ship, Pepito takes one last look up at the sun. He waves goodbye to it.

(He just wishes that he got to say goodbye to Apa Roier...)

-

(Meanwhile, Bad hums as he tends to his plants in his garden. He's just returned from dropping Pepito off with Cellbit, and he's exhausted.

He doesn't look up as a shadow falls over him.

"What the fudge did you do to my Pepito?" Roier demands.

He levels his sword at Bad's Adam's apple; its point digs in slightly, drawing sickly green blood.

Bad calmly pulls his neck backwards.

"Look up," is all Bad says in response.

And that's when the shadow of Cellbit's ship passes over them. They'll have been sailing for, what, an hour now? Just long enough for Pepito to have gotten settled in. (Hopefully, Richarlyson hasn't gotten jealous yet...)

"Fuck," Roier swears. He drops his sword into the sand and runs his fingers through his hair, pacing through the water in frustration.

In a flash, he turns back to Bad and demands, "Me, too. Take me up, too."

Bad hums. "I don't know, you'll have to give something up."

"Yes, yes, I know, just- take this."

Roier points to his bottom-most pair of eyes. (Honestly, Bad hasn't figured out what the heck kind of fish he is.) Without those, he'll be down to two eyes, and he'll basically be blind.

Eh, it'll work.

"Oh, fine," Bad sighs. He gives Roier a look. "But we'll have to wait until they make port again. I can't just stick you up there like this, it'll scare him."

Roier frowns. "What?"

That settles Bad's suspicions, then. Roier really doesn't know what Pepito did, huh.

Well. He's going to find out.

Bad just hopes Roier doesn't scare the poor kid when he gets to the surface and realizes that Pepito's new best friend is Cellbit of all people. All those feelings, ew.)

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Hey guys!! PLEASE reblog this! And leave an ask or a comment or a tag or a whatever telling me your thoughts and questions! Let me know if you want more, because there is more!

[themissinghand]

WELCOME BACK AUTHOR!! WE MISS YOU!!!.Sorry I was too excited. Can I ask Kim Dokja x excited readers!. This happened after Kim Dokja became the Demon King and he came back and they both met again after a long time disappearing so she first met Kim.Com. With Kim Dokja, she is soft but with Yoo Joonghyuk, he and she's like a cat and a dog because she's still angry with Yoo Joonghyuk for punching and stabbing Dokja. (I want to punch Yoo Joonghyuk even once). She and the girls became friends especially Han Soyoung. Reader has an unexpected constellation too (make Kim Dokja surprised) because I want Reader to smile arrogantly and amused to Yoo Joonghyuk.❤️❤️❤️❤️

I believe Kim Dokja needs a full explanation to the reader because the reader misunderstood his relationship with Yoo Joonghyuk ( companion). she is like Kim Dokja, are you cheating on me?!!!.💀.

Bye-bye author,love you😘💕.

Omniscient Reader Viewpoint Back with a Bang: The Demon King Returns!

Summary: In which Kim Dokja was gone for a little longer than he expected, and now he has to deal with the aftermath. 

Or, chaos ensues, aka Dokja is a little jelly.

Pairing: Kim Dokja x F! Reader, Slight Yoo Joonghyuk x Reader

Note: Hey Anon, I wrote some similar (and emotional) stories with Kim Dokja x Reader with the whole demon king fiasco, so you can check those out! As such, I wanted to focus more on the comedy aspects since our dear squid was gone for a long time.

Also, this came out longer than I thought it would be.

Warning: SPOILERS ahead for manhwa readers. Possessive Dokja? Also swearing, pardon her french.

★・・・・・・★

Seeing your fist connect with the sunfish’s cheek and sending him into the sunset was not something Kim Dokja expected to see first after returning. 

“You son of a bitch! I’m going to send you back to the ocean if you say that again you sunfish!” Colourful language spewed out your lips as Han Sooyoung added more kindle to the flames, with Lee Jihye trying to hold you back (but failing as she was basically dragged by you across the sand). 

Meanwhile, Lee Hyunsung was trying to convince Yoo Joonghyuk to back down, but we all know that’s not happening. 

Yes, Kim Dokja had been gone for longer than he anticipated. 

The responsibilities and trials of being the Demon King had consumed him, keeping him away from the world and from you, his love and girlfriend. 

What should’ve been a tearful reunion and a mix of excitement and nervousness, turned to him trying to figure out what the heck is going on. 

[Constellation "Secretive Plotter" mentions that Incarnation “Kim Dokja” was literally a Ugly Squid] 

Kim Dokja resisted the urge to flip him off. 

Instead, with a deep breath, he called you out. 

“(Y/N)!” Your rage seemed to instantly evaporate before you had a look of wounded puppy. 

“Party pooper.” Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes, but nudged him towards you.

“Dokjaaaaaa!” Sprinting towards him, Dokja prepared for the impact, until he was completely knocked off his feet, and the two of you crashed on the ground. 

“You were gone for so long! I thought you might never come back," you exclaimed, your voice filled with emotion and buried your face into his shoulder.

Kim Dokja hugged you back, savoring the warmth of your embrace. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be away for so long." 

As they pulled apart after a while and you helped pull Dokja up, he noticed Yoo Joonghyuk standing nearby, watching them with his usual stoic expression. Before Kim Dokja could say anything, you turned to Yoo Joonghyuk and glared.

"And you! I still haven’t forgiven the fact that you punched and stabbed Dokja! Do you have any idea how worried I was?" you snapped, crossing your arms.

Yoo Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow, unfazed by your anger.

"It was necessary."

"It was not necessary!" you retorted, your eyes blazing. "If you ever do that again, I'll punch you myself!"

Kim Dokja chuckled, trying to diffuse the tension. "Let's not fight. We have more important things to discuss."

You huffed but nodded, turning your attention back to Kim Dokja. 

"You're right. We need to catch up."

As they moved to a more comfortable area, and everyone huddled around like little ducks, Dokja learned how much the world changed without him. 

Not only had everyone become leaders of various alliances and managed areas in Korea, you had formed close bonds with them in Kim Dokja's absence, especially with Han Sooyoung. 

“You know, when you ‘died’, she fought with that sunfish every day.” Han Sooyoung whispered as others shared their stories. Dokja shifted his eyes to see her reflecting on the past. 

Dokja could see that, after all, you didn’t want him to die. 

In fact, you were willing to betray the world for him. 

You stood in front of him and raised your sword against the Kim Company, until he was the one that sent you far away. 

And when you came running through the doors like a madwoman with bloodshot eyes, it was when Yoo Joonghyuk stabbed him with his sword. 

To see you so happy and relieved at his return made him feel so guilty, after all, he couldn’t forget the look of a mix of disbelief and betrayal in your eyes back then.

After all, he promised that he wouldn’t sacrifice himself again. 

"So, Demon King, huh?" Sooyoung whispered-teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "Quite the promotion."

Kim Dokja sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"It's a long story. But I'm here now.”"

“You better. Otherwise, she’s gonna leave you for someone better.” 

“What?” Dokja suddenly said out loud, so loud that everyone looked at him. 

“Dokja?” You looked at him confused, but he returned the same puzzled look. 

Because you had a fist against the protagonist’s cheek, whereas he had a hand around your collar as if this was a normal interaction between cats and dogs. In fact, you two looked a little childish like this. 

“Not again.” Lee Jihye huffed, and indeed everyone seemed like it was the norm since no one took it seriously. 

“By the way, (Y/N) is the dog. If you didn’t know.” Thanks Han Sooyoung. 

[Constellation "Secretive Plotter" is amused by this situation]

“Anyways, did you know that (Y/N)-ssi has a pretty strong constellation?” Yoo Sangah being the one braincell of the group successfully changed the conversion. 

“Yea, you mean a sugar daddy-” Yoo Sangah covered her mouth with a menacing smile. 

Dokja never looked so confused.

You let go of the sunfish and the other did the same with a huff. Your eyes sparkled with mischief. 

"I do. Want to see?" You grinned as you rushed over to his side. 

“You know the constellation that you said that you didn’t know much about? But then follow you around every scenario and keep donating money to you?” 

Dokja blinks and racks his brain a little, which constellation was this? If it was a powerful one, then he should know them right? 

“Say hi~”

A beat of silence. 

“Huh? He’s usually pretty talkative…at least whenever I beat up the sunfish. And he donated a lot to Dokja before.” Said sunfish scoffs before pulling out his sword as if to intimidate someone. 

[Constellation “Abyssal Black Flame Dragon” is snickering and telling the “Sugar Daddy” to come out] 

[Constellation “Prisoner of the Golden Headband” is calling his upstairs neighbour to show up like a man]

[Constellations donated 1000 coins]

Dokja suddenly remembers (he only has 4 loyal followers after all), and suddenly felt a chill go down his spine.

[Constellation “Secretive Plotter” is amused by this situation]

[Constellation “Secretive Plotter” donated 5,000 coins]

“Damn! I told you! He always donates more than double the coins!” Yoo Sangah yeets the writer out. 

When it’s finally just the two of them left, Dokja spilled everything, from his plans and thoughts and reasonings, and finally to how he ended up here.

Somewhat frightened, Dokja didn’t dare to meet your eyes, until you pulled him into a hug. 

“I’m still mad, but next time, please, let me in.” With a nod, he understood he couldn’t leave you hanging like that again. 

“But…Dokja, that aside. Are you cheating on me?” Dokja froze in your hold that suddenly feels a little tight. 

“W-What do you mean?” 

“Are you and that sunfish-” Before you could even continue, he pulled back and stared right into your eyes with absolute seriousness. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“You sure? Uriel-” 

“Yes. I am absolutely sure we are not what you are thinking of.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I would rather die-” Your pointed look frightened him as he quickly corrected himself, “-rather eat tomatoes than be with him.” 

You looked surprised for a moment, and he shivered in disgust at the thought of tomatoes. 

But you still had a look of disbelief in your eyes. At least until he pulled you in for a quick kiss. 

Until one turned to two, then three in quick succession and- 

“Okay! I get it!” You bonked him on the head and he almost whined. But he decides to hold back when he sees your blushing face and cute grumpy face. 

“Fine, I trust you. Just..I need you to trust me just like I trust you.” 

“I promise.” Kim Dokja indulged in your warmth as he hugged you tightly. 

“You’re suffocating me!” 

“Sorry!” He just missed you a little too much, and he knew he had to make up for the lost time.

“What the…didn’t you say that they fought every day?” 

In fact, you and Yoo Joonghyuk were fighting at this moment, where he could feel the waves of impact graze his skin. 

To even think that you were close to the protagonist’s skill and level is crazy.

“Mhmm.” Han Sooyoung scrolled on her phone and although her expression looked relaxed, she had a smirk on her lips.

As the evening progressed, Kim Dokja noticed something peculiar. Every time Yoo Joonghyuk interacted with you, there was a subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. It wasn't obvious, but it was there. 

Was he overthinking it? After all, the protagonist fell in love with Lee Seolwa in his previous regressions.

The more he thought of it, the more he felt himself going crazy. Rightfully so, especially when he defeated you in the fight (spar?) and as you spewed curses at him, he pulled you up so easily by one arm. 

If only you had seen Dokja’s expression slowly morph from a suspicious to burning glare, but you couldn’t as you were dusting yourself off and trying to clean your wounds. 

But that look. 

That fucking sunfish.

Before Dokja could run over and smack that sunfish, he dared send Dokja a look as if challenging him.  

“Told you.” Dokja couldn’t even retort back to Sooyoung as he was rushing towards you while calling your name, carefully hiding his annoyed expression. 

“(Y/N), let me help you.” You accepted his hand naturally with a smile and thanks. 

But before you leave the protagonist on his own, you toss him a healing elixir. 

“I’ll defeat you next time.” 

“That won’t be possible.” He said with a smirk, and that effectively pissed you off. 

“You sunfish piece of crap-” 

“(Y/N)!” Dokja had to pull you away (even though he didn’t want to), but before he left, he sent that sunfish a victorious look. 

Even so, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't fazed, in fact, he simply smirked, the same nasty one when he tossed Dokja into the sea in their first meeting.

Dokja needed to punch him at least once. Just once.

Maybe twice...

Later, when you and Dokja found a quiet moment alone, Kim Dokja couldn't help but ask. 

"So, about Yoo Joonghyuk... Has he always been this, uh, attentive to you?"

You looked puzzled for a moment before realization dawned. 

"Has he? Nah, he’s just an asshole. I’m the only one who dares to fight him everyday, and he’s like your typical cold duke personality man. The one who says ‘Interesting’ at anything.” Kim Dokja chuckled though still feeling a little annoyed. 

“Don't worry. You will always be better than that sunfish. You're the one I love.” You announced confidently, making Dokja feel relieved and pulling you into a hug.

"Good. Because I couldn't handle losing you to him."

Little did you know, those spars you have with Yoo Joonghyuk everyday? Now turned into 2 vs 1, and let's just say, chaos is a new norm.

[gingeralecranberry]

PROLOGUE

𝟐-𝟎 ; 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 " 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 "

AND I’VE DONE IT ALL AGAIN

☺︎ cw:

mentions of death, snakes, mentions of snakes, yaga 🙂‍↕️

Masamichi Yaga. Grade 1 sorcerer, fledgling teacher.

He hadn't been on a mission in a long time, too busy settling into his new job. Of course, he should've been grateful his superiors gave him a grace period at all. The shortage of sorcerers didn't affect the demand for their services. Whether he was in front of a chalkboard or a horrifying amalgam of nightmares, humans would feel their negative emotions. Those emotions would fester. Curses would keep being born and the godforsaken cycle would go on. He knew he'd be returning to the frontlines sooner rather than later.

Still, reclining against the beige leather seats of the Black Sedan, his mind kept recounting the details of the assignment like a mantra. Reports suggested the presence of a grade 1 curse, large, menacing, but most importantly, dangerous.

They'd only really caught a glimpse of the slippery beast from afar. Estimated to be approximately 30 feet in length and an ugly brown, it resembled a three-headed cobra with cracked, spotty scales and slimy skin. Worse yet, the underside of the cobra's hood was dotted with all-consuming, beady, black eyes that looked like mini blackholes boring through cursed flesh. The entity had been reported and registered a few days prior. At the time, there weren't any qualified sorcerers available to exorcize it.

At least, there hadn't been until now.

Brushing his thumb curiously across the unkempty stubble on his chin, he watched the scenery of Okinawa roll past the window. Unfurling like a pop-up storybook, the rural countryside this close to the shore was gorgeous. Clear, sun-bleached skies sparsely brushed with the dreamiest clouds. Greenery lay tranquil across the soil like a warm blanket, occasionally swaying in the wing. Solemnly, he noted even the happiest places on earth weren't completely free from curses.

"Yaga? Are you listening?"

"Sorry."

With his thoughts interrupted, he turned his attention back to the car he was in. It was extremely clean, polished leather gleaming and the freshly vacuumed floors soft underneath the sole of his shoe. Still, it reminded him too much of a showroom; empty, only temporarily idyllic.

The supervisor, a young brunette with sunburnt skin and a decently stocky build, only shrugged at him in response. "Eh, I get it. I'm used to sorcerers ignoring me most of the time anyways."

Yage shook his head, recollecting his focus on the back of the driver's leather jacket. "No, I'm sure it was important. I'm listening now."

Manato Inoue, his supervisor, seemed to brighten up, "Just some basic mission details, you didn't miss much." His left-hand haphazardly slapped his turn signal, "The curse was actually born a few miles away from where it is right now. Weird right?" The older man in the car grunted in response. "Well, even weirder, when it managed to get out into a more populated area, it didn't attack anyone. Eventually, after a day or so of observation, it became a low priority case."

"..."

Unbothered by his passenger's silence, he continued, "Then, out of the blue, it just kinda... I don't know, snapped?"

"...snapped?"

"Yeah, it's a tragedy really, from what I heard, the running theory is that the curse has some kind of trigger," once again the quiet 'click!' of the turn signal locking back into place toyed with the silence in the air. "It struck in a residential area, small family lived there. It's confirmed the father is dead, he was found on the front lawn and his wife was a few feet away on the porch. The youngest is presumed dead, too. So far, we only have hope for the oldest son."

Yaga nodded thoughtfully, "He was at school, right?"

Inoue hummed, eyes trained on the path in front of him. The asphalt road was starting to thin, smooth material replaced with the rough grain of gravel on his wheels. The further they drove, the narrower the path became. "He hasn't been seen at home today, we're hoping he went to a friend's house to study or something."

"Poor kid, Okinawa schools were going to close for summer soon."

"Correct," the car jumped as one of the front wheels rolled over a particularly large bump, "That's why we're hoping he left to study, he's probably got a lot of tests lined up and ready."

"Thank you, Inoue," Yaga mumbled, "The heads-up is much appreciated."

The older man caught a glimpse of the driver's cheeky grin and lax disposition in the rearview mirror, "Hey, don't thank me, you're the one that's about to risk your life."

"Still," Yaga insisted, "I'll be a lot more prepared this way. You could be saving my neck."

"Hey now," the supervisor countered, "don't get sentimental on me!" His lips parted to reveal a much more flustered smile. He cleared his throat, "The house is just around the corner, it's about time you put your game face on, get in the zone or what have you. If you die, I won't have anyone to talk to anymore."

The car turned off the gravel path, worn dirt tracks the only sign anybody had gone the same way beforehand. The men were faced with a seemingly endless menagerie of flora, thick and woven together like a barrier.

"That's... weird. I don't remember any details like that from the report."

Still, realizing the car had little to no chance of threading the needle and making it through the shrubbery, Inoue slowed to a stop a few meters away from the web of plants.

Upon closer inspection, the twist and tangle of the branches was anything but natural. They molded into one another, fusing trees and continuing to grow into one giant misshapen lump. The leaves didn't add much to the barricade, maybe decoration. Largely, the construct consisted of uncanny angles and ugly interlocking.

Already, Yaga could feel something bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. Something was horribly wrong.

Inoue, on the other hand, exited the car without hesitation, heading for the trunk of his trusty Sedan.

With a healthy dose of trepidation, Yaga began to follow suit. Prying himself from the comfort and safety of the vehicle, it felt like he'd gotten a brick thrown straight at his sternum. Almost immediately, he could feel his lungs squeeze, shriveling up as he struggled to intake air. His heart jumped into his throat, bobbing up and down his neck. The air was musky, ripe with cursed energy. Despite his own rather large reserves of cursed energy, the sheer density of the concentration sent his thoughts spiraling away with the abysmal fog.

"-aga, Yaga!"

He jumped, finally coming around after his supervisor's large, calloused hand landed squarely on his shoulder.

"Geez, you're really out of it today," Elbowing him in the side, Manato tacked on a sarcastic remark to try and lighten the mood, "You need to get out of your office more, you look like you're losing it."

With the muck clouding his senses beginning to retreat to the edges of his vision, he assessed the situation at hand. Quickly, he noted the horde of cursed corpses bundled up in his chauffer's arms. His eyes landed on one in particular. Cathy, a round mint green stuffed animal. The top of her head was peculiarly bald, framed with a blue fuzz. Yaga flicked his fingers, watching as his creations began to stir.

Inoue hummed, letting the various strange looking dolls crawl out of his arms, "Well, are you ready?"

Yaga glanced back at the opening, hoping to snatch a glance at the house hidden within. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Like a switch had flipped, the other man wiped the carefree smile off his face and retired his normally laidback attitude. Closing his eyes, two fingers raised adjacent to his heart, he began to lower the veil.

"Emerge from darkness blacker still, purify that which is impure."

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten

masterlist ☓

[severus-snaps]

Densaugeo and Hermione and Snape

So, once again I find myself reading through Snape reddit threads but I don't really use reddit and they're years old so I'm importing it here. I'm tripping into Snape apologism territory here but also sort of not - yes, a teacher insulting a 14yo girl's appearance would be devastating and inexcusable irl but it's not irl - and it's these potential theories I'm interested in :P

Is it out of character for Snape, who never anywhere else in the books touches on people's appearances, to insult Hermione's appearance?

How likely is it that it's a misunderstanding or deliberate double entendre (aka he appears to be insulting Hermione's appearance but is actually saying to Harry/Ron, you just did the same thing to Goyle)?

And do we think it was part of his cover to be more cruel than usual in front of Draco, either by deliberately choosing a sentence to be interpreted either way, or intending it to sound mean?

I've covered some of my workings below the cut, but I don't reach any conclusions other than he probably was being more cruel for practical reasons, rather than for his own amusement, in this scene. As always, I just like talking to people about these things so if anyone wants to drop a comment then I'm here for it :P

I started with Snape is really at his worst in GOF but touched on a few others, too. Some of the arguments I've seen that interested me were these:

Snape has only once in seven books made a remark about anyone's appearance, which was following the teeth hex with Hermione

Snape was mocked in school for his own appearance - and mocked again in PoA by the Marauders Map for being an ugly, abnormally large-nosed slimeball etc, and mocked at home for being weird-looking (e.g. by Petunia). Harry/Sirius/others fairly regularly comment on Snape's unpleasant appearance, from his hair to his teeth to his skin. In short, he's not really set up to be in a position to be commenting on other people's appearances - and indeed, he generally doesn't

Snape tends to show his enjoyment when he enjoys an insult - he smirks, smiles, etc, when he's insulting Harry sometimes, or James, and even Umbridge for example you get the idea he's having a good time with the ironic bow - but he didn't here. He's described as looking at her 'coldly'. Usually he just ignores her until she speaks out of turn in class

It was potentially a misunderstanding? He's saying "I see no difference" to Ron's insistence that Draco did something wrong, when Goyle's just been sent to the hospital wing looking like something out of a book on poisonous fungi. Neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor get points docked until Ron and Harry start shouting (probably swear words) at him.

This post (or one of the comments in it) also argued that it's out of character; Snape insults Harry's character several times, but usually he's insulting people's abilities, intelligence, or behaviour, not their appearance (since he values those things, but not necessarily his/others' appearance)

Karkaroff says "It’s [the Dark Mark] been getting clearer and clearer for months" at the Yule Ball, and so is Snape's "Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too" [emphasis mine]

Densaugeo-gate happens in mid-November, so Snape knows Voldemort is likely to return by this point, with several months' warning

The teeth incident happens in front of a few children of known DEs, most notably Draco Malfoy, whose father will hear about this - probably several times:

PS: “But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d—” CoS: "… everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick ��� ” “You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. ... “The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger — ” “I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy. "I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job - I’ll tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir" POA: “God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him —” GoF: Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words “my father” were distinguishable.

Everything - from Hermione's grades to Harry's antics, up to and including the teachers' behaviour, punishments, and classes - is reported back to Lucius Malfoy, especially as it relates to Harry. A scenario in which Draco and Harry duel one another in the corridor and that isn't met by sufficient retaliation from Snape will make it back to Lucius, whether he cares to hear about it a dozen times or not. Lucius already knowing about all of Hermione's exam grades is interesting - how did Draco know? Did Snape tell Lucius directly when asked? I can't see Draco asking Hermione; I can see Hermione bragging talking about it. I'd love to know.

So what does it matter if Lucius hears about this incident? Well, he's widely known by Arthur Weasley and his kids, and therefore probably plenty of other people, as being in Voldemort's 'inner circle' as early as CoS:

“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know- Who’s inner circle.” (Fred, CoS)

Snape obviously knows; Lucius was probably the one who got him involved. Lucius probably had some level of influence or control over Snape even back when Snape was in school, or in his early DE days:

OotP: “Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he’s delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?” (Sirius)

lapdog: a small pampered pet dog | a person or organization that is influenced or controlled by another

Snape as a pampered pet:

I've seen some metas discussing this in terms of Ancient Roman society and patrons, in terms of 'fagging', and in terms of Lucius shaping Snape from a poor, jerky, twitching teen to a poor, jerky, twitching man who tried to hide it beneath a soft-spoken, well-spoken, cool air - modelling himself after Lucius. Snape was almost literally taken under the wing of Prefect Lucius Malfoy the moment he was Sorted. He probably learnt from his "old friend" to affect membership in the Pureblood/upper class - and did so well enough to shock Bellatrix when she first saw Spinner's End (and she never insults him for being half-blood, which she does to Harry, despite hating Snape).

In any case, Snape probably owed a lot to Lucius. He likely had a level of control over Snape, both through his existing personal relationship with him as a mentor-mentee ("old friend" at best) or abusive ("lapdog" at worst; see 'fagging') relationship. Until the end of CoS, Lucius had a hand in running the school on the Board of Governors, and had enough power/fear with the rest of the Board to remove Dumbledore, never mind mere mortals like Snape if he stuck a toe out of line. And even when Lucius was gone from Hogwarts, he retained strong ties in the Ministry, sharing a Quidditch box with Fudge, and evidently having at least a few conversations with Umbridge:

"I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you!"

So we can infer that Lucius thinks Snape is as dedicated to The Cause as he is. Even Draco remains convinced of this in later books, before Snape has cemented his position by killing Dumbledore, but even after Snape has usurped Lucius' position as Voldemort's right-hand man:

"[Snape's] a double agent, you stupid old man [Dumbledore], he isn’t working for you, you just think he is!"

[Draco likes/trusts Snape] “much less since his father has lost favour. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”

Prior to Lucius' demotion/imprisonment era, Lucius clearly outranks Snape. Lucius is one of the most trusted DEs during VW1; only Lucius and Bellatrix are trusted enough to keep his Horcruxes safe (Lucius the diary, and Bellatrix the cup). Lucius was also supposed to be in charge of the battle for the department of mysteries, Voldemort's year-in-the-making plan, but obviously... that didn't go to plan, in the end.

But there's quite a rushed trajectory of Lucius' fall and Snape's ascent. The battle happens in late June 1996, Lucius is imprisoned, and not released for another year - during which time, Snape is rising, until he ultimately kills Dumbledore and is at the top. Still, he's not trusted with too much information; despite being at Hogwarts, he doesn't know the location or existence of the Horcruxes (unlike Lucius and Bellatrix, even if they didn't know what they were), and Voldemort doesn't allow Snape to see him enter Dumbledore's tomb.

Anyway, what with Bellatrix and other DEs not trusting Snape:

"Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you’ve lived in Dumbledore’s pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Sorcerer’s Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?" ... "You can carry my words back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord!"

What has Snape been doing all these years that he's lived in Dumbledore’s pocket?

Well, tormenting Gryffindors, for one. Tormenting Harry Potter and to a slightly lesser extent, his friends. Not all of it was tied to his cover - Snape was just a bitch with a bad classroom manner, no love of children, high expectations, and a short fuse. But if it helped, in the early months of his Mark darkening again, to become a bit more cruel to Muggleborns and Harry, then why wouldn't he - especially in front of Draco? He knew that soon - whether it be in a few months, a few days, or even a few hours, he was going to have to walk back into Voldemort's fold and pray to god he wasn't killed on sight for abandoning the cause. With others whispering behind his back - bold of them, since the ones left to whisper are largely people who escaped Azkaban, but it's a crab bucket being a Death Eater - he'd need a benefactor. A trusted servant, like Lucius, to back him up. "No, no, Snape's been tormenting Potter for years - Draco says so. He'll tell anyone on the Board who stands still for long enough how useless Potter is. Oh, he says he's Dumbledore's man, but when the old coot's back is turned, he insults that Mudblood Granger."

It wouldn't be much use to Snape if his Occlumency said one thing (I'm still a loyal Death Eater) but his actions said another (he's perfectly jovial to all students), especially as Snape is just not...a jovial person to begin with. He's got a nasty streak as a teen that Voldemort probably would've encouraged in the Dark Arts. Half of the Order were Gryffindors and half (or more than half) of the Death Eaters were Slytherins.

Also Lorrie Kim's books has some really nice observations about how his behaviour (in terms of his personality, loyalties, how he appears) really starts to contradict his core values in GoF especially.

Anyway, once again I don't have a conclusion, I just had thoughts, based around these again:

Is it out of character for Snape, who never anywhere else in the books touches on people's appearances, to insult Hermione's appearance?

How likely is it that it's a misunderstanding or deliberate double entendre (aka he appears to be insulting Hermione's appearance but is actually saying to Harry/Ron, you just did the same thing to Goyle)?

And do we think it was part of his cover to be more cruel than usual in front of Draco, either by deliberately choosing a sentence to be interpreted either way, or intending it to sound mean?

i feel like i've set anyone who read this far along homework :P one foot of parchment, on my desk by Friday

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 15

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: angst, survivor's trauma, smut, FLUFF chapter map

-You stay together for a few days in the hotel in town to recover from your ordeal. Burns, Paul’s slashed arm, a possible concussion, raw scrapes at your wrists and ankles, and the lacerations upon your back that you feel sharply every time you move. A persistent cough dogs you without mercy, your lungs raw from smoke and the pure heat you’d endured in the inferno. 

Anjélica is able to slip away once to check on you. She tells you that Las Nubes has fallen into chaos. No body was ever recovered from the ruins of the house, but it was such an inferno that there’s no conceivable possibility don Juan survived. You hug your sister tearfully, certain you’ll never be able to return to your childhood home again. You do not know how your misadventure will pan out for the rest of your family, living in the shadow of the Aragóns.

When doña Maria sends a representative to your door to make noises about murder and arson, you tell them you’ll be glad to tell the world in court about what depraved things her son Juan Aragón y Espinosa did to you. The papers will eat up every sordid detail. To people like the Aragóns, saving face is everything. It would be their worst nightmare. 

They went away, and you haven’t heard from them again. 

You are sure they will rebuild, and the winery will go on, eventually under Juan’s younger brother, Pedro, who has been away at school. 

You have mixed feelings about Juan’s death. 

A part of you mourns the loss of your childhood companion. The more logical part of you insists that there was nothing left of that boy in the prideful monster Juan became. He fully intended to destroy you for the sake of his own ego, one way or another. He left you to die, and you should feel nothing for him. 

You always thought you would have been burned as a witch in an earlier century. 

You never imagined it was a fate you might actually face in the present time, had your sister, Paul, and the Veterans, bless them all, not banded together to save you. 

Now you and Paul have harrowing nightmares about your pasts, together. You cling to each other at night in your little room, taking turns soothing the other. 

What a pair you make. 

Paul helps change the dressings upon your shoulders. Some of it will heal, but you will be scarred for the rest of your life by what Juan did. You watch Paul work in the mirror, see the dismay upon his handsome features as he peels back your bandages. The wretched words fall from your lips before you can stop them: “Am I ugly?” 

His touch upon you freezes for a moment, taken aback by the vehemence of your outburst. 

You’re afraid that’s your answer, until he asks a question back: “Do you think my scar is ugly?” 

He surely means the long raised cicatrice that stretches the entire length of his abdomen, a souvenir from war shrapnel that nearly took his life in France. You turn in his arms on the bed to look at it, for he is shirtless behind you, only wearing blue-striped boxer shorts and a bandage around his upper arm, every inch your battered war-hero. Your heart is filled with so much love you fear it might explode, and you climb into his lap with your arms around his shoulders.  

“Of course not,” you answer without falter.  

“Why not?” His hands on your waist anchor you, pulling you closer. There’s no where you feel safer, as though finally you’ve found the place where you belong. You cup his face in your hands, tracing those high cheekbones with your thumbs. His eyes are liquid pools filled with so much earnest yearning–this man is so good, so valiant, so true, and you don’t know what you did to deserve him. 

“Because…I love every part of you, Paul Sutton. I love you.” Realizing the magnitude of this admission, you start to cry, but then somehow, you start to laugh too, ducking to hide in the bend of his neck “I’m so sorry.” 

“For what?” he asks through his own tears and laughter, flummoxed by joy and squeezing you carefully in his strong arms.    

“For…everything. For being me. For what happened. For getting you involved–”

He effectively shuts you up with his mouth on yours, a bone-melting kiss that renders you soft and pliant in his arms. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he insists with his forehead pressed to yours. “I would only change…that you got hurt.” 

You’ve never really talked about Juan’s demise, and the parts the two of you played in it. You find that your only remorse in that moment…is that you have no remorse. 

You kiss him again, a lingering lock of lips that feels like offering up a piece of your soul to this man. You feel him smiling against your mouth, and for the umpteenth time you think your heart will burst. 

“Will you say it again?” he asks, so shyly with such a sparkle in his dark eyes. He is breathtaking beyond words, and in that moment you don’t know how you haven’t told him, every day and every hour. 

You never told him what you said to Juan to earn the worst part of your thrashing–you never intend to, you know he would just feel guilty, and that is not a weight you intend to lay on his shoulders, when he already carries so much. But you know what you said that night is true. This man owns you–in the way two puzzle pieces meet, or a lock that has finally found its long lost key–and incredibly…you are fine with that now. There is a freedom in this acceptance of the truth that makes you absolutely giddy inside.  

“I love you.” You say it again, and again, between kisses and running your hands over his form you adore so well. He shudders as your nails graze his scalp and your hips press into his, finding him at full attention between you. Suddenly what little clothing you’re wearing is too much between you. Yet he catches your hands when you reach for the buttons of his shorts. 

“Sweetheart…I want to,” he sighs raggedly. “I want you so much, but you’re hurt, and I–” 

You kiss him again, merciless in your sudden need to devour him whole and lick the bones clean. It’s amazing, how desire acts as such an effective painkiller.  “I’ll be fine. I will not be fine, if I can’t have you inside me.” 

He laughs, that beautiful, unassuming sound that fills you with sunlight. “Honey…” 

“Come here.” He lets you–of course he lets you, you could not budge this strapping man without his cooperation–nudge him over until he can lay back on the bed, and you can straddle his hips. As you undo his buttons you can tell Paul is fighting a war with himself, torn between need and worry. Taking off your brassiere helps slightly–you can’t help but grin with a bit of wickedness as a small sound escapes him, looking up at you. 

“Y/n…” 

“I’m alright,” you tell him gently. “Because of you. Let me thank you.” You feel the burn in your back, the sharp ache as you stretch your skin to lean down to press your lips to his scar, but you have no intention of stopping. 

“You don’t need to thank me…” His breath hitches, his fingers tangling in your hair as you brush the velvety tip of his manhood with your chin 

“I want to. I want to be close to you.” 

That much he agrees with, and you watch him nod, eyes half-lidded, before taking him into your mouth. 

Though he clearly loves it, his head thrown back into the bedclothes, he only lets you savor him for a little while before he tugs gently on your hair, urging you up, needing you too, guiding you with those big hands on your hips until you are sinking onto his thick length, and the both of you see stars. 

“Go slow,” he cautions you sheepishly. “Or I’ll lose it.”

You are so pent up with desire and emotion that you know you won’t last long either. You savor the delicious stretch of him inside you, riding him slowly with your breasts in your hands, his thumb on your ripe little clit driving you mad. He brings you like the sun cresting the horizon, a warm and bright pleasure that fills your center and spreads through your bones. You know he holds on by a thread as your greedy cunt milks every last drop of golden ecstasy from him, his strong fingers digging into your hips with a moan. Breathless, you take mercy on him, uncoupling to take him in your mouth once more. The taste of him spilling upon your tongue is divine–his throaty moans the most wonderful sound. 

With a satisfied sigh you curl up beside him, resting your cheek on his ribs, shuddering for his featherlight fingers tracing over your hair, careful of your shoulders. That disbelieving laughter you love so much draws your attention back up to him, finding him looking down at you with so much joy shining in those lovely dark eyes. 

Not for the first time, you think he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” you answer with a smile, and in that happy moment you know you are equally blessed and ruined. 

The latter, you are finally ready to accept with an open heart.  

___

epilogue to follow...

[mask131]

If you want to have a folk-authentic vampire... (2)

Here's more elements taken from various folklores, legends and historical "cases"! Another melting-pot...

Other conditions and events that predisposed one into becoming a vampire: being a "criminal" (by this understand - prostitutes, thief or pyromaniacs) ; a child dead before being baptized (overlaps with stillborn infant) ; to be born on a holiday day ; those born with a placenta colored red ; the "unbelievers" (by the Christian sense - in typical Christian xenophobia of old, Jews, Muslims and atheists were all considered "doomed" by default) ; those born with a tail (you know, when there's a sort of tail-leftover out of genetic defect) ; children who stopped being breast-fed THEN were breast-fed again ; people born on a Saturday or Sunday, and "bastards of the third generation", understan the illegitimate son of an illegitimate son of an illegitimate son.

Those who, after dying, had a cat, a bird, an "ugly/dirty" creature or even the shadow of one of those beasts passing over their corpse, are likely to turn into a vampire. There's also a strange legend about how homosexuals could turn into vampires - mixed with somehow how they also changed their gender every month due to their unnatural desires?

In Bulgarian folklore, a vampire starts out as a shadow. It is commonly thought that when someone who dies cannot access to the afterlife for one reason or another, their soul lingers on earth, wandering under the shape of a shadow. If they are not set free after forty days, they become a vampire as the shadow gains a skin and a sanguine system with blood (but the vampire lacks both flesh and bones). The vampire will then start drinking the blood of cattle, more rarely attack humans, and mainly visit their next of kin to frighten them regularly.

Remember when I said in Romanian folklore vampires had a short, furry tail? Well, while sometimes it is found by their back, like a regular tail, other times it is under thir left armpit.

While usually in vampire legends the undead leaves its grave every night and returns before the rooster's song, in some local variations the vampire only gets out of its tomb every Saturday, or during specific times of the year (for example they are sometimes said to get out of their grave on the eve of Saint Andrew' Day).

Vampires sometimes were said to wait for their victims by crossroads, attacking passerbies, wanderers and night-travellers ; usually they were dressed or wrapped in their own shroud.

Vampires were, as I said early on, confused with werewolves, and with the "nightmare beings" (night hags). But the vampire myth also overlaped with the witch myth. Witches and warlocks were said to become vampires after dying ; in some countries the local word for vampire has etymological roots with the denomination of witches ; and generally all the disasters caused by vampires were also commonly attributed to witches. Like them, they caused plagues and storms. Like them they caused sterility and famine by stealing the life-force of cattle and of plants growing in fields. Vampires were also said to steal milk, just like witches did: it was said they took the shape of cats to drink milk out of cow's udders, and once the milk ran out they tarted drinking the beat's blood. In Bulgaria, when priests distributed garlic on Easter mass, those that refused were considered to be either vampires or witches.

Some vampire variations in the Balkans/Silesia were said to each night go at the top of the bell-tower of the village and ring the bell: all those that heard the sound were doomed to die.

Other "local recipes" to prevent someone from becoming a vampire, or blocking an active vampire: piling up rocks on the grave, tie with ropes the hands or feet, to cut off the Achilles' tendon, or to place thorns under the corpse's tongue (it apparently prevents the vampire from sucking blood). Near the Aegean Sea is was a custom to place corpses suspected to be a vampire on a lonely rock by the sea - for vampires were said there to be unable to cross salted water (a belief which ties in with more common beliefs of inland Europe about vampires being repelled by salt, or unable to cross running water).

In Greek folktales, it was said one could only trust a vampire's word if they swore by their shroud.

In Bulgaria, men born on Sunday were said to have the power to identify and kill vampires - usually by stabbing them or shooting them until the undead lost all of its blood.

[queensunshinee]

a cool idea for a blurb would be to see the two of them dealing with the lack of attention/jealousy they had towards Liana when she was dating that guy Jake

ps: the best of all is that probably at that time they still didn't really know how they felt about her, so even they didn't understand why they were so bothered by the fact that she had a boyfriend 🤭

I love it sooo much they are soo petty and mean it's WILD

"Have you spoken with Sarah recently? Liana hasn't come at all since Patrick and I arrived," Art asked his mother casually. Both woke up before everyone else and decided to have coffee together. He tried to make it sound as if it didn't really interest him. As if it wasn't strange that Liana hadn't contacted him for four days, even though they were only two blocks apart.

"Oh yes, I asked her why Liana isn't here at all because she hardly came to visit before, and we usually meet a bit, but she's busy with her new boyfriend," Christine replied, not taking her eyes off her son. Art swallowed and his eyes widened, unable to hide his surprise.

"What boyfriend?" He almost chuckled at the idea. "Someone she studies with at school, but don't worry, I'm sure she'll come on Saturday for your birthday. It's a tradition," she smiled at him, noticing the small crease between his brows and wondering if he even understood why this news bothered him. "I'm not worried. Just surprised," he tried to dismiss it.

When he returned to the room, he woke up Patrick. He shook him so hard that Patrick nearly fell out of bed in response. "What's wrong with you?" he muttered, trying to open his eyes calmly. "Liana has a boyfriend!" Art said dramatically, seeing Patrick wake up in an instant, almost jumping out of bed himself.

"No way." Patrick felt his heart pounding. She would have told him. She would have told him if she had a boyfriend. "My mom just told me. That's why she hasn't come to visit yet," Art's jaw moved slightly uncontrollably as he paced the room, unable to calm down. Patrick rolled his eyes because Art's reaction was ridiculous. "There's no way she has a boyfriend. You know Liana. She's too quiet for a boyfriend. She's too good of a girl," Patrick said, not knowing who he was trying to convince, Art or himself. He couldn't believe this was happening to him; he comes once a year, and Liana doesn't care because of some random guy?

"What's his name?" Patrick asked. "I don't know, why?" Art returned, rolling his eyes. "To look him up on Facebook, duh," Patrick smacked his forehead as if he was an idiot. He didn't have time to explain everything to him. They needed to figure out who Liana was hanging out with instead of hanging out with them. Instead of eating ice cream with them. Instead of lying on an inflatable mattress in Art's pool. "She'll come on Saturday, ask her then." Art rolled his eyes again. He lay down on the bed and bounced a tennis ball, trying to organize his thoughts. It didn't bother him at all. She can do whatever she wants. She wants to play family with some loser from her school? That's her right. She wants not to see them all summer for that? She can do whatever she wants. It didn't bother him. At all.

Turns out it did bother him. Because they came together on Saturday. And if you ask Art, he would say it's rude. Because it's his birthday, and he didn't invite her ugly boyfriend. He doesn't know her boyfriend, who made no effort to introduce himself. He also knows that Patrick thinks the same thing. Art also realized that Patrick and Liana talk on the phone and overall, his birthday was completely ruined. He doesn't understand why it bothers him so much. It shouldn't bother him. He comforts himself with the fact that it definitely bothers Patrick. That he's not crazy. That it's reasonable he doesn't like Liana's boyfriend because, well... Liana should have a nicer boyfriend. One who appreciates who has been her best friend all her life (so he decided. Liana would probably say otherwise).

Patrick considered murdering Jake. Assassinating him. He thought about drowning him in the pool. He tried to find flaws in him all evening and couldn't. The main flaw was that he clung to Liana's hand like a leech. Not letting her move away from him. Possessive bastard. Why does she need such obsessive behavior around her?

As usual, Liana and her parents stayed after everyone left, causing Liana to go to the guest house, where Patrick and Art usually hung out when Patrick arrived, and they wanted to smoke. "What's up?" she asked with a wide smile, happy to have a moment to say hello to Patrick properly. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she could even tolerate Art's presence now. She missed him a bit too. "Whoa, it's not a bird, it's not a plane, it's Liana Levy," Patrick tried to be amused, but he was angry at her. "In the flesh," she sat down, unaware that neither of them was in their usual mood. "Your boyfriend seems charming..." Patrick said, trying to keep it light. "Why are you lying to her?" Art said sharply, looking at her with a piercing gaze.

"Excuse me?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. "He kissed you in front of your dad, and I heard what your dad thought about it," Art lied. It was a white lie in his eyes because he knew what her dad thought about it. Unlike the little shit she was dating, he really knew her dad.

"What is your problem?" she asked. "There's no problem, Liana, you found new friends, so why are you here?" Art stood up. "You coming?" he asked Patrick, who was in shock. Liana was also in shock. Art had never talked to her like this. Even when they were little kids and fought, it was always with a tone of amusement and words they could easily take back.

Art was trying to hurt her. Art was trying to make her feel what she made him feel that evening when he found out she was talking to Patrick on the phone occasionally, that she had a boyfriend, that she preferred to be in touch with everyone but, well...him. "In a bit..." Patrick replied, swallowing.

While Art didn't understand why he was reacting the way he was, Patrick understood perfectly. They both felt in jail right now. They both felt like Liana cut them off from receiving attention for a complete stranger who allowed himself to kiss her in front of her dad. Who behaves like that?! for God's sake. "What's his deal? Why is he more of an idiot than usual?" she asked, furrowing her brows as Art walked away from them. "His birthday didn't go as planned..." Patrick replied, trying to maintain his usual composure. Indifference with a touch of humor. That's what Liana liked about him; he was easygoing and nice. He wouldn't lose that over her without a visible reason. "He should take the stick out of his ass, and maybe it would go as planned," she said louder, hoping Art would hear.

"How are you, Li? I haven’t seen you at all since I got here," Patrick tried to change the subject, giving her a light smack on the shoulder, trying to make her feel a bit guilty. "I'm sorry. With all the arrangements for Stanford and Jake, I just haven't found time to say hi," she smiled, a genuine smile. "Hi," he said, keeping a sincere smile. Truly happy to see her. Really wanting her to stay a bit longer. "Hi, how’s your summer?" she replied. "Not as good as yours, that's for sure," he said with a smirk on his face. "Oh, fuck off," she rolled her eyes.

"No, seriously. You have a boyfriend now. You’re all serious and mature," Patrick continued. "What's his name?" he asked as if he didn't know. "Jake. His name is Jake. Can you leave him alone?" she started to lose patience with the two boys she was used to spending every summer with, but this time they were acting terribly. "He has a very impressive smile, I see what you find in him," he said. Patrick hated his smile. He smiled too much and it looked insincere. "Thanks, I'll make sure he adds a line about his smile to his resume," she rolled her eyes and stood up, officially done with this conversation. "Also tell him that the polite thing to do is to say hello to the birthday boy," Patrick said, knowing he sounded petty. "I didn't know you had a birthday, Pat. I'll remember for next year." She started to walk away from him, and he didn't try to stop her. Feeling his summer slipping away and ruined even before her and Art's move to Stanford.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" she asked Art, who just sat cross-legged by the pool. "For what?" he asked, slowly shifting his gaze to her. "For being a jerk, for instance?" she replied. Not knowing why it bothered her so much and why she was reacting like this to these stupid boys. "Liana, you brought a complete stranger to my birthday and ignored me all evening. Now you care about how I behave? By the way, stop calling my best friend for no reason, it's pathetic," he looked at her with a raised eyebrow, not looking away for a moment. Shooting words without thinking. "I didn't ignore you all even-" she started, seeing his gaze darken. "You know what? Go to hell, Art. Really." She rolled her eyes. "Great, at least there I won't see your face." he retorted, not looking away. "Wow, Art. Happy birthday. You’re an asshole, and I hope that for your birthday, you choke on cake to death, and I’ll have the chance to write that on your grave." She walked away from him too, just wanting to get home.

A week later, she broke up with Jake. She didn’t talk to Patrick and Art until the end of the summer, no matter how much they tried to get in touch. She decided to forgive them only two weeks into the school year at Stanford when she had no choice and felt lonely.

Rebecca once told her that boys will be boys, Right?

Send me more requests, it's really fun to write those. anything you wish to fiil the gap about my fav trio is more than welcome in my inbox <3

taglist:

@suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[angel-tsugikuni-kamukura]

Manhwa's I have read this year

Pink means it's my favourite ones.

The remarried empress

Men of harem

Lady and the beast.

Royal Shop of Young Lady.

Forget My Husband I'Il Go Make Money.

I Want To Become The Emperor, So I Need A Divorce.

I tamed my ex husband's madog.

The Villainess Debuts Gorgeously.

I Will Fall With The Emperor.

I Failed To Throw The Villain Away.

your regrets mean nothing to me.

Bastian.

my in-laws are obsessed with me.

A Divorce evil lady bakes cake.

The price of braking up.

The tree are living a married life.

Dangerous Fiancée.

My Husband is a antisocial count.

Baked by the barones.

Who kidnapped the empress.

the villainess tames the beast.

if you desire my despair.

the abandoned princess secret Bedroom.

The Mistress Runs away.

It's not your child.

The monstrous dukes adopted daughter.

The Saintes returns as a vilian.

Regina Rena.

You never meet a villainess like me.

Tru education.

As the Villainess I rejected these happy bad endings.

The archduke gorgeous wedding was a fraud.

I will take the dutchy from today.

Isn't being a wicked woman much better.

Flirting with the villain's dad.

Goddess emila wants to escape.

My goal is to achieve success on my own

I refuse to be executed a second time.

Romance is dead.

I'm devorsed but I'm a chaebol.

I'm in trouble because my husband is so cute.

I'm the queen in this life.

Go away romeo.

Janice.

If you want a fake sister.

I'm being raised by villain's.

I'm the fake saintess but the gods are obsessed with me.

The heat of the reincarnated villainess.

Attic princess.

The older sister of a maniac.

I thought it was a common Isekai story.

The abandoned bachelorette enjoys her simple life.

Love doesn't matter.

I've become the villainous emperor.

The way to protect the female leads older brother.

I have become the heroes rival.

Death is The only ending for the villainess.

Who made me a princess.

Marriage of Convenience:95

Royal marriage.

Aidin.

The Obsessive second male lead has gone wild.

I am the real one.

I don't love you anymore.

I'm ingaged to the Obsessive male lead.

Lies become you.

You go marry my husband.

How to get my husband on my side.

Empress simulation.

I'll be the matriarch in this life.

The dukes dark lady.

In to the light once again.

My body has been possessed by someone.

Depths of malice

Becoming the villain's family.

My destiny to be the hero's saviour.

The real daughter is back.

A noble pirate.

The world without my sister.

I'm devorseing my tyrant husband.

Even if I'm the villainess I'll become the heroine.

Beast's Flower.

Once Wicked always wicked.

Ashtarte.

Crownless queen.

I thought I didn't have long to live.

I tamed a Tyrant and Ran Away.

Beloved in-laws.

The villainess revenge.

Your Majesty please don't kill me again.

And Unseemly lady.

Baby tryant.

The tyrant wants to be good.

I will politely decline the male lead.

I'm the villainess but so famous.

Crazy princess renia.

The gangster baby of the dukes.

Surving as an illegitimate child.

It's useless to hang on.

Empress cesia wears shorts.

Of all things i became a crow.

No more turning a blind eye.

I became the Ugly lady.

A Stepmother's Marche.

While you are in love.

Devine inconvenience.

After I cured his insomnia, Tyrant became Obsessive.

Revenge is sweeter than honey.

My Unexpected Marriage.

From Duty to Devotion.

Hated It Even More.

I'm to lazy to be the villainess.

The tyrant princess wants to get married.

Stella the star princess.

Please support my revenge.

Reasons to Protect the Witch's son.

The Reason Why The Twin Lady Crossdresses.

Why Do You Love Me When Refuse Your Request.

Finding Camilla.

I Don't Want to Be Loved.

The Villainess has Fun.

Surviving as an Obsessed Servant.

A Saintess adopted by the grand Duke.

I Adopted a Villainous dad.

No Place for the Fake Princess.

Villainess need a Tyrant.

Tamed a blackened slave.

Princess hundreds ways of martyrdom.

A Perfect Ending of the Villain.

Beast within.

I will seduce the male lead for my older brother.

I've become the true villainess.

I became the obsessive villain's babysitter.

I'll change my fate to be executed.

The tyrants tranquillizer.

Crow dutchess.

The Male Leaď's Nephew Loves Me So Much.

Falling for a Dying Princess.

I Am the Villain.

Why Do You Love Me When Refuse Your Request.

The betrayed queen is devoted to by the beautiful baron.

Baby Pharmacist Princess.

The Runaway Lead Lives Next Door.

The villains life l'Il live it once.

La Dolce Vita de Adelaide.

Why Would a Villainess Have Virtue.

My Childhood Friend Became an Obsessive Husband.

10 ways to get rejected by the tyrant.

I Became the Villainess in an Anticlimactic Novel.

To Those Who Long for My Destruction.

Becoming the obsessive male lead's ex-wife.

How to survive as a maid in a horror game.

the fake saint waits to leave.

Obsidian Bride.

Rosalyn Vogart.

Let's take a bath Duke.

The Precious Girl Does Not Shed Tears.

Father i don't want to get married.

The Priest Dreaming of a Dragon.

She No Longer Wields Her Sword.

I am the Male Lead’s Ex-Girlfriend.

Red Laurel Flowers to My Emperor.

I Became The Male Lead’s Female Friend.

Please Don’t Come To The Villainess’ Stationery Store.

In This Life, I Will Raise You Well, Your Majesty.

Vengeance from a Saint Full of Wounds.

The Duke’s Daughter is Going on Strike.

The daughter of evil.

The Villainous grand Duke sister.

Beware the Villainess.

A wicked tale of Cinderella's step mom.

The devil raised a lady.

Reborn As a Character That Never Existed.

The Precious Sister of the Villainous Grand Duke.

I Didn't Save You To Get Proposed To.

I took away the tyrant's virginity.

The dutchess has a death wish.

Heaven official's blessing.

I'm being chased by my husband.

Why she lives as a villainess.

I'll just live on as a villainess.

I created a harm to avoid the male lead.

I became the sultans precious cat.

I'm a villain but I saved the female lead.

I will divorce the female leads brother.

Let's live together.

I became the greatest heiress of the empire.

I raised my younger sister beautyfully .

I Accidentally Saved the Male Lead’s Brother.

I Didn’t Mean to Seduce the Male Lead.

Here reigns the vengeful villainess.

I Am Selling the Main Character’s Shares.

The villainess reverse hourglass.

The price is your everything.

I became the mother of the bloody male lead.

I think it would be better for me to become king.

The Villainess is a Marionette.

As My Husband Said, I Brought in A Lover.

How a Villainess Survives as a Saint.

The Empress Wants To Avoid the Emperor.

The glamours life of the fake mistress.

The villainess reverse hourglass.

I Will Take Responsibility for the Welfare of the Male Lead.

Cinderella Wasn’t Me.

The Crown Prince’s Fiancée.

Not-Sew-Wicked Stepmom.

Marriage Alliance for Revenge.

To My Husband’s Mistress.

The reason why raeliana ended up in the Dukes mansion.

Ennead.

[metalomagnetic]

I was re-reading Dissonance and I wanted to ask if Abraxas ever kept the poison chandelier? Like is it a treasured family heirloom? Or does Lucius just inherit it when his dad dies with no clue why they have this dangerous, tacky piece of decor he can't get rid of because Lord Voldemort vaguely complimented(?) it one time?

It's hilarious that you sent me this ask, while I am still laughing myself to tears (I just read your comment 1 minute ago).

-

The 'homoerotic chandelier' (I am STILL laughing, thank you, truly) is, of course, gaudy; just horrid, really, there's a reason no one was buying it, even with Tom's outstanding sale talents.

Being an impulse purchase (a horny purchase), Abraxas didn't think it through- how on earth will he explain this monstrosity to his father?

He hides it in the dungeons, knowing his father doesn't go there (draft and all).

After Tom disappears, Abraxas might, or might not, visit the dungeons to have a look at it from time to time. He sent hundreds of letters to Tom, but they all returned unopened, so he's convinced his enemy-lover is dead. His cold, tiny heart, is broken.

Once his dad finally dies, Abraxas moves the chandelier to Gringotts, wrapped in a secure box, in the hopes he won't have to think about it (Tom) anymore, if it isn't in his house. At first, he wanted to destroy it, but he couldn't make himself. (It's lucky he didn't try, because that was one CURSED chandelier that would have reacted poorly to violence).

A decade or so later, Lord Voldemort shows up.

Abraxas is furious (happy)! How dare that mudblood be even more powerful than when he left? (how dare Tom just show up, as if Abraxas didn't mourn for him, thought him dead, and grew stupidly attached to an ugly chandelier as a stand in for Tom?)

Everyone is playing this silly game, pretending not to recognise this is Tom Riddle. Abraxas cannot wait to actually meet him face to face and spit 'Riddle' at him; he is a Malfoy, Riddle doesn't scare him! Alas, before he can meet him, he hears old classmates are dropping dead all over the place (the only thing they had in common was that they knew the name Riddle) and he reconsiders. It's not that he's afraid (he's terrified), but he's just cautious. Yes, cautious. He determines is better to avoid Riddle (even if his broken, even tinier and colder heart longs to see him again).

But then his stupid son comes back with a horrid brand on his arm (he remembers Riddle doodling it in his schoolboy silly journal) and Abraxas is horrified. Furthermore, Rodolphus keeps saying Voldemort is unnaturally close to Lucius, that they have many one on one meetings, and Abraxas has had ENOUGH. So he goes to face Riddle and tell him to stay away from his son (he has no idea that once, long ago, his own father went to tell Tom to stay away from Abraxas. Apparently it's a Malfoy tradition, now.)

Anyway, things don't go as planned, Abraxas freezes when he sees what Riddle had done to his previously perfect face. He freezes when he feels the *power* emanating from him. He ends up pretending he doesn't recognise him.

It's a long and complicated story (really, it is) but eventually Abraxas invites Voldemort to the Manor ( to discuss Lucius, of course, no other reason. Not like Abraxas had decade long fantasies of bringing Riddle to his Manor and fucking him in the master bedroom or anything like that). On a whim, he has the chandelier brought back from Gringotts and hangs it in the dining room.

Riddle's new waxy, harsh face does something funny, shows some emotion for once, when he sees it. Abraxas is suddenly hot all over, but they attempt to talk normally until Lucius comes home, bows to Riddle ( the indignity! Lucius should only bow to Abraxas) and then, with a sneer, asks if Abraxas has lost his mind, what is that ugly chandelier doing in their lovely home?

The chandelier apparently doesn't take the insult in stride, and , with a thunder like noise, starts raining poison down on Lucius.

It's fine, in the end. Riddle was always good with spells of all kind, the arrogant mudblood, so he fixes Lucius up, and then sends him to get some rest.

The next morning, when Lucius stumbles out of his room, with a headache from the remaining after effects of the poison, he witnesses his lord getting out of his father's room.

He blinks. Once, twice. He rubs his eyes, frozen.

"You're hallucinating," Lord Voldemort tells him. "From the poison. Go back to bed."

Lucius decides that yes, he must be hallucinating (he dearly hopes so, because why else would he see the dark lord, robe not entirely buttoned up, leaving his father's room at dawn?), and he retreats to the safety of his room.

Another decade later, when his father dies, Lucius decides to leave the chandelier in place ( in his father's room, where it was moved after it assaulted Lucius). He thinks it's wiser not to mess with the thing. Besides, it seemed to matter quite a lot to his old man; Lucius swears his father loved that ugly monstrosity more than he ever loved Lucius.

--

Thank you so much for your comment, and you're at fault for this lengthy, cracky answer! I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

[dejwritesarchived]

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) ugly duckling zeke yeager return to campus looking better than ever and he’s back dealing with his biggest academic rival that want what he has.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, written with black reader in mind, college au, teacher assistant!zeke, grad student!reader, mean girl!reader, profanity, cumeating, mentions of alcohol drinking, academic rivals trope, zeke and his freakin’ daddy issues, hand job, spit usage, slight exhibitionism, they kinda do it at a party but it’s after the party, corruption kink (on both ends), tbh reader and zeke should just be happy and make out already, if i am 1 out of maybe 30 zeke simps i am okay with that, mentions of other aot characters, is this kinda self indulgent? yes, the marley men just have some flavor to them to me, entry for @poohbea 'once upon a collab' event, art credit

ANOTHER YEAR OF GRAD SCHOOL MEANT ANOTHER YEAR BEING AT THE TOP OF YOUR DEPARTMENT. You were in competition with yourself in academics, fashion, popularity, social status—you name it. You went from student body president during undergrad to the grad student that everyone could lean on when they needed something. That was until he returned to campus. The eldest son of infamous doctor Grisha Yeager—Zeke Yeager. He not only knocked you to number two in your department, but he also snatched your teacher assistant position right from you. Eventually, taking away that excellent bullet point on your resume. 

You felt frustrated that the opportunity even got snatched from your hands in the first place. Of course, the guy with the infamous doctor would get the position before you. You had to figure out how you could get back on top. You could torment him as you did during undergrad. No, that wouldn’t work. The way he was looking now—he wouldn’t fall for your tactic of inviting him out to drink and causing him to miss an exam. Maybe, cause a scandal within his family. His family does always seem to stay in the tabloids. No, that wouldn’t work. Their PR agent would have that buried before you could convince your professor to give you the teacher assistant position. 

“Are you going to this party tonight? Please don’t tell me you’re spending your Friday at home again,” Your friend asked as she tapped her manicured fingers on your kitchen top. “Everyone is going to be at this party, you know?” 

“Why would I want to be around drunk strangers? How does that benefit me at all?” You asked while letting your finger trace alongside the rim of your wine glass.

Your friend was here to convince you to come to this party just by her attire. You were sure she would be zooming to this party immediately after her poor attempt to get you to come out. You always told her not to let you rain on her parade. Go out and have fun; just be safe.

“What if I told you Eren Yeager is hosting it, and it’s at his family’s lovely home?” Your friend leaned over, smiling at you.

“I’m not interested in Eren Yeager. Do I look like one of those sophomores that easily let his man bun distract them on how much of a manwhore he is,” You sipped from your glass before you heard your friend drag out a sigh.

“If one brother is going to be there, obviously the other will be.” Your friend rolls her eyes at your obviously, not-smart thinking. “Perfect opportunity to talk to him to let you have the teacher assistant position. After all, it’s not like he will need it anyway. I’m sure daddy has a job lined up for both of his sons.” 

“I highly doubt he’ll be there. Doesn’t even seem like his scene,” You added. 

“You think he trusts his younger brother to throw a party in one of their family properties alone?”

You thought about it for a second. Hypothetically, this could be a perfect opportunity to convince him to step down from the position. Give him a couple of cups of alcohol and get to batting your eyelashes—this could work. 

“Fine, let me change into something else,” You finished your glass of wine before your friend could let out a squeal of excitement. 

You went into your room to freshen up and get changed. When you stepped out, your friend had some devious grin as her eyes flickered up and down to look at your outfit. “Let’s hope the outfit works in your favor.” She says as she places the wine glasses you guys used in the sink.

“Hope so.” The dress you wore wasn’t too fancy, but it was something that could have anyone doing a double look. You glanced in the full-body mirror in your living room—slowly leaning forward to apply a coat of clear lip gloss. 

The ride to the party was filled with rules; you and your friend always went over. If you were leaving with a guy, let the other know. If you hit your alcohol limit—it’s time to go. Don’t leave without the other without confirmation that you were; that was common sense. As you dawned closer to one of the biggest houses in the gated community, it seemed you could hear the music as you got closer and closer. When you entered the party, it was crowded, from people dancing in the living room to people littering the steps sitting, and talking. Your friend had seen one of her usual semester flings and instantly shot right towards them after letting you know that if you were ready to go—just find her. 

Now you were alone in a sea of people hoping you could clichely bump into the older Yeager sibling. You pushed your way through to find him yourself. Hoping he wasn’t indulging in flirting with someone 

You tried your hardest to avoid anybody that knew you. Each of them gets in the way of why you were here in the first place. You spent the past thirty minutes pretending to be interested in conversations until you eventually entered the kitchen to see the person you were searching for. There he stood up, scrunching up his face at the taste of the mixed drink his younger brother had made. 

“It’s not that bad,” Eren said as he sipped from the red solo cup.

“It’s horrible, but when does alcohol ever taste good?” Zeke questioned as he placed his empty solo cup on the counter.

“Exactly! Everyone is going to love this Yeager juice,” His brother responded before he poured more of the drink into two cups and made his way out of the kitchen. 

Zeke was all alone, sipping alcohol in the kitchen and chatting with his friends. You didn’t even know you caught yourself staring at him and how his biceps flexed in the tight black shirt he wore. Did he get hotter from the last time you saw him? His little internship in France surely must have done wonders for him. Wait, you weren’t here to drool over his attractiveness—focus. 

As you inched further to get something to drink, Zeke's eyes landed on you, and you watched his lips curve into a smirk before he met you near the counter you were near. You were glancing at all the alcohol choices they offered, pretending that you weren’t here for something else. 

“It’s funny that this will be where we bump into each other again.” Zeke interrupted your pretend task of searching for alcohol of your choosing. 

“Couldn’t turn down a Yeager party,” You shrug your shoulders while collecting a bottle and pouring some into the cup. “It was the talk of the campus. Everyone is here.”

“Would have thought you’ll ditch to do some project or something.” Zeke leaned against the counter that was next to you. His head tilts like an innocent puppy attempting to challenge its owner.

“You know me, any project or paper I must do is most likely done already. Come on; we didn’t play hot potato for the top of the class spot for nothing.” You sipped from your cup, peeking up at him. 

“Still the same overachiever, I see.” Zeke poured him some of the drink Eren had made. “Same girl that tormented me.”

“That’s what I’m here for. To apologize; we’ve matured now. I’ve matured now.” You placed your hand on your heart and gave him a sweet smile before that smile disappeared after hearing his snickers. 

“You’re funny; what do you want?” Zeke took another sip of his drink and poured more into his cup once more now that it was empty. 

Your lips gasp upon pretending to be offended. “I can’t just see how you been?” 

“When did you ever care?” Zeke backfired. “Before, during, or after you were the biggest manipulator during undergrad? 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a horrible person to you, Zeke.” You gave him a pout. “So please let me have that T.A. position you have.” 

The sound of his laughter caused your eye to twitch in annoyance. His eyes form tears as he hunches over to laugh. “You’re hilarious. I knew you wanted something, and the answer is no. For once, you couldn’t beat me or use some conniving way to beat me. Enjoy the rest of the party, Y/N.” He clinks his red solo cup with yours and talks to his friend Pieck who is searching the fridge for something. 

You inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand before you turn to fill your cup up. You had to think of another way, but you needed to drink for now. You ventured around the property two times, searching for your friend. You had no luck but found yourself in the living room talking to your friend Reiner. You remember being lab partners with him; he was such a sweetheart. He didn’t know how to do the labs, but he was charming. You felt someone staring at you as you laughed at one of his jokes, you felt someone staring at you. To your shock, Zeke's eyes were staring at you as some random girl was talking his head off. You turned around after playfully rolling your eyes at him. 

Hours went by, and people headed home to sleep off the alcohol they consumed or head to the next party. Your friend had gone home with their semester fling after confirming with you that it was okay. You decided to stay back to continue to pester Zeke. He hasn't budged at all with giving you the teacher assistant position—and you weren’t giving up that easily. As you help, throw away the red solo cups that decorated the expensive marble counters. Zeke was collecting the empty alcohol bottles to toss in the recycle bin. The two of you silently cleaned up the kitchen as you could hear Eren and his friends drunkenly messing around in the living room. Zeke knew they weren’t doing any type of cleaning as they told him they were doing.

“You know…” Zeke broke the silence between the two of you. 

“You’re going to let me have the T.A. position?” You interjected as you tossed another cup in the trash. 

“No, but I find your eagerness—quite attractive,” He chuckles, dropping a whiskey bottle in the bin. He walks closely towards you, and you meet him halfway, dragging the black trash back with you. 

Just as you met in the middle of the kitchen where the counter was, he stared at you with his gray-colored eyes trying to read you. He wasn’t sure if you had changed or not since undergrad. “It’s quite comical that you even parted your lips to ask me after the hell you put me through during undergrad.” He grabs the empty red solo cup off the counter and grabs the black trash bag you had.

Being sure to let his fingertips brush against your hand as he takes the bag. He threw the cup in the trash before speaking again, “You were a horrible person. Kinda need you to beg a little more,” he reached by you to grab another liquor bottle.

“I apologized so many times. I don’t understand why you need the position so much.” You snatch the alcohol bottle out of his hand and place it on the counter. His need to ensure the kitchen was clean before his parents returned to their luxury trip distracted you from your goal. “Your daddy will help you find the perfect job when you graduate.” 

You watched as Zeke’s jaw clenched in annoyance, hearing your words. Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion before your lips curve into a smirk. This was your opening. “Oh, that struck a nerve, huh?” Your head tilts as you watch those eyes darken.

You’ve seen that look countless times during undergrad, especially when you caused him to miss a final exam which helped you to have the highest GPA in your department. 

“That’s not true. I work very hard for the positions I have.” He glanced at you, and  now it was him with a devious smirk on his face. “Just like the T.A. position that you want.” 

“You leave for an internship in France for the summer and come back with some balls; that’s what’s fuckin’ comical, actually.” You suck your teeth before stepping back and hopping on the counter. 

You were growing frustrated with not getting what you wanted after years of getting what you wanted—which you didn’t have an infamous surname and an academic medical school building named after your father to do so. It was a bit insulting to you that he was dangling this position in front of you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already. It’s only one in the morning. You’ve tormented me longer than this.” Zeke went back to cleaning up. “I’m starting to think you may just want to be in my company or something. I must advise you; others wouldn’t mind being in my company and not being a pain in my ass.” He tossed a bag of opened chips in the trash.

“And yet, you’ve declined them all night just to let me pester you.” You muttered under your breath.

“And yet you spent this whole night pestering me, ignoring all the advances thrown at you. You really think Reiner cares about your fuckin’ marketing project?” Zeke backfired as he leaned against the counter opposite where you were sitting. He rubs at the thick blonde beard on his face in a mockingly thinking manner. “Starting to think you may like me.” 

“I would rather gouge my eyeballs out and take the least-rated Professor in our university than ever admit any attraction to you, Zeke Yeager.” You shrugged your shoulders at him, but you also noticed that he had stepped closer once again, not being afraid to invade your space.

You just were trying to figure out if you thought this was a good idea. The sexual tension was there. It was obviously there—you two wouldn’t be going back and forth like an intense tennis game if it wasn’t. You grabbed Zeke’s belt, tugging him closer to fill the gap between your thighs. 

“You’re still that ugly duckling in undergrad that I enjoyed sabotaging to be on top.” You attempted to push him, but his hand caught yours before eventually letting his lips crash upon yours. 

The taste of hard whiskey and Eren’s horrible mixed Yeager juice lingers on your tongue as you’re eagerly tracing it to get a taste of all the liquor Zeke consumed during the night. The scent of a freshly opened pack of cigarettes and a woodsy-scented cologne crawls up your nostrils to cause you to be even more intoxicated. Your grasp on his shirt as if he was going to blow up was a bit funny, considering you were insulting him all night. You wanted more; you needed more. The kiss broke apart, and you tried to utter another degrading thing. The short break from tasting each other allowed Zeke to remove his glasses and place them next to you on the counter—before his lips were back on yours. Shoving his tongue down your throat in a heated makeout session because he would rather have that than hear your nagging about him being undeserving of a position he has already. 

Your hand untangled from the cotton threads of his shirt to travel down to his pants to rub his hardened cock. The bulge was so noticeable you would have thought he was a virgin that just discovered an exclusive OnlyFans account. Zeke breaks the kiss again, his plush lips pecking soft subtle kisses on yours as if he didn’t want the kiss to end. Now those gray hues of his were softened—they didn’t look at you as if he hated your guts. But for pure hunger for you. 

“Want to go upstairs?” Zeke asked; he didn’t budge from towering over you as you were on the counter. He could hear the loud laughter of his younger brother and his friends playing another round of Never Have I Ever. 

You rubbed your lips together before shaking your head. “What’s the fun in that?” You questioned as your hands fiddled to undo his belt. “It’s a bit more exciting when you’re about to get caught by your brother, isn’t it?”

You never saw Zeke’s face turn red so quickly. His cheeks are stained a crimson color as you’re unbuttoning his pants. He watches as you bring your hand up to your mouth to spit it and soon dig into his boxers to massage the tip of his cock. You didn’t want to fully bring his cock out just in case someone walked in, so you brought him closer using the heel of your foot, and your hand slowly guided up and down his shaft. His head fell back in complete bliss as he was poorly attempting not to utter a moan. 

“If you think this is going to….” His body shutters when he feels the pad of your thumb brush against his plump mushroom-shaped tip. “—going to get me to step down from the teacher assistant position, you’re highly mistaken.” He finishes.

You leaned up to place a kiss on the corner of his lips. “At this point, is it really about the damn T.A. position?” You questioned as you continued to palm his cock. This time your hand is pushing his pants down just a bit to give yourself some more room. 

If anyone was to walk in, they could assume that the two of you were just making out—but really, Zeke was desperately thrusting forward for more friction as your hand squeezed around his cock. Broken groans trembled out of Zeke as he prompted his hand on the cabinet just a few inches from your head to hold himself up. “Shit, I’m going to cum.” He utters as your hand slides up and down his cock.  

“I’m going to stop that from happening,” Your teeth bite your lower lip as your hand palms at his thick cock. 

“Mhmm, okay.” Zeke leans in to kiss you again, but you’re quick to lean back teasingly. Continuing the urge to make sure he cums and becomes a bowl of putty right in front of you. 

You’ve adored seeing Zeke get tugged from the temporary bliss of passion. You could sense the heat from his skin and all the color rush to his face. Thick ropes of cum came out so quickly before you could spit out some witty comment. Your hand motions slowed to ensure that he experienced every emotion that came from the fact that you had him in the palm of your hand. Zeke’s chest heaved upward as he tried to regain his composure. His eyes watched as you removed your hands from his box just in time to hear footsteps behind Zeke. Eren walked into the kitchen to grab something from the fridge. 

“I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Eren said as he opened the bottle of water in his hand. His eyes were shot red from the weed he smoked, and he went through the many stages of cottonmouth.

The droplet of Zeke’s cum imprinted your fingertips, and you brought your fingers to your mouth to lick up the mess he made in your hand. He let out a shaky sigh before quickly fixing his bottoms to answer his brother. 

“She was just leaving,” He sighed.

 Eren’s thick brows raised at the sight he was seeing before he let out a laugh at his brother's words, “Sure, just be sure to wear protection. Our father finds out you knocked someone up—say goodbye to your cut of his will.” He gives a sly wave to you before he leaves the kitchen again. 

“I’m going to go get cleaned up, and when I return, I would love for you not to be here.” He admits as he steps back from the space in between your thighs. 

“Okay,” You didn’t bother to argue as you gave him an innocent smile. “No goodbye kiss,” Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip as you glanced up at him through your lashes.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You heard Zeke utter. 

But he didn’t argue against your wishes; his large hands cupped your face so gently that you could only grasp his waist, not wanting to let go. When he finally pulled away, he let his eyes linger on you just a bit longer before escaping the kitchen. 

He would always be your ugly duckling that you enjoyed bothering—but this time, he wasn’t afraid to bother you right back. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀thanks for reading, reblogs & comments are highly appreciated.

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[gffa]

I AM GOING SO FERAL OVER THE CHARACTER ARCS IN URBAN LEGENDS BECAUSE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. There are two stories that are written by different authors and complement each other in ways that hit for me JUST RIGHT because it ends up showing such an interesting portrayal of how complicated relationships aren't a single straightforward line in how they act towards each other. In "A Carol of Bats", Bruce is being grim and sullen, so Tim tries to get Dick to deal with him, but Dick says he can't, he's done that over and over, it never lasts, and ultimately he started sacrificing his own future to keep Bruce from being consumed by his past, that Tim needs to be careful with this, too. But then we see Dick went ahead and called Bruce anyway, he stepped back in when he was needed, and we see Bruce stepping back from the ledge, hugging a scared, hungry man from the mob, organizing a dinner for those who are starving--but more than that he also tells Tim (who gets him a present to try to make him happy), that he's already happen, that Tim being his son makes him happy, period. Then a different arc starts up and it's such an emotional follow-up, where "The Murder Club" has Thomas and Martha Wayne coming forward in time, disapproving of what's become of their son, and Dick stomping all over the sacred ground of Bruce's feelings about his parents, to say that they'll come around, once they understand what Bruce has done for all of them, what he's done for Dick specifically. And Bruce agrees! Even having just been emotionally sucker punched by his parents, he's come far enough that a three-minute speech by Dick Grayson where he refuses to not be important to Bruce, that's enough to have him step back from the ledge. It's almost easy in comparison to previous times! Because Bruce has been working on it! The whole arc is about Bruce having a chance to literally return to the past, to live a life with his parents, to be able to choose his parents over everything he's built--and he chooses the present. He chooses his sons and father figure, he chooses Alfred, Dick, and Damian.

And he acknowledges the burden that his trauma and poor mental health have put on them, Dick especially (though, Tim and Damian are part of this as well, and Jason had his whole arc earlier in the series):

AND I'M JUST??? LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS CHARACTER ARC?? I have no idea how intentional it was or if it was just two writers who actually get the characters, but that it's not a smooth path to navigate dealing with a man like Bruce, that there's always forward steps and backward steps, that there'll be progress and there'll be backsliding (because THAT'S HOW SHITTY MENTAL HEALTH WORKS, that's how emotionally complicated relationships work!), but they all get up and keep trying to do better for each other and themselves. That these two stories show an arc of Bruce slowly learning to handle his breakdowns better. That he lets them in faster, he reaches out himself faster, he holds onto them faster. It's not about turning their backs on Bruce, it's about saying that they can't make him be happy at the expense of their own lives, but then we see him literally turn away from the past for them, of course they're right there, they love him, they want to be here, they show up when he's willing to meet them halfway--and Bruce does. Because that's who the character is at heart, someone who is traumatized to hell and back, that trauma is often violent and ugly, but he keeps getting up and trying again for those he loves, for those he needs to be better for. That means sometimes he missteps. He'll misstep again in the future. People will have to take a step back from him in the future. But they'll all dust themselves off and try again because he genuine makes an effort for them, not just to save their lives, but to be emotionally available even when it's hard fucking work and he can't punch his way out of it. Bruce Wayne is a character that is at his most resonant for me when sometimes he's a shitty dad who then has to work to be better, that if he never mistepped, his character wouldn't have nearly the depth he does. This Bruce Wayne means the world to me because it's so hard to do this kind of work, so much harder than punching things, and yet he keeps doing it, even when it hurts, because his family deserves him to really try for them. And he does! He'll be an asshole again in the future, but when I say "Bruce Wayne is a good dad", it's because of this, because even in the middle of that 530 different flavors of fucked up trauma brain he has, he still says his kids' emotional boundaries and overall wellbeing and happiness matters.

[crabdrabbles]

Graves + Shadows Headcanons [Part 2] [Part 3] Words: 585

Unsurprisingly, he's very protective of his Shadows. Yes, they're mercenaries and soldiers and very much capable of looking after themselves, but he will not tolerate it when clients treats his Shadows as expendable. They are his soldiers.

Graves has absolutely gone out of his way to get to know the Soldiers that work under him. He knows each and every one of them by name, a random fact about them and at least one of their interests.

Would and has killed for his Shadows at one point or another and would do it again. The same goes vice versa.

Movie night at least once a month in the rec room is compulsory.

Team bonding exercises/days out are also compulsory. They all need to get along one way or another if they're going to be relying on each out out in the field.

Has offered himself in exchange for the safe return of one of his soldiers who was captured during a mission.

Actually put an age restriction on becoming a Shadow. Being a mercenary isn’t easy and it’s very different to being a soldier in the army. All shadows are over 21 when hired, but even then most are over the age of 25.

Due to the nature of their roles, being injured enough to lose a limb isn’t as rare as Graves prefers. When this happens, he has always made sure the Shadow affected has access to the best medical care as well as prosthetics should they want it. If they decide to leave/retire from Shadow company after that, they are still given access to the best medical care money can buy funded out of Graves' own pocket.

Is surprisingly good at cutting hair! Some Shadows don't feel comfortable having a stranger cut their hair/see their faces underneath their masks if they wear one often. He learnt how to cut hair pretty well from his momma.

HUGE on his Soldiers going to therapy. Some missions are harder than others and especially stressful, it's important his Shadows have a place to vent.

Has several chefs with different specialities in the kitchen who are all able to create and cook nutritional and delicious meals that all cater to everyone’s eating preferences.

Many of the younger Shadows have called him dad at least once by accident. It’s a running gag at this point and Graves always laughs it off and then goes to his room to cry a lil bit.

Expanding on this, a lot of the Shadows view him as a parental/familial figure and Graves prides himself on that fact. He doesn’t see them as his own kids, considering some of them are older than he is, but he definitely considers all of them part of his family.

Further expanding on that, some of the older Shadows have called him 'son' on several occasions and he has caught himself almost calling them dad more than once.

One of his Shadows named their first born son after him. They brought little Phil to base when he was only a few weeks old and let Graves hold the kid and he 100% ugly cried and refused to give the baby back for a solid 2 hours.

Some of his Shadows have kids back at home. Graves has memorised all their names and birthdays and makes sure to send them a little something on their special days. The younger kids calls him Uncle Philly and he absolutely cried when he heard them go “Hi Uncle Philly!” across call once.

have a request? send one in!

[bengiyo]

Don't Care for an Old Man's Underwear! Ep 8 Stray Thoughts

As always, this watch was made possible by @isaksbestpillow

Last time, Kakeru revealed to Mika and Moe that he wants to go to a premier makeup school, and will finish high school to make sure he qualifies. He had a good conversation with Hasegawa after being asked if he was gay, revealing that he sometimes finds either men or women admirable in their own ways but as yet has not felt love. Hasegawa expressed his admiration for Kakeru for never playing along with boy talk that also makes him uncomfortable. Kakeru also managed to form a new friendship with his rival. Makoto is struggling at work to keep his misogynistic senior from pissing off everyone, and it seems like Haranishi suppressed him with his bra for now. Makoto also unfortunately thought Kakeru was seeing two people and put his foot in his mouth again trying to be supportive. However, he did help Daichi by reassuring him that Madoka choosing him is also a valid choice, even as we all worry about Madoka giving up on being a vet to dodge his family's disappointment. Not to be forgotten, Makoto insisted that Mika enjoy the tickets they got for her.

I like how much easier the friendship between Daichi and Makoto feels at this point. Saying they help each other feels genuine.

Oh no. Is Daichi avoiding Madoka?

Looking forward to seeing more rude men at Makoto's job!

I love that Daichi doesn't lie to Kakeru about reaching out at Makoto's request.

Kakeru admitting that he took out his frustrations on his parents feels like an important step for him.

Oh no. Daichi is pulling back from Madoka, and now he's going to think Daichi is trying to get with Kakeru because Kakeru is so cute.

Hold on, I'm suddenly invested in Furuike trying to use the contacts he's built up across his career in a digital age that cuts down on human interactions.

Ah, Furuike knows the engineer who designed the copier and is trying to protect his reputation. He's also got little left in his life besides his idea of work and the efforts they made before, so he's trying to validate that their way of doing things wasn't completely wrong. Look at this show giving this unpleasant man recognizable humanity.

Okay, I was touched by the two old guys solving a problem together.

Also feels significant that Kakeru wanted to wait to talk to Makoto.

Aw, they get to bond over having similar troubles navigating human interactions.

"I respect your grit and perseverance. In order for them not to go to waste, would you please change with me?" is basically the plea the show is making to the masculine audience.

Not me crying because this old man made tea.

Kakeru teasing about never hearing his dad complain before also feels like a moment. I wonder if we'll return to Kakeru's comment about not being an adult.

Why do both Okita men blush the same way? Lol

For saying he stumbles constantly, Makoto recognized that Kakeru didn't tell him what he really wanted from that booth.

Oh, Kakeru. Once again this show hitting queer notes left behind in romance all the time. It's easy to resent people for not being able to understand you, but that's just hiding the loneliness and disappointment you feel at not being able to connect with them, too. Kakeru admitting that he's feeling sad that he can't be the son he wanted because his father is actively trying to be a father Kakeru can love and respect got me.

As always, Daichi doesn't tell Kakeru what to think, and reaffirms that Kakeru always has a choice in how to engage with the world.

Dammit, they got me again. Madoka explaining to Makoto how hard it is to tell your parents important things about yourself because of the huge stakes, and then trying to accept being dumped, is making my chest clench.

Oh, Makoto, finally your over sharing tendencies pay off.

Wow, this man is so tall that he could see Daichi over the crowd.

Ugly crying about Kakeru and Makoto talking out the baseball thing at the festival, and then Kakeru asking his dad to teach him how to use the pop gun to get what he wants for himself.

He let his dad put the necklace on him!

Daichi and Madoka are holding hands in public!

Well well well, Kakeru still has to face the boys on the baseball team.

This has quickly become one of my favorite shows of all time. She wasn't in this episode a lot, but Mika continues to be one of my favorites because of her instincts. She could tell that Kakeru wanted to face Makoto properly, so she makes sure to check in with him first before hovering to see that they're okay. She then later insists on sending Makoto to the festival in a yukata with Kakeru because she knows they need to do that together. If she doesn't insist on Makoto going and dressing up, he doesn't have that conversation with Madoka, and he doesn't make progress with Kakeru at the booth. She helped four men with her kindness and determination, and enabled her daughter to support her brother while also receiving validation about her hobby from her dad.

Makoto has come so far. I really loved him supporting his senior through the resolution of that work problem, and still telling him that his attitude was wrong. I also liked that he also got corrected by Shimura afterwards, who insists that he use respectful honorifics for her. He's finally earned the confidence of his team by being the leader they need him to be.

This show is excellent, and I've not cried this much watching a show in a long time.

[ryin-silverfish]

LMK Fanfic: The Wild Son

AO3 Mirror

Nezha-centric one-shot. Or, "how the Third Lotus Prince learns to stop worrying and enjoy the exploration of death."

CW for suicide and extensive discussions of it. Similar to my previous story, this is very FSYY-inspired, which is shorthand for "pretty fucked-up".

Y'know, with the novel's version of Nezha's suicide being the most graphic and all.

...

The Devaraja of the North has a wild son, who bows not to his father, only the Buddha. The Buddha knows of his stubborn unreason, and sets upon his father's left hand, a pagoda.

——Su Zhe, "Nezha"

Over the years, he had really come to loathe That Look. 

You know, when these brats (technically, all mortals are kids to him) learned of his suicide and just gaped at him in wide-eyed horror. Usually followed by an "I'm so sorry" or "It's not your fault" or the slightly less grating "Man, your father sucks."

Duh, Dragonhorse Girl. Duh. But anyone who talked shit about Li Jing was in his good books, and he could at least appreciate Mei's straightforward nature.

Still, whatever prior impressions he left, he knew he was now seven years old and hurting again in their eyes, and would never stop being so. 

And it drove him nuts, because 1) it didn't even hurt all that much, and 2) why is offing yourself suddenly such a big deal? Apart from some ol' Confucian bores' rants about unfilial conduct, no participants in the War of Investiture had ever batted an eye at his death and resurrection; the problem was with what he did immediately afterward.

That said, death in the War of Investiture wasn't final, logical, or that big a deal either, until it suddenly was. 

...

Unlike killing, death didn't get less confusing even after you've kicked the bucket once. Nor was spending your time as a spooky ghost and getting your godhood rudely interrupted helpful, when it came to understanding the boundary between gods and ghosts, and how some people could come back but not the others.

Well, according to The Patricidal 7-years-old's Guide to Death and Deification:

People die when they get killed.

At which point they turn into a ghost, and float around going "Woe is meeeeee!" for a while before moving on to their next lives.

Unless they don't want to move on. In that case, they just haunt the living out of spite, and to get free stuff.

But wait! If enough people treat the ghost like a god and give them offerings, they'll become one and...dunno, make a new body outta faith or something. 

If someone's name is on The List, it's totally okay to kill them because they'll become gods after death.

Wait, isn't that dragon prince's name on The List too? Then why is his dad so angry when he killed him?

And sometimes, a Daoist master just pops a pill into the recently dead guy's mouth and they are alive again.

It took him a surprisingly long time to realize that The List was not all it's cracked up to be, and was basically the Poor Man's Godhood. Or that knowing someone would come back in the end didn't make their absence hurt any less. Or that they could come back, but would remain forever out of reach, shackled by the duties of godhood and the chains of causes and consequences. 

And even when a quick resurrection was possible, every death scarred the soul, making it fray and tear at the seams. Seven was the maximum. After dying and coming back seven times like poor Senior Uncle Jiang Ziya, not even The List could take your soul without it exploding into a billion little ghostfires that had more in common with ambience Qi than any living spirits.

He wondered if his inability to understand this fuss around offing yourself had something to do with a scar, too. 

But which one? Was it the first and most gruesome one, where returning your flesh and blood also meant ripping out the itty bitty pieces of souls that were embedded in them, clinging to your father and mother like muscle membranes on a bone? Was it the one that looked like an ugly crack on a gilded statue, widening, spreading, until it shattered altogether? Was it not a single scar, but a bunch of little holes in his essence, like wormbites on a leaf, or a pool of oozing sludge left by the Blood-melting Knife?

Assuming he still had a soul in the first place, of course. Maybe instead of a soul, there's only one huge patch of scar tissue where his three souls and seven spirits used to be, red and fibrous and angry. 

Yeah, try pulling *that* out of his body with a spell, suckers.

...

A popular god gains new domains like new year gifts. Namely, you seldom receive the ones you want, are stuck with the ones you were tired of, and have no idea where that pile over there even came from.

Sun Wukong shared a domain with him as the protector of youth, a fact he was strangely okay with. He took the silly and mischievous ones, while Nezha dealt with the moody, rebellious ones. An amicable arrangement, as far as dispute between overlapping domains went; were they ever to switch places, the result would be a disaster.

This, however, was when a joint operation would be really helpful.

Alas, he had no such luck. So here he was, sitting in the Megapolis Children's Hospital's inpatient ward, next to a girl with owl-like eyes and tubes inside her nose, who asked him "Being dead, what does that even mean?"

...

Nothing, 'cause it's something that happens to other people. That was how he would have answered this question, back when he was still a real kid, and not an 18-foot-tall immortal plant construct who could choose to look like a kid.

He did wish people would recognize him as something other than "god of youth", though. Or realize his older forms existed too. Somehow, when Jinzha's master appeared as a little boy with five hair buns, people didn't stop worshipping Old Dude Wenshu or Graceful Bodhisattva Wenshu, but one too many adaptations later, Nezha was just THE Kid God, and not also the Three-headed Six-armed War God of Setting Things On Fire. 

Bah.

But this was about Nezha the human (was he ever human, though, with the whole Spirit Pearl thing?) and Nezha the kid, not Nezha, Marshal of the Central Altar. Who didn't quite realize death was real, as in, a thing you should try to avoid for both yourself and others, and had been told that it was his destiny to dish out death to people in some epic upcoming war.

Master Taiyi, bless the old immortal, was a perfect case of someone who clearly cared so much, yet still managed to fuck up so badly.

For all his grudges against Jinzha's master (less about the whipping, and more about his damn cat killing the Jade Emperor), Wenshu made some good points: You did not tell a kid that you would protect him from all the consequences of his actions, then set him loose and expect him to not wreak havoc on unintended targets.

...

"What do you mean?"

He'd admit, this was not his finest hour. You weren't supposed to answer a question with a question, at least not in a way that didn't make you seem all mysterious and wise.

"I..." She trailed off. "I mean, I feel dead people all the time. Brushing past me, being all chilly and stuff. Since I'm gonna be joining you guys soon, I just wanna know...how it's like." The corner of her mouth twitched; either a grimace, or an attempt at smiling. "And you feel nicer than the others. Warmer, too."

He was no god of medicine, no matter how much he wished he could be one right now. Yet he could see the flames of her three souls, dimming with every passing second, as well as the blocks in her Qi flow, with one right behind her eyelids. Her sight was already gone, and in a week, these flames would go out entirely.

Sickness, he could heal, but not a passing ordained by the Book of Life and Death. As tempting as it was to pull a Sun Wukong, if he was to remove the name of one person, what was stopping him from removing another? And another? Before he knew, he'd be striking the name of every good person off it, and only chaos could result from that.

His gaze shifted to a small charm, fastened onto the bedframes with red strings. Made of peachwood, glowing gently in his vision, accompanied by the wisps of a prayer. Please watch over her, and take away her pain. Please don't let her face this alone.

Slowly, he extended a hand towards her, a tiny spark of pink flame dancing on his fingertip. If there were still ghosts in this room that hadn't fled when he first came in, they were definitely gone by now, as the darkness dispered in a surge of Yang-aligned Qi. 

"...Wow." She visibly relaxed, with a sigh. "Thanks." 

"No problem."

"Are you...also a kid, when you...you know? You sound like one."

"Yeah. But I've been dead for a long time. Long before this hospital was built." He let out a dry laugh. "I guess you could say I'm a professional at this whole 'death' thing."

"Huh. I thought after a while, people just...move on."

"They do, if they aren't trying to avoid the ghost cops. The Heibai Wuchang," he said. "Nowadays, they dress like cops too, but they show up for everyone, to take them to the Underworld. Not just bad ghosts that need to be arrested."

"What's the Underworld like?"

"Dunno. Never been down there." This was partially true. At the time of his death, the Underworld bureaucracy did not exist yet. Most of his knowledge of its workings came from chatting with Huang Tianhua, whose father was deified as the King of Mt.Tai, former head of the Ten Kings. "But you seem like a good egg, so they would send you straight to the Naihe Bridge, and onto your next life."

"That's...good to hear," she said. "I wanna know more about the, uh, ghost part, though. Does it stop hurting when you die? I've been...hurting for so long, I'm starting to forget what it's like, before...this."

"Yeah, the pain stops," he answered, "but so does everything else. You just stop feeling things altogether. Smell, touch, warm and cold and all that jazz." He paused. "Being a ghost is very, very boring."  

"And you still don't wanna go with the ghost cops?"

"Well, I killed myself, and that gets you stuck in the City of Wrongful Death." He blurted out, before realizing that this was the worse moment to be honest, and braced himself for the awkwardness to come. 

"Sounds like an awful place." 

"Pretty much. They said it was just full of depressed ghosts, being depressing together," he chuckled. "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll pass."

"Glad I didn't...go through with it, then." She said, then quietly added, "I nearly did, when the pain got too much, and the cost just kept rising."    

Well, that wasn't quite what he expected. But he wasn't too surprised, either.

...

They thought his suicide was an act of despair. It was insulting, honestly. Both to the strength of his will and spite, and his unconventional problem solving skills.

See, when people said that your body and skin and hair were given to you by your parents, the implicit message was So you can't do anything to them, and They own you, every bit of you, and above all, Obey. 

You weren't supposed to give them back, not so flippantly. Yet it was the simplest, most obvious solution, in the same way beating up the dragon king who tried to sue you was. (Guess he really was Taiyi's student.)

At the heat of the moment, it was quite thrilling. Almost liberating. Like a snake shedding its skin, a baby bird breaking out of its eggshells. As the raging storm and roaring tides drowned out Fate and Destiny's ever-tolling bells, for a second, he really felt like this was the end. 

No more Spirit Pearl, no more unruly child, woe of his mother, doom of his lineage. No more Li Jing, no more questionable advices from Taiyi, no stupid dragon kings, and none of that Vanguard of the Zhou Army crap. Just a kid sacrificing himself, laughing and laughing until he chocked on his own blood. 

Just Nezha.

But obviously, things didn't end here. Death rarely was the true end, nor did it tie things up neatly, like cutting through a knot with a sword. It was more akin to what you got when you broke a lotus root in half, full of sticky, near-invisible threads, stretching on and on between the scattered pieces.

...

Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time he had to deal with suicide, kids, or suicidal kids. Especially after gaining one of his more recent domains. He is the protector of all young people, regardless of who they fancy or whether their bodies match their souls, it was just that those who didn't fit the common denominator tended to get a lot of shit for existing. 

(As annoying as the "Third Princess" nickname was, he had no problem with people finding strength and comfort in his legends, in severing ties, defying norms, and blossoming inside a changed body. After all, that was what gods were; a mirror that reflected the worshippers' beliefs and needs back at them.)

A few decades ago, he was summoned by a teen, standing on the bank of a river, holding a stick of incense. Dunno where, just that it was a Hokkien-speaking area and one of his temples was nearby. 

They gave him a hopeful look when he showed up, emerging out of the water like an actual lotus plant, yet remaining miraculously dry. As hopeful as someone in their circumstance could manage, at least.

"Is it okay if I ask you to curse my parents?" 

"If that's what you want, you are praying to the wrong god," he replied. "And the kind of gods who accept such requests will make you pay a price you are never ready for."

"Damn. Guess I'll just have to come back and haunt them myself, then." 

They knelt down to stick the incense into the mud, then started wading their way into the shallows. He sighed, and they were promptly dragged back by his red sash, struggling furiously.

"Let go of me!" They screamed, muddy water splashing beneath their sneakers. "W-Why? I don't get it! Why are YOU stopping me? You, of all gods! The child who hacked himself to pieces, and tried to kill his asshole dad——"

"And got a burning pagoda dropped on him for his troubles." He said flatly. "Need I remind you that it all took place a thousand years ago, and I'm no longer out for his blood?"

"Oh, so they'd beaten it out of you! Good for you, I guess." They snapped. "But not me. Why would you even care if a freak like me died or not?"

"gin-na, you just admit you are gonna become a vengeful spirit. And I literally have 'subduing demons and harmful spirits' in my job description. So maybe, maybe, I'm gonna have a problem with that?"

"Even if they totally have it coming?" They retorted. The first two buttons of their collars had come loose in the struggle, exposing the ugly patch of bruised purple around their neck, as well as implications of worse things. "I thought gods were all for karmic justice."

"Especially if they have it coming," he said. "Which is why I'm stopping you. It's not gonna work."

"What does that even mean?"

"Ugh. Look. Suppose I let you drown, without alerting any ghostly officials. Suppose that you come back, haunt your parents night and day, and don't get yourself exorcised. Suppose that you inflict on them the same torment you were subjected to, and drive them to madness or some other gruesome ends." He said. "Then what? What are you gonna do afterwards?"

"I'll just...move on, I guess."

"To do that, you 'll have to cross the Naihe Bridge. And the Underworld officials won't let you off the hook that easily, not after you've accumulated all this negative karma by haunting the living." He shook his head. "I heard they take 'Hell is other people' quite literally, and punish people who hated each other by throwing both parties into the same Minor Hell, giving them a pile of lethal weapons, and resurrecting whichever side that gets killed. Over and over again." 

He leaned closer. "Is that what you really want? Getting stuck in the same pit with your parents for centuries to come? Mind you, even if you get tired of the violence, you are not allowed to quit until the Underworld officials let you."

Came to think of it, that was the War of the Investiture in a nutshell. No one was allowed to quit, not even in death.

"...No," they mumbled, after a long silence. "But it's still tempting. At least I'll get to do something to them."

"Well, here's a thing you can do to them."

"What?"

"Live."

"That's it? Seriously?" They stared at him in disbelief. "Because I own it to them? Because my very existence is a mistake or something?"

"No. Because you own it to yourself," he said, "and it is only a mistake if you believe so, and if they think you are a mistake, there's no better way to prove them wrong and rub it in their faces than keep existing. Think of it like this——you ain't gonna help them get rid of you, are you?" 

"Well, if you put it that way..." they paused. "But I'll still be depriving them of their favorite punching bag, at least."

"Is that what you think you are?"

"It's what I have been for the past few years."

"Yeah, sorry, but hell no. You can be way, way more than that." He grinned. "Why be a punching bag, when you can be their worst nightmare instead?"

"I thought you don't want me to haunt my parents?"

"Oh, no. You are gonna drive them nuts in a whole different manner: by growing into a successful, well-adjusted adult they no longer have any power over," his grin widened, "And watch them age into bitter, miserable old farts who'll die alone and forgotten, knowing that the moment they die, they'll be dragged straight into one of the Hells in chains, suffer for untold eons, and probably spend their next life as ants."

"That is...satisfying, not gonna lie." They bit into their lips. "But until then, I'll still be stuck with them. Thanks for the reassurance, though."

"Does that mean if I let go of you now, you aren't gonna dash into the river?" 

Upon receiving a nod, he whistled, and his sash loosened around the teen, floating back onto his shoulders. They staggered back; he prepared himself, watching out for tensed muscles and all the little tells of someone who was going to make a run for it. Thankfully, he spotted none, as they retreaded their steps back onto dry land, one muddy footprint at a time.

He wasn't entirely convinced that they wouldn't change their mind later, but it was a good start.  And he had just the idea to make it an even better start. 

His fingers started twisting in a mudra, weaving together threads of pink and golden light into the shape of his signature seal. No, he definitely didn't enjoy the kid's quiet gasp of wonder, as a lotus-patterned token fell out of thin air and right into his hands. It wasn't like he was a show-off or anything, unlike that ape.

"Here. Take this. Go to—" He paused and cursed himself. Dammit, he kept forgetting that mortals couldn't just sense temples and their giant beacons of faith. "Do you know there's a temple over there?" He pointed east, "Like, in that direction?"

"You mean Taizi Gong? Yeah." They nodded. "Grandma used to take me there."

"If you ever need a meal, or a place to stay the night, just show this token to the staff, and they'll help you out." He narrowed his eyes, and said the next sentence very slowly. "Also, if your life is ever in serious danger, like, no-time-to-call-the-cops danger, just hold it tight, say my name, and point it at whatever is threatening you. Do. Not. Use. It. Lightly. Understood?"

He intentionally let out a bit of his killer aura, as he uttered the last few words. Not hard to muster, considering the circumstances that first drove him to develop this token system. It was always awful when he was too late in his interventions, but he swore to the Three Pure Ones, if anyone ever triggered the spell with a prank call, when he arrived at the scene, they'd wish they got caught in the explosions instead.

They paled and nodded in quick succession, then started to turn away. Before remembering something, and coming to a halt mid-step.

"I...I don't even know how to thank you." They shook their head. "If it was too early for that. If 'Thanks' is even enough. But if you are right and I do find my way out of this mess, I'm building you a temple, Third Prince."

...

A temple. Build me a temple, mother. Build me a temple, mother, for I'm cold without a body, hungry without a stomach. He remembered himself crying out, once. Build me a temple so I can be back at your side again, isn't that what you want? What you said you would give up everything for, as you picked up my pieces and buried them in a shallow grave?

Build me a temple, or you'll never know peace again. 

The most frustrating part wasn't how much he sounded like the sorts of ghosts he'd beat up later, a lot, as Marshal of the Central Altar. It was the lack of context. As in, there was no memory of the before and after. Just words echoing in a vaccum, with neither pain nor sensations attached.

It was the same whenever he helped a mortal. It was the feeling he got when, twenty years later, he stood in front of a temple gate, watching the person in a suit cut the red ribbons during its opening ceremony, and thought, I've done something like this before, long ago, inside my first temple.

But I can't remember what it was, or for whom.

He knew that was how ghosts became gods. Three souls attracted by the fragrance of incense, seven spirits nourished by the ashes of burnt offerings. Ten shades of a person, molded back together into something more than the sum of its parts, by countless mud-stained, callused hands, clasped together in prayer.

He'd watched it happen before, on the coasts of Fujian. Little Lin Mo Niang, disappearing beneath the waves, only to rise out of the tides later as Mazu, guiding fisherfolks and sailors to shore with her gentle red light, just like she did in life.

Or maybe he had more in common with Guan Yu. The fugitive, the warrior with the might of a thousand man, the loyal companion. Who, despite his promise in the peach garden, did not die on the same day as his sworn brothers. Specifically, how his vengeance and fury used to hang over Jingzhou like a plague, how his name was once whispered in fear, before it became the synonym of loyalty, brotherhood and martial virtue.

Perhaps ghosts became gods when mortals poured pieces of themselves into them, filling up the holes in their psyche. Making them more human than they ever were, and could be.

Thanks to Li Jing's destruction of his idol, he'd never know. 

That——that was what sent him onto his roaring rampage of revenge, right after reviving in his lotus body. After everything else had been bled dry, rage was all he had. Like thick black tar, sticking to the bottom of a broken jar.

...

"What stopped you?" He asked, without really knowing why.

"My legs. Literally. They don't work anymore. And I'm...gonna die anyways, it's not really worth the effort..." Her breath hitched in her throat, yet she still managed to squeeze out the last few words, "Then my mom came back."

"I...I'm still a little mad that she left in the first place, like, long before this. But she had a nice singing voice, when she wasn't crying, and," she sighed, "didn't start arguing with dad again. She said I had a new little brother, and showed me the photos...and I was just like, hey, he looks like a raisin, and they laughed, and I haven't heard either of them laugh in a long, long time..."

She was starting to look dazed, stuck in that liminal space between dream and awakeness.

"And I, I wouldn't mind hurting a lil' longer, if it means I get to have more moments like that." 

What if you don't? A part of him wanted to ask. What if those moments are no more than baits on a straight hook, carrots on a stick, making it so that you are willing to hurt longer and longer until it's not even fleeting happiness you seek, just the mere promise of release?

But that was the bitterest, crueler part, and it could fuck right off.

"I'm sure they are glad to have you, too." In the end, that was all he managed to say, in a whisper she might or might not have heard, and only got a small yawn in return.

"Well, you sound like you're about to doze off. So I won't keep you up any longer," he said. "Any last questions, before I go?"

"What do you...look like?"

"Huh?"

"When I die, I'll get to...see things again, right?" She asked. "And you can't be the only kid here. Just...wanna...go over and say hello, before the ghost cops come." 

"Oh, I'm very recognizable. You don't see a lot of folks with twin hair buns nowadays." He laughed softly. "And I promise you, when the time comes, I'll be right here, inside this very room."

"Thanks," she nodded. "G-G'night, ghost friend."

"Farewell, and sleep tight."

...

When did you stop being fun? Sun Wukong asked him, once.

When you started being nothing but jokes, he wanted to scream back. When you shut yourself in your cave for five hundred years to take a depression nap, while I drain just as much power answering the prayers of mortals as I get from their worship, and my true body is stuck guarding the fire that burn away worlds. When Yang Jian had stopped giving a crap about everything that happened outside of his precious Sichuan, me included.

When I grow the fuck up, monkey. We all do, sooner or later, yet you never seem to.

But then he remembered the look on Sun Wukong's face, as the mountain came down. A look he had seen on the faces of so many souls, as they were called up the Terrace of the Investiture. 

It was Ao Guang clutching onto his son's tendons with trembling, scaly hands. It was his mother kneeling in the dirt, begging for his life and unlife. It was him handing Huang Tianhua's head back to Huang Feihu. The eldest of Zhao Gongming's three sisters, muttering a quiet "Sorry, brother" before she was swept away by Lao Tzu's scroll. Guang Chengzi looking Yin Jiao in the eyes, as they dragged his plow up the hill. 

It was a monk postponing his Buddhahood in favor of the path of the Bodhisattva, swearing a vow that, for every life, he should learn the meaning of compassion anew, and teach it to others.

A pig who was once a marshal, too weighed down by his desires to attain enlightenment, who nonetheless went on to live a good life, full of good food and few regrets.

A soldier made into a monster after one simple mistake, who decided he was better than that, and, with quiet determination, followed his brother and master into samsara as their guardian.

It was a white dragon, destined to set things aflame and be consumed by flames, yet burning brightly all the same, a goofy grin on his face.

So he just gritted his teeth and kept on fighting. It was what he was made for, what he always did.

And it wasn't enough. 

...

But when was anything ever enough? When did Fate or Destiny ever pat anyone on the head, and tell them they did a good job, and they'd be free of suffering, just like that?

When were there ever easy answers, for mortals and gods alike?

Azure Lion thought there would be one, that the right person on the throne could magically make it all better, and he shattered trying to make himself into that person.

One step at a time. One answer at a time. A promise kept, a visit made. That was how you do it. 

After all, the great lump of molten colors Nüwa used to seal the cracks in the sky——they were but little pebbles too, once upon a time.

...

"Told you I'll be here." That was the first thing he said, as he unsummoned his wheels and sat down in midair, cross-legged.

"Oh. Well. I," The translucent girl let out a small laugh. She tried to scratch her head, before realizing she couldn't anymore. "I certainly wasn't imagining this, when you said 'twin hair buns'." 

"Do you have reasons to, though?" He asked. "People usually don't see the Third Lotus Prince on their deathbeds."

"No. But it's pretty obvious in hindsight, with the warmth and all these little hints." She shook her head. "Dangit. Now I just feel kinda dumb. Still, it's good to see you again, sir...Third Prince?"

"Nezha would do. I suppose I make much better company than the ghost cops, right?"

Behind the hospital screen, the man wearing a tall black hat grumbled something about people not appreciating their jobs, before being cut off by a "Ha! Checkmate, Lao Fan!"

"Yeah. It's a little distracting when you were dying, and two guys were just having a chess game five feet away," she said. "The cheerful one is a better player, though."

"Only because you keep giving him tips!" The man snarked back. "How does it feel like to cheat via a dying kid, Xiao Xie? I bet you feel real proud of yourself right now."

"How does it feel like to lose to a dying kid?" His colleague laughed, sticking his tongue out way further than any living humans were capable of, or comfortable with. "She gave you tips too, you just aren't good enough to use them well. And she's good. Real good. This one thinks she may just be a chess champion in her next life!"

"Thank you, Mister Xie. I learned it from my grandpa."

It was such a blessing that these two didn't exist yet, at the time of his death. As grim and thankless as their duties were, Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were also the most annoying pair of ghosts he ever met, the former taking nothing seriously and the latter taking everything way too seriously.

"Hey. You two, shut up and show some respect." He snapped, before turning to the girl. "I'm sorry you have to endure their presence."

"That's right, Xiao Xie! Even the Third Lotus Prince tires of you and your constant jesting!"

"This one thinks if we pay our proper respect to everyone that has ever died, we'll have no time to actually do our job." Xie chuckled. "Besides, he is clearly talking about the one who is constantly yelling, and incapable of losing gracefully. But alright, this one shall do as you command."

"...Let's go talk somewhere else." He sighed. "These two clowns are giving me a headache."

She giggled a little, as the screen parted with a wave of his hand, revealing the two psychopomps sitting on the nearby bed. "Their hats do look like clown hats."

"The clowns can hear you, you know?" Fan snarked, before picking up his baton and making a gesture in their direction. "Whatever. Begone. And remember our deal: you have four hours. Not a second more, not a second less. Understood?"

"Did you just admit to being a clown too?" Xie grinned. "This one does think a red nose will suit you well."

"Sometimes I seriously wonder why I ever agreed to become your sworn brother, Xiao Xie."

He led the girl out of the room, just as medical personnels started coming in, carefully concealing his presence from the mortals' eyes. The girl made a face when her hand passed through the doorframe, but quickly recovered.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you like." He replied. "Your home, your old school, that really cool arcade or amusement park you never get a chance to visit...and you don't have to choose one. Distance is not a factor at all," with a blaze of pink fire, his wheels were back under his boots again, "when I'm the god of speedy drivers. So take your time."

"Hmmm. I think," she said, after a long silence, "I wanna go see my mom, and my little brother first. Is that okay?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Let's be on our way, then." 

"Alright. Leeeego!"