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bloodypeachblog · 1 year

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The Tumblr Yandere Quintet (Peter, Sunny Day Jack, John Doe, Damon, and Alan Orion) - my personal headcanons SFW + NSFW

(TW: blood, knives, death, cannibalism, anything associated with yanderes will most likely be here, so you've been warned)

A/N: btw they coexist in the same universe here. Like, let's say they all live together in a house with Y/N. Why? Because I can. Also this is all F!Reader, so yeah.

~♡~Peter~♡~

• He is shy boi when it comes to you. He acts confident, but underneath he is lowkey panicking.

• But towards others, he is brat. Just, burns and roasts up the wazoo. It's like the person flips the switch and activates his bitch mode.

• he loves playing video games, anything that seem interesting to him. He loves Dead by Daylight and his favorite role is the killer.

• True Crime Aficionado. He listens to podcasts, watches documentaries and movies and YouTube videos, he knows serial killers' stories like the back of his hand.

• he can cook and bake pretty well. He's not Gordon Ramsay levels of good, but he very rarely makes a bad dish. He likes to make food for you and watch your reactions to it.

• as a boyfriend, he is such a hopeless romantic. Roses, poems, serenades (he's not confident in his singing voice, so he plays songs that say whatever he's feeling and sends you the youtube link to listen to them, or just blaring them on the radio outside your window), the whole shebang. Of course, he's not obnoxious about it. Just enough to make you swoon.

• You guys know that old famous photo of a soldier kissing his girlfriend after WW2? Yeah, Peter loves doing that to you.

• pet names for you: Darling, Honey, Baby, Princess, Angel. Basic stuff.

♡NSFW♡

• he likes to nibble on your ear. He loves your reactions to it.

• guy is a straight-up pervert. He'd grope you when you're alone and make dirty jokes. You'd blush tomato red each time.

• angel on the streets, devil in the sheets. More like incubus in the sheets. He will find ways to make you moan his name.

• WHAT DAT TONGUE DO THO? OH LAWD Seriously, when he eats you out, you swear you can feel the very tip of his tongue brush against your cervix.

• favorite positions are missionary, mating press, and doggy style. But he likes oral too, both sides. He loves feeling your warm mouth taking in his cock, he struggles not to cum right then and there. He loves your taste, he can't get enough of it.

•some nights he can be gentle, other nights he'll fuck you into the dirt.

• his cock is about 5.6 inches, good thickness. Not the dick of the gods, but still something to brag about. Very pretty, too.

• Knifeplay? On you, depends on if you're into it or not. On him, FUCK YEAH. He fantasizes about you using a knife to write your name on his chest. Getting cut gives him the biggest hard-on, he'd be already dripping pre-cum. And if you lick the cuts? Oh, this man will cum immediately.

�� Anal? Hell yeah. If you're okay with it, of course.

~~~~~

~♡~Damon~♡~

• He's more chill and laid back. Also he's emo. Because I said so.

• He likes listening to music. He likes any genre, but he tends to leans towards emo bands, stuff from Lapfox Trax, and metal. But you play a country song, he will destroy the radio or debate on murdering the artist.

• He wears his puffy coat almost 24/7. I say almost because he can't wear it in the shower. He loves to share it with you, the whole two person in one coat thing couples do.

• he's a cuddle bug, but won't admit it. If you tease him about it, he'll deny it and blush.

• he acts like a kuudere to others, if not annoyed. But when with you, he's so sweet. He'd give you his umbrella if it's raining and you didn't have one.

• Dude can cook, if you can call preparing instant ramen in the microwave 'cooking'.

• This guy loves meat and chewing on bones, so I bet he is also a secret cannibal, but only eats his victims. Gotta get rid of the bodies somehow! He has Peter help with preparing and cooking the meat, but Damon never says where he got it. Peter knows, though, but he don't really care.

• pet names for you: Babe, Sweetie, Lovely

♡NSFW♡

• Favorite positions are you on top, and the position where you're on your stomach and he has your arm behind your back.

• He is SO loving and gentle most of the time. He just wants to make sure you're getting enough. You will cum many times before he even finishes.

• but once in a while, expect to be sore in the morning, some bruises here and there from how much he grips you.

• master of seduction right here. He will whisper in your ear the sweetest yet dirtiest stuff, maybe some erotica limerick/sonnet he found online. His voice is so smooth it makes your core tingle just by hearing it.

• his dick is pretty average, but it's not a bad thing. It gets the job done just fine and you're not complaining.

• he does have a bondage fetish. He loves to tie you to the bed and on special occasions, like your birthday, he'll tie himself up and let you do whatever you want.

• Anal? Nah. Unless you beg for it.

• dude loves meat, so... he has a dolcett fetish. (Don't know what it is? ...eh google it, I'm not your mom. But don't say I didn't warn you.) He never acts on it really [he may eat people, but he doesn't get off to it because he feels like he'd be cheating on you], but his phone and laptop has a folder with hundreds of pics/videos of dolcett porn. Sort of a guily pleasure fetish, emphasis on the pleasure.

~~~~~

~♡~Alan~♡~

• He is such a good boi. Sweetest boi in the world. Pure sugar cookie.

• he is the outdoorsy guy, hunting, fishing, camping, all that stuff. Dude lives in the woods.

• he's the one who brings home fish or game for dinner. Preps it himself in the garage. Expect to find some deer or birds hanging from the ceiling.

• he's a pro at bonfires. Knows all the different ways to burn wood.

• Cooking? He prefers to grill or cook over a fire. He sometimes indulges in Damon's choice of meats, but no one ever tells him what it is. So don't tell him. It'd break the guy...

• he is such a sweetheart. Asking if you're feeling ok, if you need any help with anything, just so considerate. Heavy follower of PDA.

• unashamed cuddler. When you two go camping, he has you in the same sleeping bag as him.

• HUGE astrology and astronomy nerd. He will talk your ear off about the star constellations and tell you your horoscope of the day and if you are compatible with him or anyone else in the group.

• pet names: Doe-Eyes, darling, honey, dear, love

♡NSFW♡

• he's more on the gentler side of things. Perfect candidate for your first time. He will comfort you if it hurts and praise you so much.

• favorite positions are where he can look at you splayed out and writhing in pleasure. Mostly missionary.

• man is a pussy eater. On bad days, he gives you puppy dog eyes and asks to eat you out. With those eyes, you can't help but say yes.

• he likes to nibble and bite. Favorite place to bite is your thighs. He can leave marks, but never breaks skin. If he does, he'll stop and patch you up.

• his cock is the smallest in the group, but not in general. It's pretty average, nothing to complain about. He's a grower, not a shower. You secretly find his cock (both erect and flaccid) adorable, but you never say that to his face.

• does he do anal? Only if you ask him to, but even then, he's hesitant. He will make sure you're prepped well.

~~~~~

~♡~Jack~♡~

• the ray of sunshine in the group. Always trying to cheer people up.

• he loves to give hugs any time, any day, any where

• he is such an 80s retro nerd. He has a collection of games and movies from that era. Favorite movies are The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Favorite arcade game is Dragon's Lair or Pac-Man.

• definitely the fashionista of the group. He loves to create outfits for you to wear, making sure the colors compliment each other. He does this for the other guys too, but some are not sure how to feel about it.

• dude is the kind of guy who would wear a nun's halloween outfit as his costume for reals and awaken some people while wearing it. He makes any outfit sexy.

• Cooking? He prefers to bake. Champion at breakfasts. Favorite thing to make is blueberry pancakes.

• Himbo. Just. Pure grade-A himbo.

♡NSFW♡

• bruh, this man will be cheery and bubbly during the day, total daddy at night. Holy shit.

• he will show you that you are his and only his. He's only sharing you with the other guys just to make you happy.

• man's got a body like Adonis. He's got a chest where he got man tiddies.

• his cock? HOLY FUCK. He's the biggest out of the group and he has to force his way inside you sometimes (this is canon, I swear, I've seen that clip). It is downright BEAUTIFUL. You swear, he is some sort of god.

• his favorite positions are 1) where you're both on your sides, him behind you, lifting your leg so he can plow you while kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings and dirty shit in your ear. And 2) that position where you're on your belly and he is behind you, raising your ass to him and he has your arm pinned behind your back.

• he is definitely heavy on the praise. He sees you as a goddess. Expect him to make you cum multiple times before he even gets inside you, just to make sure you're putty in his hands and ready for him.

• does he do anal? Fuck yeah he does. But he's very careful about it and only does it when you say it's ok.

~~~~~

~♡John♡~

• and then there's John.

• he's just a crack baby.

• sorry, John Doe stans. I just couldn't get that much on this guy.

• he's essentially the pet dog of the group. But it's fine, he's into that.

• he's pretty much a feral animal.

• is fueled by energy drinks and Doritos.

• he LOVES when Damon feeds him the special meat he's collected. He gobbles that shit up.

• dude snuggles you like a puppy. He can be cute and sweet when he wants to, don't get me wrong here. Puppies are always sweet and cute.

• hates baths. Y/N has to chain him to the tub in order to bathe him.

• usually stays in his room. He plays Call of Duty with Peter and loves to watch zombie movies. Favorite movie is Cannibal Holocaust and City of the Living Dead. Ruggero Deodato, Lucio Fulci, and George A Romero are his idols.

• Cooking? No idea how. Anything already prepared is perfect for him.

♡NSFW♡

• you into werewolf quality sex? John's your guy.

• expect tons of nail marks and bites all over you once you're done.

• man will make you bleed.

• some nights, the guys will hear you yell "CHILL THE FUCK OUT!!" from your bedroom.

• he will almost eat you alive, he's that feral.

• Does he do anal? Duh.

• favorite position is you up against the wall.

~~~~~

Yandere Quintet Dynamics

Peter & John Doe: Gaming buddies

Jack & Alan: Big bro (Jack), little bro (Alan)

Peter and Damon: Constant dick-measuring (metaphorically, of course) at first, but now partners in crime (oh they'll double-team ya). They like discussing true crime stuff, enough to where they have a podcast.

Damon & John Doe: Man (Damon) using dog (John Doe) to hide evidence.

Jack & Peter: total nerd buddies. Trivia night is horrible with them.

Jack & John Doe: kid being terrified of dogs (Jack), rabid dog (John Doe)

Alan & Peter: another big bro (Peter), little bro (Alan) dynamic.

Alan & John Doe: hunter (Alan) and his hunting dog (John Doe)

Jack & Damon: guy (Damon) is annoyed by the other guy (Jack), but secretly enjoys his company.

Damon & Alan: same deal as Damon and Jack, but Damon will kill anyone trying to hurt or be mean to Alan.

~~~~~

Aaaaand that's all she wrote! Hope you enjoyed this feast!

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star-girl69 · 11 months

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Hollow Bones

Natalie Scatorccio x Lottie Matthews x Fem!Reader

—-

sypnosis: The Antler Queen and her Prophet take notice of the lonely Yellowjacket in the corner.

a/n: au where coach ben didn’t burn down the cabin bc i’m not dealing with that ❤️ i hope you all enjoy!!

also i think i’m gonna do a part two of this but ENJOY THE YEARNING!!!!!!

warnings: cannibalism, swearing, mentions of hypothermia and death, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

To you, the wilderness has become a sort of home. If you forgot about the startling cold, the blinding hunger, and the rolling fear in your stomach- it was a peaceful place.

Especially in the summer, when you could sit outside and hear the leaves rustle with the scurrying of chipmunks and squirrels and know that food was at arms length. You think about that summer a lot now.

You think about the sun while you sit in the corner of the cabin, watching the other girls hug each other and laugh for warmth.

You think about the food when you’re patiently waiting in line for your scrap of meat. And while you ate the feast in front of you that was once a living breathing girl.

It’s not surprising that someone built a cabin out here. It’s quiet, besides for the wind and your breath.

It’s cold out here, even the wood of the porch you sit on, your converse digging into the deep snow in front of you, listening to your breath and the wind. You never attended one of Lottie’s ceremonies, feeling a little awkward every time you thought about it. But the sentiment was calming.

You had only joined soccer when you were little because your mom forced you. You faked sick to try and get out of it, but your mother thought your shyness was only something to break. And once everyone figured out you had a natural talent, you were placed front and center onto the field. And the more you grew, the more serious the teams were, the more you were valued.

And then it was easy to be in the center of the field- because you knew you wouldn’t fuck it up. You couldn’t. Something in your blood.

You sighed and stared at the bucket next to your feet, filled with things you didn’t want to look at.

With Crystal gone, and everyone’s newfound respect for Misty, the task of emptying the bucket had fallen to you.

You were good on the field. But much too shy to really form any real connections with the girls that could be useful out here.

And as you pick up the bucket, the cold metal sinking into your palm, leaving red marks, you remember that no matter how peaceful and beautiful the trees and the snow are, you’re still starving and cold. You still hate this place with everything in your body.

—-

In this place with no rules, you had made your own, and Natalie had become the master of them. The Queen.

In the weeks following the hunt and Javi’s death, the food in your stomachs, she had only solidified her reign until everyone looked to her without question. Sometimes it even felt like the only reason winter was here because she made it.

Even when they were at odds, Natalie and Lottie had still held a lot of love for each other.

Lottie had been something of a prophet before, and now that she had passed most the power and responsibility onto Natalie, she could truly become that prophet, that spiritual being.

And whatever they had done? They were good at it.

The snow crunched under your feet, and every bad moment in the place had been accompanied by that sound. No matter how beautiful the snow was, you were surrounded by it, suffocated by it and it’s frigid coldness.

Today was the day that most of the girls had been sent out to trifle through the woods, looking for any wood you can use to build up the fire. You had quickly peeled away from the rest of the groups that had formed, going off on your own.

You had already collected a good pile, and were making your way back to the cabin, feet crunching in the snow, singing songs in your head to keep you occupied. It was easy to wonder if you would ever hear a song again.

One thick branch rolls off from the pile in your arms.

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to figure out how to grab it without letting the rest of your pile fall to the ground. You’re thinking about leaving it when someone speaks.

“Hey,” the voice says, familiar, feminine.

You look around, your eyes tracing over the familiar fallen logs, the land, the girl crouching next to the tree stump where they had tried to murder Travis, wrapping a piece of cloth around her hand.

Blood in the snow.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking between Natalie and Lottie. You feel a little guilty intruding on them. Even though they still dress the same as you, they still hold so much power, they’re still in a relationship, and you have no idea what they were doing out here. “I… I’m just trying to get back to the cabin.”

Natalie smiles, like she has this entire exchange, and nods to the right. “Cabin’s that way. You’re not with anyone?”

You almost wonder if she’s talking to you.

“Oh. No, no. I’m fine.”

She takes a step forward, still smiling in a way that makes your stomach flip, leaning down in front of you and grabbing the fallen branch.

“Sure,” she says sarcastically, carefully placing it back on your pile.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling politely before turning towards the cabin. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as you walk back.

—-

After you came back to the cabin, your cheeks aching from the cold, your hands red from the weight of the branches sticking into you at odd places- throbbing from your palm, a splinter lodged right into the center.

You sigh, sick of the throbbing, sitting by the front window for the light, trying to get the tiny thing out of you. You know you’re sitting on the bench that Lottie claimed long ago. But it’s the only one by the window, and you can’t see in the rest of the dark cabin.

You’re so focused on trying to get out the splinter, almost about to cry in frustration, your brows furrowing together, so you don’t notice the door open. Don’t notice anyone coming back, until Lottie is sitting right next to you.

She looks at your palm, studying it, and you look up.

“Sorry,” you say, referring to how much space you’re taking up on the bench that’s come to be known as hers.

She shrugs. “Need any help?”

And after a moment, you nod anc put your hand into hers. No one had any sense to bring tweezers to nationals, so all you had was your fingers. Lottie’s nail’s were sharper and longer than yours. Maybe she could get a good grip.

She tries a fails a few times, and you watch, just waiting, feeling her skin on yours and feeling how nice this silence is, how nice it is to touch someone and be with someone.

Before this, you can’t even remember the last time someone touched you.

Finally, it slides out slowly, and she flicks the tiny thing onto the floor. You smile immediately at the relief, feeling your stomach flip as she grabs your hand and pulls it up to her face, making sure she got all of it-

She looks up at you with such a blinding smile you feel a little dizzy.

You’re not stupid. You have eyes. Lottie Matthews is beautiful… but she looks like a star in this moment.

“All gone,” she says, and you’re breathless, thanking her, feeling eyes on you.

—-

It’s been snowing all day. Enough so that everyone is stuck inside, enough so it’s freezing cold, enough to make everyone feel a little like they’re dying.

Snow is just another reminder that each day you’re here, you’re not there. Life is passing you by, like you’re frozen in it.

You’re missing college, where every adult in your life said you would come out of your shell, first boyfriend, first party, first everything. College was where your life was supposed to happen.

Instead, you’re here in the beautiful, cruel forest.

Boredom is slowly overtaking your mind, and without chores to do, all you can do is lean against the wall and stare out into nothing. The voices of the girls playing games, Truth of Dare, 3 Truths and a Lie, fading into the background.

“Hey, Y/N?” Gen asks. You look up, not sure what to expect from her. She seems a little sheepish. “Uh… the bucket is full. And… it’s your job.” She twists her hands together, making a point not to look at the windows.

But you look over at the windows, the snow whipping around. It’s nothing like the snowstorm all those weeks ago. And it’s not as bad as it was before.

“…Okay,” you say after a moment, gauging that you’ll be fine if you walk quick and keep your hood up.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she says, and you simply stand up, letting your blanket fall from your shoulders, a little excited to get out of this stuffy cabin.

You walk past everyone and towards the back, past Lottie and Natalie who sit together at the table in the back.

“Where are you going?” someone asks. You turn around and look at Natalie and Lottie, about to lean down and pick up the bucket.

Natalie seems to be cleaning the rifle, which is spread out over the table, taken apart, and Lottie just sits next to her.

How nice would that be? You think before you can stop yourself. How nice would it be to have company like that?

“Uh, the bucket. It’s full. And it’s my job to empty it, so…” you trail off, watching as Natalie scoffs. She looks towards the window. The snow.

“No,” she says after a moment. “You can’t go out there in that.” You feel a little bad for Gen, and you stand a little straighter.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I’m sure I’ll be fine if I just walk quick-”

Lottie smiles, a little in disbelief, and gestures towards the window. “No one is going to the cliff in that, Y/N.”

And your face must reveal how shocked and confused you are, because Natalie sighs and gestures for you to sit down in front of her. You do, after a moment, resting your hands on the table so you won’t start biting your fingernails or anything stupid.

“Listen,” she says. “You spend a lot of time outside, which is fine, but… you’re getting sick. You feel it? You can’t go out there in this. You can’t go out there at all, not until you get a little more color in your cheeks, until you just… get a little warmer.”

Lottie reaches across the table and wraps her hand around your wrist. You almost gasp in shock, so long since someone touched you so fast and so much, pressing your hand to your face.

“Feel how cold you are,” she says in that apathetic voice, emotionless, the one she’s adopted out here. You think about her yelling, laughing, cheering on the field.

When you look at the girl across from you, you can’t imagine her doing that.

And when you feel your own skin, how cold it is, how you’re freezing and dying right in front of everyone, and you can’t imagine the girl you are right now running across a field.

“Oh,” you mumble, and her hand falls, and yours with it. She squeezes your hand before letting go.

“Just get warm,” Natalie says finally. As if that’s easy to do.

—-

The next time Mari came around with the cards to pick the chores, a task which had gotten grim in the past few weeks since the hunt, she doesn’t hold out the cards for you.

“Lottie told me you’re gonna make sure the fire is going, and helping with the cooking.” She looks you up and down. “Don’t know why, but.” But she won’t disobey them.

“Okay,” you say simply, looking over at Natalie and Lottie at the table, who are talking in hushed tones, and they’re looking at you.

—-

And this is how it goes for the next few days. You sit by the fire, and when it goes low you put another log in it. You help Mari cook dinner, cutting up meat you pretend isn’t what you know it is, mixing it together with the last of the plants. Watching as it cooks over the fire, them watching you.

When they held a ritual one night, everyone cutting their palms, dripping blood onto a bone skull, Natalie had grabbed your hand in hers, cupping it so softly with her warm skin that you couldn’t even feel sick at the feeling of the knife dragging through your skin, the blood coming forth.

And if anyone noticed how small a cut she had made, if anyone had noticed how little blood you contributed, mo one said anything. No one could, not with you standing there like a deer in headlights, Natalie wrapping up your palm herself.

You spent late nights staring at the ceiling, knowing they were just above you in the attic, holding each other and sleeping soundly, warmer than you. Why did they take such an interest in you? Why did they watch you?

Your bones are cold and hollow, and you have nothing to give besides the scraps of yourself. You’re cold and cold and that’s all you’ll ever feel until you finally freeze in the corner of the cabin, away from the fire, alone.

The days are warm by the fire, Lottie and her window fo your back, the sun pouring in, but every night you’re freezing. Natalie told you to just get warm. But you can’t, not at night, not all alone, so far away from the fire.

And the more you feel their eyes on you, and the more you can’t imagine a life without their eyes on you, the more you just want them to take away the coldness in your bones.

You and Mari stare at the pot of water, cut up rations of meat on your makeshift cutting boards, ready to be dumped in. Still, it doesn’t boil, and you let out a sigh, sitting back on your heels.

“Add another log in,” Mari says, her eyes reflecting the flames of the fire licking at the bottom of the metal pot.

You reach around to Lottie’s bench, in between her and Nat’s feet, grabbing another small log and throwing it onto the fire.

“You guys do know that a watched pot never boils, right?” Nat asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Fine,” Mari mumbles, closing her eyes and sitting back. You watch as she peeks one eye open. “No, I can’t do it,” she groans, before turning around entirely to resist the temptation.

You laugh before turning yourself, your back pressed against the warm brick, your legs stretched out straight, shoes clicking together.

You listen to Natalie and Lottie whisper more, watch Taissa and Van play some weird game with a toothpick.

“Y/N,” Lottie says suddenly, and you look up. “That splinter you got a few days ago? It healed all right?”

You’re surprised she even remembers or cares.

Her eyes meet yours, and you swallow quickly, holding out your unmarked hand. You can’t even see the puncture left behind by the splinter anymore.

“It’s fine,” you smile slightly, and she smiles too, nodding, almost pleased.

“And you’re looking at lot better,” she notes. “A little less cold,” she muses, still smiling softly in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah,” you say, staring at your legs again, content to just wait.

Natalie nudges your leg with the toe of her boot. You meet her eyes, feeling the same as when Lottie looked at you, fire in your lungs, ache in you heart. She nods towards the fire.

“It’s boiling,” she says, loud enough for Mari to hear it.

“Finally,” Mari groans, turning around and putting the meat and vegetables into the boiling water, finally turning it into some messed-up stew.

But you can’t stop looking at Natalie. Staring into her eyes. Pinned under her gaze.

And she just smiles.

You look away, finally, only to lock eyes with Lottie again.

She has that same smile.

And that’s when you realize that they know what they’ve been doing the entire time, they know what they’ve been making you feel, they’ve been doing it on purpose.

Twisting the strings like they’re the masters of some dark game, weaving a spider web full of the yearning in your heart and your hollow bones.

Then you smile back.

—-

taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#lottienat x reader #lottie matthews x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader

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buckyysdoll · 1 year

Text

— 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐜𝐬 —

જ⁀➴ — summary: self explanatory; a/n: fic song choice: “Slow Hand” — The Pointer Sisters -> i can imagine him just being your idiot and pretending to strip tease and singing along, for no other reason that it makes his wife laugh and there’s no sound in the world more beautiful; cw: allusions to sex, but otherwise just soft; pairing: bucky x f!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

• “get your fucking hands off my wife” type of husband clodisiaiixkaioai

• or he brushes soft fingertips over your cheek and says quiet as death, “who did this to you?”

• bucky knows you can defend yourself perfectly well, so is more than happy to pin the bastard down and let you go for it, let you be feral 😌 supportive husband 💪🏻

• but that doesn’t mean he can’t be possessive as well, and though he tries to control it, it does still get between you. it’s just that he loves you too fucking much to know what to do with it, how to breathe through it —

• jealous!bucky with his arm around your waist in public, or coming up behind you to press a kiss to the side of your neck with his broad hands settled on your hips

• extremely protective, and most of all against himself; his biggest fear is who he was, what he could do and the threat it returning. And so that thought of hurting you — the risk of it pulled him away time and again. took him from your bedside in the middle of the night and went insisting that you shouldn’t have to do this, have to love him.

• because he just can’t let go of who he was like you did readily, and couldn’t yet see that loving was easy when centred on him; was as natural as breath.

• in bed, he does the cold feet thing but with his metal arm on your waist from behind, his hand on your bare tummy giving rise to a shriek that’s half laugh and half cursing your husband.

•BUCKY DOES THE HAIR TUCK THING BEFORE HE KISSES YOU, AND YOU KNOW BY THE LOOK IN HIS EYES WHAT HE'S THINKING, BY HIS CHANGED PITCH IN BREATHING YOU KNOW WHAT HE WANTS, AND HIS EYES WON'T LEAVE YOUR OWN BUT FOR YOUR LIPS, WHICH THEY JUST CAN’T STOP STRAYING TO

• i do believe he’d also be the type to channel aaron warner with a little “lift your hips for me love” 🫡🫠KCKIDIDKSNKSCKAKFKKSKXKKS

• bucky is obviously very touch-starved, but i think physical contact would definitely be his love language once he gets to know and feel and trust it, through learning with you. so then you’re touching in some way almost constantly, whether it be a hand held in public (or a throat held in private? *😏) because it just assures you both and keeps you steady, keeps you grounded.

• *as in like, this may sound weird, but i feel like he’d love to feel your pulse because it assures him that you’re here and that you’re safe? and even more so when he’s got you worked up, cos his heightened senses feel your heart rate pick up at his touch😭 so when you’re making out, his hand will come to rest on the curve of your neck, and he’ll slowly brush his thumb across the hollow of your throat as he’s getting drunk off kissing you

• so a hand on your thigh when sat together is expected, his thumb rubbing the same slow circles into jeans or skin in the same way that he does it with your hands held. or he’ll be holding your hand in public and then just randomly, absentmindedly bring it to his mouth and press a light kiss to the back of it

• he’s just so goddamn proud to be the man on your arm, and that 40s charm and courtesy with ladies hadn’t been erased from him like so much else had

• we all just know what he’d be like; as a boyfriend, as a husband, as an absolute gentleman.

• you get soft!bucky cos you’re the only one other than steve who ever tried to see the good in him; i-hate-everyone-but-you, grumpy x sunshine trope 🤌🏻

• although he still doesn’t think that he deserves you at all :’( so he often pulls away which leads to fights, and emotional make-ups.

• and these may or may not lead to inevitably slow + passionate sex where you’re both left shaking just from love for the other before you’d even gone so far as touch.

• and those nights end with your mutual tears as you show him just how much love you have to give, how much he’s worth. and so too do they threaten to fall as you give yourself over to his slow loving hands; over to his mouth and the feel of his skin as he shows you that to him, you are divine.

• in your relationship in general he needs frequent reassurance, and you’ll always give it gladly with no single question asked. after all, you both had scars that ran deep — you needed it from him just as much.

• and of course, where would we be without slow dances in the kitchen, which are somehow more intimate when dressed in his shirt than anything you’d done thus far without your clothes on. it’s in the way he cradles you to him by the songs that were custom to him in his youth, with one hand held in his against his chest and the other around you. it’s in him breathing in your scent from your hair, from the soft crook between your neck and shoulder as you softly sway and move, him exhaling in the place where he’d found home, your fingers finding his hair.

• it’s just a very soft love where you’re both safe and adored and accepted; met fully where you are, and not asked to change but to grow old together.

• because of his vibranium arm, idk why but i just feel that he’d love to pick you up — whether it be jokingly or tender. you fall asleep on the couch? he’ll lift you and carry you gently to bed. it’s something in the way his solid strength can keep you safe that he’s assured he can protect you, and that you trust him when so vulnerable.

• so too, though, will he hoist you up into his arms with a natural ease, and lay you down with kisses pressed to each part of your body he lays bare. then bucky whispers with that wicked half-smile, ‘you’re gonna regret that’ in response to something teasing you had said —

• oh, and how your sounding laugh made his heart leap.

• okay and this makes me melt, but bucky loves to cook for you and give you those date nights and perfect mornings-after you deserve. and even though that first dinner he made you on your first official ‘date’ outside the watchful gaze of the other avengers he did burn, every moment still was perfect because it was him, because he cared enough.

• he plans to bring you breakfast in bed, though the smell of cooking bacon and that coffee woke you first. on padding bare feet you enter the kitchen and are met with the sight of him with his back to you, standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in hand and that pair of pyjamas you’d bought him. the smile that touches your lips takes up your whole face, and you couldn’t hope to stop it. you come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist and there he softens, muscles settling into the shape yours take, as he has learned to trust a world that has you in it. and so then bucky smiles to himself to feel your touch; he turns, and he sees you’re in his shirt and loves you deeper for it.

• coming in for a good morning kiss is something inevitable, no choice to be made. The truth? You hadn’t believed in miracles until you’d met the Winter Soldier, and fallen for the man with the warmest of hearts beneath that old fabled ice.

• But he no longer flinched at contact, knowing touch could be beautiful when shared; learning that to love and touch could mean the whole world and no hurt at all.

• he just genuinely loves to take care of you, regardless of the hour or what it is you need.

• his sleepy voice just drives you insane and he knows it, he loves it; he presses the advantage. he’s teasing as he wakes up and the first thing he wants is you, seeing you lay so stubborn in pretending that the husk of his voice is not arousing, damn the man. so excuse my vulgarity in saying, but he’s some kinda *morning man* if you know what i mean 😌

• though then again, he’s a man for any goddam time of the day when it comes to his wife and her love

• but aside from all that, it’s like his voice was the sole sure light in your life; each time he spoke you felt the stir within your gut that said at long last, i am home. you find yourself waiting for the moment when he walks through that front door and you then breathe again as you eat, sleep and talk with the love of your life. and somehow life means something more than you’d ever thought it could all those years past, yet here you are. sharing home and hearth with the man who’d become your love and best friend all in one. He who’d dragged your heart back up from HYDRA’s raging hells.

• Bucky loves to be touching in sleep, so your back is always curved against his front, or your head’s on his chest. The first waking seconds of each day were spent like this: his fingers carding through your hair or running gently down your back, tracing shapes, wondering how on earth he got so lucky as then.

• thinking that if only he’d known just how good it could be, then he would’ve known just what he had been living for all those years in the cold, empty dark.

• comforting him in the predawn hours when nightmares break his sleep, and soothing him back to the rest that escaped him with soft fingers in his hair; or a cold damp flannel for the fever in his head that you accompanied with praise, with words of comfort.

• You take his bad days with his good, as he does you. There’s a silent understanding. Something that’s mutual and unsaid before it’s shared out in the open: how you both had pasts with HYDRA that left hollow spaces where life had once dwelled.

• And so he proposes one morning in bed, cos i can’t get enough of this scenario my god. you’re both just sleepy and he’s kissing you and his smile is lazy and content and he’s happy, and he just smiles against your lips and says “marry me” cos there’s only one thing that could improve upon that happiness, that joy. and you don’t know if he means it at first and it scares you just how much you want him to, but he’s here and he’s saying the words, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.

• The engagement ring that’s been sitting in his sock drawer waiting for the “right moment” is now finally aired to breathe, pushed lightly onto your wedding-band finger that you only see half-blind through unshed tears.

• should i have included dad!bucky hcs? or pregnant!reader hcs? IDK

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

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ofmermaidstories · 7 months

Text

You are five when your Quirk manifests for the first time, with Rinchan.

‼️📍 content warnings: implied major character death, death in general, in a myriad of ways (falling, head trauma, old age, drowning, suicide), im a little graphic for emphasis, grief and mourning. there’s also some light smut and implied underage sex.

Rinchan. Rinchan who watches you while your mother goes to work. Rinchan with her big, soft, crepe-paper arms; who holds you in them for as long as you want, singing you songs as she shells peas into a metal bowl—you clinging to her, placid as a koala, your legs dangling over her lap. Rinchan who is probably your most favourite person in the entire world—the entire world being your neighbourhood and your school and the nearby park, overgrown, and the overwhelming shopping centre a car ride away.

Rinchan. Rinchan. Rinchan who, when you are five, starts appearing before you naked and wet, her face covered in blood.

The first time it happens she’s still alive; the sizzle of her cooking coming from the kitchen just behind you as you sit on the floor with a pile of milk-chews in front of you, staring in frozen horror at this other her—shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O, everything about her soft and sagging.

You make a tiny noise—fear, caught in your throat, a baby mouse curled up—and then Rinchan, your Rinchan, Rinchan alive and warm and dry, calls out, “Are you okay, Baby?”

The Other Rinchan’s mouth stretches open further, like it recognises her—like it’s trying to say something back and you—

You wail in answer, scrabbling at Rinchan (living, alive) when she flys in, concerned, asking, “What? What? What is it? What’s wrong?” her soft crepe-paper arms around you tight as you sob into her neck.

She’s bewildered and a little frightened herself; but she hums as she rocks you, a warm hand stroking your back, soothing you both until your sobs are little more than wet snuffling, your hand curling into the fabric of her dress.

You loved her. You love her, still, after all this time. But that love doesn’t save either of you, and you are haunted by the other Rinchan for the rest of that awful summer: in the park, with your friends, Rinchan watching, mouth agape, from the bushes. Walking home, hand-in-hand with your mother, Rinchan behind you. Alone in your bedroom, at night, Rinchan standing over you as you watch the water drip down her skin. You start wetting yourself with the fear, whenever it happens—a response that quickly loses you those parkside friends and worries your mother and living Rinchan sick, the pair of them whispering about you when they think you can’t hear, their fear—your fear—condemning you to pull-ups, like a giant baby.

It doesn’t stop the end from coming.

Rin dies just before Halloween, when the shops are filled with green-faced witches and plastic skeletons that rattle and can’t frighten you, anymore. She dies alone, at night. A fall in the shower, your mother tells you in a whisper a couple of days later, red-eyed. You knew enough by then to be able to picture it: Rin, shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O—her face covered in blood.

Your mother holds your hand at her funeral, too tight, and you cling back and say nothing.

The other Rinchan never comes back. Rin never comes back—cannot come back, no matter how much you love her.

Others do, though.

It’s a parade of the dead, shuffling forward to a dirge only you can hear. You learn, over time, that it’s specific to people you either know or will come to know—people you have some kind of tie to, some bond, good or bad. When you are fifteen it’s your homeroom teacher Miss Aoki: her head and shoulder caved in, her right eye bulging out at you, unseeing. You’d been drinking a bottle of milk-tea when she arrived, the blood stark and jewel-like in the daylight. You do not touch milk-tea for ages, afterwards.

You no longer wet yourself in fear, but you cannot look your teacher in the eye for weeks—it ruins everything. You stop pausing after homeroom to talk to her, stop sharing the music that brought you together, unable to face her, unable to face the bemusement and then the tiny flashes of hurt.

You cannot warn her. What would you warn her about? The trauma to her head could’ve been a fall, or some kind of rock—an accident or murder. And even if you knew, even if you could pinpoint it, she would not believe you. You know that because you had tried, with the ghost after Rinchan—with Yochan. Yochan, a boy from your neighbourhood and once, once before your Quirk had come, a boy you had followed around like a guiding star. You and all the other kids, faithful to him above all. But when your Quirk came and you got weird, he got mean.

“You’re a stupid piss-baby!” He’d shout at you, cackling. The other kids hung back, unsure of how to treat you—and this was how you saw him, the other him, standing behind the others with a swollen, awful face, his Endeavour shirt stained with a creamsicle, his eyes disappeared under the red, weeping slits of an allergic reaction.

You tried. You tried.

“Yochan,” you’d whisper, “please—”

His face would twist in disgust though, any time you came near him. “Freak!” he’d hiss. “Piss-baby! Get lost!”

He’d run away, then, laughing to himself and telling everyone that you had threatened him (“Piss Baby wants me dead!”)—and you had shut into yourself more, haunted by the agonised version of him that only you could see, that would stand there in your bedroom and twitch, the last throes of death.

It came for him, eventually. More than half a year later, during a game of softball where he’d knocked over a wasp nest and stomped over to it, the others too scared.

(The teacher explains it in class the following week and you sit there, in your seat by the window, untouched by the light. Empty.

Miss Aoki dies during the war, caught in the shadow of a collapsing building. You go to her service without your mother to hold your hand, and pray for forgiveness.)

You can map your life by the bodies that follow you. A year after after Miss Aoki it’s Hiroe: the tiny, fierce old woman down the street who grumbles at you every morning. When her doppleganger appears across the street from the pair of you, thin and wan and gasping as the hospital gown slips off her shoulders, the living her angrily talking about her carnations, the only thing you feel is relief. She’ll be in hospital—someone will be with her. It won’t be alone in a shower, or sprawled out on her kitchen floor, blood pooling under her. It’ll be death, still, leeching the life out of a woman who pertly tells you that the colour of your coat doesn’t suit you, but it’ll better than some of the lonely things you’ve seen, you live with.

(But it’s not better at all. Hiroe’s son works too hard, his hours too long in the aftermath of the war, helping the restoration. You visit her after school, bright flowers in hand and some of the colour returns to her face as she complains that you’re already dressing her altar, but her son is never there—and she dies alone, during the night, gasping for breath.)

You’re cursed, you think; cursed to see death everywhere you go, in everyone you know. And then you meet Kouki and realise that your curse smears over your future, too.

Kouki. Kouki with his brilliant red hair, like autumn leaves in the sunlight. Kouki who laughed easily, who would evenutally come to keep his pocket full of those old-fashioned milk-chews, just for you. Kouki, who, before you meet him alive, you meet dead—floating mid-air before you during your walk home one night, his hair dancing around his face, his eyes unseeing as his mouth opens and closes, gulping for air that isn’t there.

You are seventeen by this stage. It had been a hard couple of years with Miss Aoki, with the war, with Hiroe. Kouki appears before you under a streetlamp and you drop your schoolbag, your throat siezing.

“Don’t,” you say to this corpse of a boy you haven’t met, yet. “Don’t—don’t you dare do this to me.”

He opens his mouth; a tiny silver fish darts out and you burst into tears, overwhelmed, your new ghost lingering with you as you sob on the street, alone in the night. You don’t even know him. You don’t even know him.

He transfers to your senior class at the end of the month.

By then you had gotten used to the vision of him, numbly, the drowned boy following you around like a harmless stray—keeping you company on your walks home from your part-time job. You had sat with him as he floated, you solidly on the ledge of a park, unwrapping milk-chews and staring out at the dark before you, undaunted and unafraid, the most haunted thing there as his tiny fish flittered about him, again and again, on loop.

And then he walks into class that first day, and you are—you are frozen, even as he grins at you, bright and undaunted and alive.

“Hey,” he says after class, too interested and too friendly. “You look a little frightened—you good?”

Considering you had woken up that morning to his vestige floating at the foot of your bed, you most certainly were not good. What you say instead though is a curt, “I’m fine,” which proves to be mistake.

His eyes—big and blue—brighten at the challenge, and he grins.

“Fujita Kouki,” he introduces himself. “What’s your name?”

In the daylight, the light of the living where he can soak in the sun and return it, Kouki’s—Fujita’s—eyes are warm, not the milky colour you’ve been haunted with. You should walk away, you think desperately, wavering; you should retreat immediately. But the daylight is seductive. You are seventeen and it has a been a hard year and you are tired of being afraid.

Your lips part, even as you hesitate. But when you give him your name, his smile widens, and it almost—almost—chases the ghosts away.

Kouki quickly becomes your best friend.

Best friend is not the right term; it’s not fair to him and what you know about him. It doesn’t capture the horror of seeing him walk into your classroom that first day, nor the fear that follows you when he’s late to meeting up, or stays home from school because of a cold, because he’s bored. But—

He’s easy going. Refreshing, like cold, sparkling lemonade in the hot sun. He’s friendly and quickly becomes popular with so many of the others in your class and he wants to—he wants to hang out with you, walk you home. With Kouki you’re not the Silent Weirdo that never interacts with anyone. With Kouki you laugh—all the time, like all he wants to do is make you happy. He fills his pockets with those milk-chews and walks with you in the evenings, pushing his bike alongside you, telling you about the way his little brother terrorises his parents and how his father has been wanting to go on a vacation for years, now—and you let him. You let him become apart of your life, you let him walk you home. You let him sink into everything you know, into your pores, the fabric of who you are. He’s the good morning lets gooo texts before you meet up for school. He’s the warmth against you as you sit side-by-side on your park ledge, no longer the most haunted thing in the dark but what you should have always been: just a kid, sitting with a friend. Being with Kouki is easy, too easy. You no longer see the ghost of him—suspended in midair, his silver fish. You just see him, have him—Kouki, alive, chuckling to himself as he hands you another milk-chew.

“My dad’s finally free,” he tells you one night. You’re sitting on your ledge, mouth full of the creamy chews—Kouki (living) before you, lingering close.

“Mmph?” You question, unable to quite pry your jaw open enough for real words.

Kouki laughs like you had said something funny, and despite yourself your stomach flips, pleased to hear it. He’d been subdued; unusually quiet, had been since lunch that day, when Keichan had confessed her feelings to him in front of everyone. Keichan was pretty, effervescent—she laughed like he did, easily and among others who sparkled with her attention. On paper they were a perfect match and you almost wanted it—you wanted Kouki to be happy, however it happened. For as long as he could be.

But he had said no. You, sitting on the edges of the yard and picking at the grass, had been unable to help but watch in the same horrified, fascinated fear as everyone else, all of you silent. Keichan’s pretty face—shocked. Kouki’s red hair shinning brilliantly like fire, as he shook his head.

“Sorry,” he’d said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “I just—I don’t want that.”

In the evening gloom, he nudges your knee.

“The old man’s finally got that time off he wanted,” Kouki explains. You nod, swallowing your chews and trying to ignore how he moves forward—bracketing you, where you sit. “He wants to go fishing.”

“Oh,” you say, a little uselessly. Kouki’s hands are either side of you, distracting—the space between you warm, as he dips his head in closer.

You still. He’s always crowded your space but tonight in the silver light his face—normally so open, light—is afraid.

“You never tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, low, and you shake your head, emptied of words. It wasn’t true—you told him about the books you read, the songs you heard. The way you liked cupping sunlight in your hands because it made them glow, made you feel like you had a different Quirk entirely. You had never told anyone else that.

Kouki’s eyebrows tighten; pull. Frustrated, maybe, even as his hand balls itself into your skirt.

It pulls you closer to him, just a little. Your hand comes up between you—your fingers tracing the fold of his jacket pocket.

“You smell like those milkchews,” he whispers, and your heart is in your throat even as your lips part, his parting in echo as he watches them—

—and you don’t know who pulls who in first but then you are kissing, a hand cupping your face, anchoring you to the moment, to him as your fist tightens into his jacket. You sigh into the cool of his mouth and can almost taste the way he smiles before he presses in harder, hungry.

He pulls away after a moment; only to press more kisses, soft and careful, against your mouth, your nose, your cheek, laughing when you make a tiny, annoyed noise.

“You’re dumb,” he tells you, low, pressing another kiss against your hair, and then another. “And I’m gonna take you out and watch you eat those dumb sweets and make you tell me everything you’re thinking, forever. Until you’re sick of me.”

Your heart lurches. Forever.

“I could never be sick of you,” you tell him, the ache reopening inside of you.

Kouki grins, pleased and so, so alive; his brilliance softening to a glow as he dips his face close again, tracing your nose with his.

“I mean it,” he says, quiet. Promising. “You’re gonna have to chase me off.”

You try to stay in the warmth of him, the light and life, clutching at him, letting him kiss you again, soft.

But there’s a sob in your throat. And when you open your eyes, breathing in as Kouki kisses your jaw, your neck, his spectre is there—mouth gaping open, as a tiny, silver fish darts out.

(You beg him not to go, when his father announces the boat he’s rented, for his fishing trip. The man’s never been out on one before. Kouki has never seen your desperation, your fear, not like this and he almost stays, brows furrowed—but his little brother is excited. His father too. He buys all three of them matching fishing hats.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against the back of your neck, when you’re curled up together in your tiny, childhood bed. The house is quiet; you have it to yourselves, the sunlight dappling in your room, filtered through the tree outside. “I’m a good swimmer. Don’t worry.”

He presses a kiss against your shoulder, his fingers slow, tracing figures in the wet touch of your underwear. You breathe him in and to reassure yourself he’s right, that he will be okay, that you will always have this.

He’s gone by the following week. A storm. Kouki was right—he was a good swimmer. But his little brother wasn’t, and the love that made him go in the first place was the same love that made him search for him, endlessly, after their boat was capsized.

You go to the joint service. Kouki, his father, his little brother. His mother is held together by an older woman, desolate. In a row in front Keichan cries silent tears but you—

You stand there and you stare at Kouki’s portrait, his smiling face. He will never again soak in the sunlight and reflect it He will never again wait for you, his pockets filled with your favourite sweets. He will never again kiss you, with the cool press of his lips, the taste of his laugh behind them.

Fujita Kouki is gone. He is gone, slipping away—taking the you who believed in hope and a future where you could be happy with him.)

The years slip away. One, then two, then three and then four and then five. You move to a bigger city; and then you move again. You work in offices, department stores, a warehouse once, washing carrots—anything that will pay you, pay the bills. You keep to yourself and your coworkers lose interest in trying to keep up small talk with you and you don’t form any kind of tie, good or bad, that could manifest before you, rattling in death.

Kouki would never forgive you for this bleak existence, you think, if he could see it. But wherever he is it’s not with you, not on this plane, and so you keep your head down and when one of your ghosts does come to you, you grit your teeth and ignore it.

Even in isolation, they find a way to haunt you. You start seeing the clerk from the 7/11 you stop in to and from work, his neck snapped, and you avoid the store for three weeks before telling yourself it was stupid of you, that maybe you could say something—only to find someone else there, when you walk in, the guy already replaced.

The new hire at the office you work at starts appearing before you, swinging, his throat and face mottled as hands claw at a rope that’s not there and you—you thank him when he brings you a coffee, and try to be a little kinder, try to watch as he blends in with the others, laughs among them, the crack underneath his smile not showing.

He bungles a client, six months into working there. Your boss chews him out in front of everyone, the guy taking it with a silent, shame-faced nod, and when you try to say, “You worked hard, mistakes can happen to anyone—” he only bows hurriedly, already backing away.

(he doesn’t come back, and two weeks later his desk is cleared.)

Head down, keep to yourself. Another year passes. And then another. And then your curse rears its ugly head one final, terrible time.

You are waiting for the lights to change in the middle of a busy street, on a cold, bright afternoon, when you first see him.

You’re not paying attention; staring into the crowd on the other side of the street, thinking about what you had in the fridge at home and then he’s there, in your line of sight, his face twisting in fury, in grief, as he reaches out, shouting something—

And then there’s a flash of light, blinding and sharp and he is gone, startling you even as the crosswalk starts to sing, people moving around you like water around a stone as your heart races.

No, you think weakly. No. Not again.

He doesn’t return and you stand there, in the same spot, even as the crosswalk blinks back to red.

All your life, your Quirk has worked one way: showing you the death of someone you already knew, for better or for worse. Not someone famous, not a stranger. Kouki had been an—anomaly, you thought, desperate. Some freak tie. Japan had gone through so much in those years during and after the war: reports of abnormal adolescent Quirk growth had spiked, at its worse. You had always thought that maybe yours had been apart of that, that that’s what Kouki’s ghost had been. A result of stress, or your loneliness. Something, anything. And you’d only grown more sure of it when it didn’t repeat—

Until now.

You get home that night and in a fit of anger tear through everything, up end it all. Your clothes, out from the wardrobe or the basket, strewn along the floor. Your pots, clattering thunderously throughout your kitchen. You scream, pitching book after book across the room at your couch, the covers bending, pages tearing. You wouldn’t go through it again, you wouldn’t—

You curl up against your kitchen island, sobbing. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t do this. Not again. Not ever again.

(But your heart’s already sinking. Already tender with the hurt, remembered and preemptive. His hair had been golden in the light—like winter sun.

When your hiccups calm, you look up—and he is standing over you, his face twisting again. You shut your eyes but the flash is bright, even then. Nuclear.

When you open them, he’s gone.

“Please,” you whisper to your empty apartment. “Please don’t do this to me.”

But it’s only the silence that answers you, the absence of mercy or comfort and you shudder, your tears nothing but salt in your mouth.)

Your plan, eventually, is simple: just ignore your newest ghost, when you finally meet him.

It should be easy. Even though he was a Pro-Hero he was also a famous one—and how often did you run into famous Pro-Heroes? They always had something to defend, always had someone to save. You just had to keep living your life, squarely and safe and you would be fine. You would skirt past each other and he would live or die just however a Pro Hero should.

A month passes. And then another. You begin to think maybe you’re safe; and then you’re not.

“If everyone can line up, then that’ll make everything go smoother,” your boss calls out, echoed throughout the office. Below on the street is the firetruck—overseeing the drill. You peer over the ledge of the window in worry, trying to count the firefighters out: seven that you could see. If you saw anymore than that while out on the street you were just going to close your eyes and wait it out.

Your boss calls your name—and when you glance to him, startled, he gestures with his megaphone, sheepish.

“Can you run and grab my laptop case for me?” he asks, already half out the door. “You’re closer, and I have a feeling we’ll be down there for a while.”

“Yeah,” you say, already standing. You leave your own things at your desk—as you’re meant to—and dart to his office, partitioned by glass. When you turn around, the case in hand, the office is empty—your boss’s megaphone calling out down the hall, down the stairway, leaving you alone in the wake of it.

You go to the window again, to count the firefighters. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

You freeze. There’s an eighth figure there, standing solidly with them, talking, his arms crossed. A Pro Hero—dressed in black, with bright orange details.

Your ghost, you think in alarm.

He looks up at the window and you jerk away, startled. He shouldn’t be able to see—the glass was tinted—but his face is suspicious and you clutch your boss’s case to you tighter, heart thumping.

Don’t give him a reason to single you out, you think desperately—you hurry to join the others but they have left you on an empty floor, already making their way down the three flights quickly, leaving you and your noisy footfall as you race down the emergency stairs—only to have the door to the lobby thrown open roughly before you could even reach it.

It bangs against the wall; leaving you to stare in silence as he fills the doorway fully, glowering, stopping you in your tracks.

“The hell?” He asks you, roughly. Under his mask his eyes flicker over you, over the case in your hands, unimpressed. “Why didn’t you evacuate with the others?”

You can only shake your head, tucking your hands around the case tighter. Even having his spectre repeat and repeat in front of you—it doesn’t compare to the space and heat of him in the flesh, taking up a doorway. He’s more solid now, more real and when he shifts, just a fraction, you step back in fright.

Something his eyes—ink red under his mask—don’t miss, narrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mercifully your voice is calm. “I had to grab something.”

“You ain’t meant to take anything,” he points out, barely civil, and you duck your head into a nod—his jaw tightening in response.

You’d rather this, you think, wincing. The brittle patience, barely hiding his rippling irritation. Anything was better than the despair that’d been playing over and over in front of you.

Pro Hero Dynamight—Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight—scowls at you, jerking behind him. “The extra with the megaphone is doin’ roll call.”

He means your boss. You look at him, curious, and his mouth tightens. It doesn’t thin the curve of his lips, though, and when you realise you’ve noticed that—

You hold your boss’s laptop closer. “Okay,” you say, meaninglessly.

Dynamight only moves out of the way when you go to squeeze past him, your jacket catching against his suit as he grunts.

“Wait,” he commands, annoyed. You stare ahead and will everything within your mind to empty as he pulls you free from the catch of one of his grenades—you mutter a thank-you and don’t look back as you hurry to the glass doors, the light, the open outside away from him and the heat of his space.

(You hide behind your coworkers as your boss commends everyone for their examplumery speed and when one of the firefighters steps forward to walk everyone through the basic dangers of an office building fire it’s Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight who stands behind him, solid and real and flinty eyed, as he stares everyone down. Someone in front of you giggles; he glares at her until she stops, bowing her head in shame and letting him look directly at—

You. Standing at the back.

His mask moves; his eyebrow raised. You lift yours in a helpless, silent, question. He frowns, like you’re speaking two different languages and morosely you think to yourself, so much for not giving him a reason to single you out.)

It’s just one off-chance meeting, you tell yourself. Just a weird little moment to establish something there, and make you feel a little guilty when you hear about his death on the news.

Only—

Only it keeps happening.

Perhaps it’s your karma, for never saying anything to the ghosts that had followed you. Or maybe it’s one last laugh from Kouki, his evil delight in teasing you manifested. Maybe it’s just plain old bad luck—but whatever it was, it meant you kept running into Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight over and over again, humiliation on repeat.

He’s—there, in his Pro-Hero gear, at the konbini you get your morning coffee, scowling as the cashier stammers through the burglary you’d only just missed. He’s—crouching amid a group of excitable kids, his grin for them sudden and sharp and bright, distracting even in the middle of a busy street. He’s—walking past you as you startle, safely tucked away into a coffee shop as he patrols past, barely sparing the café window a glance.

He is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. And in turn his ghost is too: the blinding flash in your mirror, as you try to brush your teeth, squinting. The nuclear eruption that startles you awake, in the darkness of your room. The silent twist of his face as he reaches out to you, over your counter as you eat your cereal.

It’s worse than it was with Kouki, you think bitterly. When Kouki the living appeared in your life, Kouki the ghost receded. Now you were just being haunted on both ends, both versions just as fleeting as the other.

Your only consolation is that you are, truly, a nobody to him. Just another face amid a city full of them. For all the tiny run-ins, the awful timing, you manage to wriggle away quickly, without attention—or so you’d thought.

You’re walking home under the city dusk: a universe of lights below you as you trek up the winding path that leads home. Work had been awful. You’d seen your vision of Dynamight no less than three seperate times that day, the furious twist of his face, his silent shouting—his disappearing. He was taking you with him, you thought in despair. No other ghost of yours had been so persistent. Distracted, you’d bought a supermarket bento for dinner—some nectarines, for dessert. As you walked the bag swung low and slow, too flimsy; when it splits everything in it splatters, and tumbles.

You swear, skidding as you try to chase the fruit, rolling away as they gain speed—

Stopped by a black boot, it’s orange detailing almost glowing as it scuffs along the ground, blocking them.

Everything within you settles; flattens as you straighten.

Under his mask, Dynamight arches in an eyebrow.

“You good?” He asks.

You shrug, and hold up the remnants of your plastic bag—drifting like a bride’s veil, between you.

The Pro-Hero tsks, crouching, picking up your nectarines. “Weak crap.”

In the twilight the black of his uniform makes him a dark void—until he stands again, holding out your fruit to you. You frown, and watch him mirror it, his wide mouth turning down, unhappily.

“You afraid of me, or somethin’?” He asks, rough. His face is pinched—it makes him look like a little kid, trying to tough out a pout and your stomach squeezes with the guilt. The last anyone would see of him would be a flash of light—and then Japan’s dynamite, Japan’s explosive anger, would be gone forever.

And here you were—making him feel bad in what could, quite possibly, be his last days.

“No,” you admit, opening your handbag to take back the nectarines. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He squints at you, disbelieving.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Then why do you keep runnin’ away like you’ve shit yourself?”

Oh, you think, he’s disgusting.

“I do not,” you say instead, crossly, dropping to the ground grab the remains of your bento.

Dynamight grunts in dismissal. “Yeah you do. Every time I’m walkin’ down a street, or I have to drop into some shitty little place—you’re there, turning tail. If you ain’t on laxatives and you ain’t afraid, then what is it?”

“I’m prejudiced against all Pro-Heroes,” you tell him, stoutly. “And you keep foiling my plans for world domination. Why do you notice, anyway? Why are you here?”

His boots scrape against the path, suddenly loud between you, as he moves in closer.

“‘M on patrol,” he tells you. “It’s my job on patrol to notice weirdoes—and you’ve been the weirdest.”

“Congratulations!” you tell him sourly, skittering around the solid wall of his presence to a nearby trash can. It’s already overflowing, but you squeeze your own rubbish in and turn back to the Pro, as much apart of the world around you as the dark undergrowth of the pathway, or the city lights behind him.

He’s so real, you think angrily. And in days, weeks—maybe months, if he was lucky—he’d be gone, just like that.

“Now what?” You ask him, ask yourself. “What happens now?”

Below, a train screeches past. Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight shrugs, indifferent.

“Depends,” he says. “You gonna keep being weird?”

You almost laugh. You don’t, though, holding your handbag with your nectarines closer. You are standing in the last, dark moments of a twilight world with a man who will die, God knew when—weird was probably the least you could be.

“Maybe,” you say instead. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The Pro-Hero shrugs again. “Then I do my job, and keep an eye on ya.”

He’s not looking at you when he says it, shifting awkwardly like a school boy and you—

You let your shoulders sag. You are an adult, no longer seventeen—but has been a hard life, and you are tired. Tired of being afraid. Of always being at the edges of your own life.

“Okay,” you tell him, tell yourself. Tell your ghosts, wherever they’re gathered. “I surrender.”

Dynamight snorts, kicking out a loose gravel and when he glances back to you his face has softened from its suspicion—waiting, instead.

A new pattern starts.

He walks past the coffee shop when you’re there and squints at you—acknowledgement you return with the ugliest face you can manage, the woman at the table across from you snorting into her mug.

You walk past him one weekend, surrounded by fans, and he looks up and sees you—bright eyes flickering over the fizzing orange juice in your hand, your wide sunhat, not hiding the startled surprise on your face—and grunts at the kids around him, holding up his hand as he tries to squeeze out, to you.

“Your hat makes you look like a frilly grandma,” he complains, loudly, as the fans follow him, encircling you both.

“I like your hat!” One girl says, brightly. She’s wearing a GEMG:D shirt with his scowling face under his title scrawl; you touch the brim of your hat, self-consciously.

“Thanks,” you say, self-conscious. She beams at you, even as Dynamight starts jabbing at you, trying to get you to move.

“I gotta get grandma home,” he tells everyone, as the group groans. “S’gotta have that nanna nap.”

You let him bully you. You let him pick you out, every time you cross paths. You don’t fight it—and when you start seeing him out of his Pro-Hero gear, his weaponry, your heart tightens in on itself in warning.

“You hungry?” He asks you, one evening. You’d been walking together, the pair of you having finished work at the same time; you in your neat, office wear, your leather handbag. Dynamight in sweats, a loose shirt, a dufflebag over his shoulder.

The sky above you is pink, the moon a silver crescent. A manga moon, you think to yourself; overlooking a love story.

“Yeah,” you answer him, eventually. “I’m starving.”

He nods, resolutely not looking at you—though when you glance at him his jaw tightens, head turning away.

“Denimhead introduced me to a place near here,” he says, gruffly. “They’re decent, ain’t wankers. And they’re cheap. Private.”

He should be doing this with anyone else, you thought to yourself, desperately, watching your shoes. Anyone. Someone who wouldn’t be counting down the days, the weeks, the months.

“I’d like that,” you say instead, softer. “I’d like to go.”

He doesn’t risk looking at you but his smooth face reddens, even as he passes a large hand over the back of his neck, like he could rub the colour out.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go then.”

It’s a bistro; a tiny pocket of a place only marked by a single, hanging sign of a smiling cow, the sizzle of steak permeating the alleyway. Inside the lights are low—Dynamight stands back to let you sit at the bar first, watching hawkishly, before he follows, the bartender smiling at you both.

“They gotta menu,” he says, nodding to the mirror behind the bar, where a sparse few dishes are written. “Otherwise if ya trust me I can—I can suggest shit.”

His gaze flickers over your face as you watch him in turn. He was so—here. Alive. With every tiny movement—the draw back of his elbow, the flex of his hand—you feel it, too aware.

“I trust you,” you tell him.

He grins—sudden and pointed and startling a smile out of you too, even as you try to bite it back.

(He orders blistered tomatoes, the size of doll heads, dressed in olive oil and a sweet fig vinegar, a soft cheese that bursts over them. There’s toasted baguette—slathered with bone marrow, garlic butter. There’s steak cut like it’s been shared among cavemen, several inches thick and still on the bone, bleeding even as it sizzles. The bartender puts down a little plate of fine, perfectly ruffled pasta in front of you; dressed in pesto, charred greens, tiny flowers and you have to share it with your Pro-Hero, who’s nose wrinkles when you try to offer him a speared garnish.

He is warm and he is close and he smells like the char of a grill and soap and a sweet wood layered over warm skin and neither of you move to touch each other—

But his leg presses against yours, and stays. Your hand slips over his by accident as you move to help yourself to dessert, a soft creamy dish with fruit—and he turns his palm up, catching it. Squeezing your fingers for a brief moment before letting them go, unmooring you only to anchor you again when you walk side-by-side, back to the train station, the warmth of him reassuring, and inescapable.)

Days. Weeks. Months.

You walk together, have dinner sometimes, lunch others. He complains about the other Heroes he works with; you listen, side-eyeing him when he then mentions feeding them, making meals at the agency because everyone was useless—

He doesn’t poke at you to talk, but you start sharing anyway. The book in your handbag; the gossip the others at the office always had.

“Tell ‘em to either deal with it or shut up,” he suggests, and you laugh despite yourself.

Days. Weeks. Months.

He goes away on a mission across the country—after a villain the news was calling Hazard. He’d been responsible for the complete destruction, the levelling, of a factory, a shopping centre, slipping away before anyone could scramble through the rumble and detain him. It rains the entire time Dynamight is gone, leaving you to walk home alone, an umbrella over you, as the news loops over about flood warnings.

(When he comes back it’s an overcast day; finally dry. He’s waiting for you at your usual crossroad, now, and when you see him you smile, his eyes following the curve of it before flickering over you.

“You good?” He asks.

“Better now that you’re back,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

You were. You had stayed up every night he was gone, on your phone—watching the news, the tags, waiting for his name to appear, footage of the flash that would take him. There’d been nothing; no arrests, no collision.

But your Pro-Hero’s face softens, just slight, and you realise that he’d read something else in it when he says, low, “Yeah. I get it.”

Days, weeks, months. Your heart thumps to it, reminding you and nervously, you shift away.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, wanting to fill the space between you with anything else.

He watches you skitter away, trying to encourage him to move; his eyes ruby.

“Yeah,” he repeats and in relief you turn away, all too aware of his stare, at the back of your head.)

Days. Weeks. When you finally kiss it’s at his table, in his home; empty plates in front of you.

“I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you tell him honestly, quietly, the smears of your tiramisu the only remains as you stand, to take your plate to the kitchen.

“You’re always tryna—dart away,” he says suddenly, still sitting.

You startle at the look on his face—serious, soft mouth trying not to pout.

“I just—I just want to help with the dishes,” you say, but his brow furrows, pinched, and when he stands it’s carefully, slow, the coiled draw of a bow that shivers, waiting.

“I can’t get a read on you,” he admits to the quiet, his knuckles against the table. “Can’t—guess at whatever’s goin’ on in that squirrelly head of yours.”

You swallow, and run your hand across your forearm, too aware of the soft edges of your sleeves, of your Pro-Hero following your fingers.

“There’s nothing,” you whisper, and he snorts; boyish, disbelieving. It makes him less of a threat and more of a man—real, living, breathing, with his own thoughts and his own feelings.

“Like hell there is,” he swears, stepping closer. It brings his warmth in; the smell of coffee, of his cologne, aniseed sweet. “Whatever you’ve got spinnin’ around in there keeps you worlds away from this one. And I ain’t—”

He stops himself, his mouth parted around the rest of his words as his eyes flicker over your face, your lips; the way you can’t breathe for his nearness, hesitating in the space between you.

“—I ain’t gonna let you disappear,” he finishes, low. For a moment he traces your nose with his, and when your lashes flutter he sucks his breath in, tight; his mouth on yours, warm and sudden. A press. And then another. And then another and then the kiss is deepening and you tilt your head as hands fist themselves in your hair, keeping you close even as he pulls away, tiny, to pant against your lips. “Hah—”

You kiss him back. You take him back. Your hands are tight in his shirt, too flimsy to hold him and you whine and you can feel him snarl—or smile?—against you, his teeth hard against the corner of your mouth, scraping your jaw as he nips at your neck.

The plates on the table rattle as you both slide to the floor. You gasp as his mouth meets the bare skin of your thigh, then again as his thumbs hook under your underwear, the cool of his floor a shock. He moans, muffled; free of your ass your underwear drapes, wet and warm against you and he mouths at it, a heavy kiss as you gasp again at his tongue through cotton. He kisses deeper—you gasp again, and again, until you’re panting, tiny ah, ah, ahs that have him squeezing your hip, nosing the wet slop of your underwear out of the way so that his mouth meets your skin and you both moan.

(You are unravelled, on the floor—your clothes pooling, your breasts freed, your legs splayed. His hold is firm and warm and you are heavy-eyed, even as you gasp again, under him. You want to drift away—you want to stay, hissing as his blunt nails claw along the meat of your ass.

He lifts himself to meet you for a kiss—his mouth and chin shiny, his eyes glimmering as his shoulders ripple, panther-lithe as he leans over you.

His mouth is warm. You hum into it as he curses, tasting him—coffee, sex, you—as hot hands smooth the small of your back, the slip of him inside of you so, so easy and wet.

Even in the rut, the thrust, you are safe. You arch off of the floor like you’re trying to escape it, escape into the solid wall of him, waiting with another kiss, long and hard as he thrusts in deeper, deeper still.

You curl your legs against him, your heel in his ass. He grunts, then bites at your chin and your laugh is broken off into a moan as he ruts in hard.

Days. Weeks. When you come it’s sudden, starflash hot; you gasp for a final time and your hero is there to nose against your wet skin, to kiss you, his own undoing a groan, a sigh into your mouth.

There are no ghosts, lingering afterwards. Only him, panting; only you, your legs slipping together, your lips parting. Only him, only you.

He presses a kiss against the side of your head, almost forcefully.

“Wasn’t too shit,” he says, gruff, and you laugh around your breathlessness, anchored and alive.)

Days, weeks. Days.

Your Hero asks you stay over; you do, waking up in sheets that smell like him, that smell like sex, like you. You give yourself the moments—let yourself kiss his shoulder in hello, when he’s brushing his teeth. Lean into his touch, when his hand smooths up and down your waist.

“The others wanna meet ya,” he says one night, grumpily. “Said something about a lunch—I told ‘em s’up to you.”

At the counter, you hesitate. Who knew what you’d see, around them, the country’s frontliners. And it would only make this death, the one you were waiting on, worse—

But your Hero is determinedly not looking at you, his face pink, and you realise—he wants it. He wants you to meet them. Them to meet you.

Oh, you think, stricken. This was going to hurt.

“Okay,” you say. “I’d—I’d like that. Let’s do that.”

When he grins it twists his whole face into childlike brightness. You smile back with a wobble, looking at him and only him—ignoring his ghost behind him, shouting at you before the flash.

Days. Day. It’s a bright Saturday and you were meant to be meeting his friends, at last, the city busy as you hurry to the department store. There was a store in the food hall that sold small, perfectly round cream cakes, with glossy coatings and made to look like fruit—you wanted a tray of them, to take.

The sales clerk is handing you the bag, sealed with a ribbon when the shouting starts.

“RUN!” Someone screams, a flash from the back of the store blinding you. It’s the call, the break through the spell. Everyone panics, shouting as people start to bolt for the stairs to the street outside.

You’re almost torn away from the store—the girl serving you yelping as people barrel past, the force of them moving you, too, until the girl shrieks—trapped behind the counter.

“Wait!” You say, but a man almost shoves you aside and you drop your bag, your cakes, pushing against the others that follow him until there’s a gap. The sales clark is wincing, behind her case, but there’s a ominous rattling above you and you scream, “Come on!” at her, your hand held out as everyone on the floor screams.

She sobs as someone smashes into her counter, shoved up by a crowd and you wedge yourself out of the way and scream again, “We have to go! Now!”

You’re almost blind in your panic, wheezing as your elbowed in someone else’s desperation—but then she’s scrambling with the hatch, reaching out to you too and when her hand is in yours you run, following the crowd.

You’re separated in the push—there’s more screams, as more and more flashes fill the room and someone, an older man, almost claws at your face to get in front of you.

Outside there’s a wail of sirens; someone on a megaphone, shouting for surrender.

The explosion is small. It doesn’t feel like it—everyone tumbles to the ground with the shock wave, the smoke quickly filling the space and trying to tunnel out the same way and someone grabs your elbow and tugs, begging you to move—

You follow them. Her, the girl from the cake stand, her face puffy and bruised. The pair of you crawl over people, stand, and when you break out of the glass doors and into the daylight it’s almost a relief—until you see the ring of Pro-Heroes, police officers, all tense.

Your stomach swoops. The Pros, the cops closest to you are ashen-faced—looking beyond you, to whoever is now holding you in place with a calm, heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Just put your hands up,” one of the cops calls out, over the megaphone. “And surrender. There’s no need for hostages.”

Behind you, broken glass shifts. The hand on your shoulder squeezes tighter, a warning, and you stare out at the crowd, trying to empty your mind even as the clerk, still next you, sobs.

Day. Moments.

Beyond the crowd you can hear his sharp voice, his shouting and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to know, not wanting to see—

But everything within you is attuned to him. The world falls away into white noise and all you can hear is your name, being screamed furiously, and you have to look.

You blink away your tears, and he’s there, two other Pros trying to hold him back as he swears, elbowing out at them; his face twisting in fury, in grief. Your eyes meet—and he surges forward again, shouting something to you as he reaches out, an officer barrelling into him as nails dig into your shoulder—

And then there is a flash of light. Blinding and sharp.

And you are gone.

#‼️📍 content warnings at the beginning of the post 📍‼️#tw: major character death #tw: death #tw: bludgeoning #tw: wasp stings #tw: drowning #tw: suicide #tw: grief/mourning #tw: smut #bakugou x reader #prompts and drabbles and other things #merms apology tour

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taintedcigs · 4 months

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modern!steve popular culture hcs:

loves taylor swift. this is obvious. 1989 is his go to album when he's getting ready (especially during his hair care routine). he thinks style and wildest dreams were written FOR HIM. is not afraid to sing the songs out loud and sometimes annoys u a lot by singing them in a really high-pitched voice. sings "he's so TALLLL and handsome as HELLLL, he's so bad but he does it so well." at you with a wink and pointing to himself, fully believing it's written about him, you can't convince him otherwise.

rom-com lover. through and through. he used to hide it but he just can't anymore. loooves 10 things i hate about you, how to lose a guy in 10 days, and notting hill. he also enjoys all of katherine heigl's iconic rom-coms.

LOVES MUSICALS. mamma mia is in his top 3 on letterboxd (he loves abba SO MUCH). and he cried watching la la land and regularly listens to the soundtrack.

he can't watch horror movies for the life of him. he got creeped out by the idea of coraline and still can't get himself to watch it. (robin dressed up as the other mother for halloween and steve SCREAMED.)

he's one of those people WHO loves watching movies that are so bad that they are ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECES. also have a feeling he laughs really hard at those 00s parody movies. idk why. it's what bonded him and eddie. and they have a marathon of bad parody movies when they're stoned tf out of their mind. they just told me.

he loves ANYTHING pop. (he loves fantasize by ariana grande and has begged u on countless occasions to do the dance on tiktok and only send it to him) and he loves himself some alt-pop and occasionaly indie stuff like lana, lorde, arctic monkeys, death cab for cutie, sufjan stevens, inhaler, franz ferdinand, band of horses and boygenius!!!

also random but he'd be such a trashy reality tv fan.... watching ALL of them with you... love island, jersey shore, housewives, dANCE MOMS, any other horrible netflix reality tv... like at first he scoffs at you for it, but then he does that dad stance. just standing and watching whatever you're watching, then finally after a few hours, he takes a seat next to you, fully immersed in the experience, not even letting YOU look at your phone, and he's sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the tv like a man-possessed while critiquing the show and doing commentary like they can hear him.

the most "metal" he can listen to is literally fall out boy. (eddie keeps making fun of him for this. you are now sending metal songs to steve, day by day, trying to get him to like it, just so that eddie won't make fun of your poor angel bf anymore<3)

this is self-indulgent but he's a twilight fanboy through and through... team edward but he feels bad for jacob (sadly... you have an argument about this each time and once you bring up jacob claiming a baby he's dead silent), has a tradition w u to watch them every fall. he acts like he's seeing it for the first time each time u guys watch it.

likes harry potter (fuck jkr forever, u guys don't engage in the content and u 🏴‍☠️ both the movies n books:)) bc he grew up with the movies but if you're a harry potter nerd, he'd poke fun at THAT A LOOT. HE'S A LIL TEASING ASSHOLE. "oh that wasn't very slytherin of you!" "i thought you were supposed to be brave, huh? aren't you a gryffindor, babe?" he taunts with a loud chuckle, enjoying the way you narrow your gaze at him.

#steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington drabbles #LOOK THESE ARE MY HCS OKAY!!#IF U DONT AGREE FEEL FREE TO DO UR OWN #NO NEGATIVITY THANK YOUUUUU

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 9 months

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MORE Cute Spider Society Headcanons: Extracurriculars and Sports

Another list of headcanons I have about Spider Society and what it's like on campus. This time - Music, Sports, The Society Newspaper, and other fun things to do on campus

Heads-up: There's light mentions of Spidersonas below - including my own lovely Disco-Spider Diane. All creators tagged at the end

[This post has a lot of links in thise - ALL lead to other tumblr posts. Most of them explain callback jokes, additional headcanons, or the information about the Spider-person being named. All the Spider-people mentioned here are free-to-use headcanons, unless otherwise named. Those who are actual Spider-sonas that my Spider-sona knows - their first names maybe used, or their sona introduction will be linked. Basically if their normal name isn't given and/or theres no link, have at it]

LETS GO

The Spider Music Scene goes CRAZZZYY

Thought it was just Hobie?

Of course not! There's MetroSpider too

In fact there's a whole wide range of accompanying 'Spider-*music genre*'

There's Spider-Goth who plays gothic death metal, DiscoSpider who plays funky pop, Spider-Grunge into 90's garage grunge, RrrriotSpiderrr who plays Riot Girl Grunge

There's even SpiderSync

Which is NYSNC. But they're all Spider-people. Like Justin Timberlake as Spider-man. They roam as a group

That's because Metro isn't the only celebrity Spidey either -

There's SpiderB, which is just Beyonce but a Spider-person. Britney Spiders, which is Britney Spears but a Spider-person. Doja-Spider, Doja Cat. You get the gist.

Like imagine being in the Spider Society campus food court and turning around to see BEYONCE

And she's like 'yes.. It's me'

and it's literally just like the normal Beyonce with albums and everything excepts shes also Spiderwoman

And gay. And has a rapper wife named Jane-Z

Every year there's a collaborative album from all the musical Spiders

Called 'The Yearbook'

A lot of the songs are about the direct struggle or experience of being Spider-people

With some really good party songs thrown in for the Spider-raves

Hobie and Gwen's band Wicked Webs appears on the album, along with any Spider who plays an instrument.

If your spidersona can carry a tune, they're on it.

AND IT'S FIRE

You can buy the album at the Commissary.

The first week at campus EVERYbody is playing it. In the common rooms or the food court or training rooms -

They'll just play this album that's by Spider-people for Spider-people

If your spidersona starts singing ANY part of a 'Yearbook' song some without a doubt will respond with the next lyric. everybody knows the words

Spidey people really treat Hobie like a rockstar - and a lot of them go to his concerts

It's kinda a huge unspoken thing on campus that a LOT of people are willing to break rank and head to 136 without permission, just to see Hobie on Saturday nights.

Even people who don't hang with Hobie or don't necessarily know the real him

They still go cause his shows are THE PLACE to be.

Spider-people pour into his tiny venues in London, all out of uniform, and they mingle with the punks in the crowd while Hobie goes Miguel Mode on stage

It's a place where they can all drink (if over 18) and party (any age, Hobie gotchu ur safe with him) and enjoy themselves

And as a result, Hobie is a HIT with people from his universe

They know that Hobie's shows are always lit and full of cool people you'll never see anywhere else

The after-parties are CRAZY (party on all six walls), and it's really common for Spider-friends to link up and head to each others universes after the show - getting into their own shenanigans

There's MANY times Ansi, Asa, Hobie, and Diane have gotten themself into some shit while lit after one of Hobie's shows

And every Monday people are talking about what they get into after the show, the crazy stuff that popped off in the after-parties

MetroSpider, Pavi, Diane, Hobie, & Margo throw the BEST parties

Miguel knows about this, and he lets it slide - for the sake of morale (and not causing a riot if he banned it)

There's an international Spider community on campus

You thought Spiderman India and Spider-UK was it? NO

Spider-Canada and Hobie are other noticeable ones , but there's more!

There's the Peruvian 'IncaSpider' named Moche, a Paris born SpiderFrance, a SpanishSpider, SpiderItaly

A Mahayana Buddhist ThaiSpider, VietSpider, Spiderwoman Brazil. The list goes ON AND ON.

There's a large group of Indigenous Spider-people

Some Spider-people are even born in countries that don't exist in most universes or live in universes that live in countries that USE to exist

My favorite international Spider-person is the Australia Spider-person who is simply named Australian Spider

People constantly joke they're no dangerous than the average Australian Spider

And there's also a Spider Olympics!

And the events are DESIGNED for superhumans

Diving from buildings into swimming pools, Track meets where people are running at like 80mph, Web Gymnastics, Contact Sports

Ice Hockey gets REAL intense - and of course SpiderCanada is a team captain

As does Roller Derby. Wanna see superhumans fucking WRECKING each other? Go watch Spider-Derby, the players have derby names that play off their own Spider-names. So it's like a triple identity.

And once a year, they all throw down - and even if you aren't THE Spider of your nation, you can still participate if you want -

Like Hobie can enter for Britain but he'd rather die than do anything for that country

It's the one place you can compete and fully push your spider powers without danger - plus it's with your friends

They do give out medals. But it's mainly bragging rights.

Pavi earned his first gold medal in the diving portion for India only three months after his bite. Which is a record for The Society

However the Spider-person with the highest number of medals is Lego-Spider-man. I don't know how.

Sports are HUGGGEEEE on campus I cannot stress this enough

Everyone knows The Society LOVES baseball (shoutout @theevoh12)

But they also love football too (European - not American)

The Society also has TWO soccer teams that constantly play against each other

They play 4 wall soccer in which the field extends the length of a room, up the walls, and across the ceiling - leaving two walls for spectators. This is usually just called 4wFootball or 4WF

This is played with extended rules - and a modified ball that can stick and roll along walls

MANY people on Society backs one of the teams.

And before a game there WILL be arguments without a doubt

You DO NOT insult someones 4WF

You can get team jerseys in the Commissary

WebSlinger Patrick O'Hara is Captain on one team. No, the horse does not play

(I want a jersey with Patrick's 4wFootball number)

Imagine being a Spider Society Athlete and seeing other superhumans wearing your jersey and giving you thumbs up - WHOLESOME

Games can be played 'Plain' or 'Full'

A 'plain' game of 4wFootBall uses basic spider abilities such as speed, strength, and reaction time - however special abilities are not allowed

A 'full' game of 4wFootBall uses basic spider abilities as well special abilities and passive tactics. If Mile wants to go invisible in a 'full' game - that's permissible

Miguel's venom is NOT however. Can't be paralyzing other players. Abilities that effect the other players are off limits, so no electro powers

'Plain' games are played out-of-suits, in team uniform

'Full' games are played in-suits, with the team uniform over it

Betting on teams and players is against the rules

But also Lyla runs an underground betting system and fantasy 4wfootball league. Don't tell Miguel.

There's other activities with solo athletes, and like Hobie being a famous rockstar on campus - there are star athletes too

Tennis is a huge one. Volleyball too. With an extra long field.

The serves, spikes, and hits can be genuinely dangerous. They're managing swings and hits that can top out at like 110 mph (just above the world's fastest baseball pitch)

But because everyone are Spider-people, its fairly easy to follow in real-time

Star-Spiders are usually tennis players, gymnasts, weightlifters, and track stars, but there's a couple others too.

Pavi is a star gymnast, swimmer, AND A 4WFOOTBALL PLAYER - he goes REALLY hard at extracurriculars

(And he's surprisingly competitive. Like insanely competitive. Pavi will scream at the top of his lungs cause he scored a goal. He loses a game and as soon as they end the game he wants to practice cause he HAS to win next time)

The boy is a perfectionist.

One thing that's SO annoying is Venom Evaluation Checks

If you come in acting weird, too bold, or uncharacteristically agressive - You get sent to Spider-psyche so they can make sure you don't have venom.

Not my fault. Raimi-Peter (from the Raimi movies) pulled up to HQ one day in all black and started dancing all weird and saying cringy shit like 'Now dig on this'

And Jess was immediately like "Yeah, no. We're not digging on anything, sir."

There's a newspaper you can write for

Spider-Scrawl is the Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Web who is a GREAT boss by the way

And it's a MUCH better gig than working at The Bugle

So if your spidersona has worked for Jonah - submit a resume, you might get a call

Theres things like a Canon Event Advice Column, which Diane writes for

A news section that details the Craziest News across the multiverse

If your Doc Ock pulls some crazy shit and turns into a giant octopus - oh yeah thats going Front Page. Everyone on campus knows and you get to gloat about fighting a giant octopus

There's a Debate Section that updates with hot topics that only exist between Spider-people like:

'Is it okay to genetically replicate another Spider-persons organic webbing so you can recreate it for your mechanical webslingers?'

'Masks: Hair out or No? Spider-man India and DiscoSpider weigh in'

'Is the Go-Home machine ethical?'

'What's Miguel's favorite flavor of empanada?'

As you can imagine, these coversations across campus can get REALLY heated

There's a lot of entertainment

Yes, there's a movie theatre on campus. They play movies from across the Spider-verse, and they're a GREAT way to see versions of films you know - but different.

Watch GhostBusters except it's from WebSlinger's world and everyone is cowboys and they catch the ghosts with lassos

Other hits are shown on the big screen too

Barbie was a HUGE hit on campus. People coming in with pink outfits OVER their suits

And it's really cheap in terms of credits

So people like Gwen who started out living on campus, or who are apart of the Educational Study Program have nice things to do in their off-time

And, The Food Court is THE BEST

You think they only have empanadas - think AGAIN

Every culture, every time period. Even weird ass food that you wouldn't even want but is a staple in other universes.

They even have a FISH N CHIPS SHOP (Malala loves it there)

So Hobie can get his nasty ass beans on toast without leaving HQ

The Food Court is almost as big as the Training Wing, and there are so many places indoor and out to eat lunch

And it doesn't stop there -

There's a store (based on credits not money) and a general kitchen.

(As well as separate kitchens in each dorm wing)

You know how in SpyKids they have those meals that like GROW to full size in the microwave???

Guess what NUEVA YORK HAS THAT MY FRIEND

Missing McDonalds or a specific chain? - Just go to the Grocery in HQ and get a capsulized happy meal.

It grows to fill size in the expanders in the kitchen

Just pick the meal, put it in the expander, dip your ID card, and BOOM

Olive Garden with breadsticks on the side, Waffle House Waffles, McDonalds WITH international food options

Plus the grocery is fully automated by Lyla so you don't have to talk to people if you don't want to

But she will see all the nutter butters and pringles you pick up and she will judge you for it - it's between you and her but she's judging you

Miguel wants members to actually like the place he made

Because he finds no point in having unhappy, unsupported, unstable Spider-people out in the field -

He wants them at their happiest and healthiest so he tries his best

And he hardly partakes in any of this, but to him that's fine. It's not suppose to be for him.

He does enjoy seeing a full food court or walking by the training rooms and hear all the sessions going on

Hearing people talk about the new movie on campus

And sometimes you can even catch him humming a song from 'The Yearbook'

Imagine how smug Hobie was when he went 'bruv - are you tapping out my guitar notes rn?? you thinking about my song?'

Miguel can never live it down

Miguel DOES follow 4WFootball though -

He is actually one of the coaches for 4WFootball - he's a GREAT coach. Hardheaded ass fuck sometime but GOD he loves the Spider's on his team they're his favorites but he tries not to show it

And finally -

Yes there's a nursery and kindergarten on campus, specialized for Spider-kids regardless of if they have powers.

Peter doesn't let MayDay run free (all the time). MayDay attends the Itsy Bitsy Spider Daycare, and so will Jess's child

Sometimes while walking around HQ, you'll see little toddlers in single-file lines, holding lunch boxes as they follow Spider-Teacher on a field trip to another universe - to learn about the wonders of the multiverse

Their favorite trip is to WebSlinger's world, all the kids get to be cowboys and Patrick shows them ponies and lets them feed his horse Widow

There's a breakroom for people the multiple Spider-Teachers, Spider-Professors (Educational Program), Spider-Psyches, Spider-coaches, the list goes on and on

(Though Society Administration like Jess, Ben Reilly, and yes - Hobie (don't ask how hes just that good) have a separate breakroom from the educators and coaches and such )

And those breakrooms are funny as HELL It's like the Office back there.

This is really long :) Here's a photo of Hobie

Bye.

_________________________

ALSO ALSO ALSO : All the people, OCs, and other things I mentioned -

Ansi - by @spidey-bie Asa - by @suchholydebauchery Disco-Spider Diane - by ME @theevoh12's amazing baseball concept Spider-Scrawl by @whaliiwatching

Thanks for making HQ so rad!!

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briarcrawford · 1 year

Text

Little Details For Writers To Make Winters Seem More Real ❄

In the past I did the post “Writing Realistic Winter Scenes,” but it did not quite cover everything, so I thought I would add some more tips! I hope they help for making your stories more realistic.

Stomping Feet.

Only rude people don’t stomp snow off their boots before coming inside. Where I live, you will often also see people giving their boots a good stomp before entering a store.

Once inside a home, take off your boots and (if they have one) put it on a boot tray to stop puddling. If you are entering a store, many locations have rugs by the door. Once inside, wipe your feet a few times.

Holding a drink with both hands and no metal mugs/plates.

Tim Horton drinks are called “Canadian hand warmers” for a reason, so you will often see people waiting for a bus or city train with a drink in both their hands.

As for the metal mugs and plates, I learned my lesson for this one very quickly. When I was an Air Cadet (teens) we would go on weekend survival trips, and most the kids idolized military kits. So, many kids(myself included) would purchase military mess kits. Now, I am not saying they are not handy; plates, bowls, and even a tiny frying pan, all fold up together neatly and flat in your bag, so what is not to love?

Well, when you are camping in places below -25c, and you take off your glove for a moment, you may find your skin sticking to the metal of your plate(thanks to the cold, and steam from your meal). Now, this might seem funny, but if you are not careful, you could actually remove skin.

So, metal is great for cooking and great for the summer, but I suggest being careful if you plan on using them to eat with in the winter.

Bringing Your Animals In

In medieval times, farm animals were often brought into the house. Some houses kept them on the bottom floor while living on the top floor, others not so much. This is to keep the animals from freezing to death, but also to add some extra warmth in the house.

It was not just in the past, either. My past co-worker grew up on a goat farm, and said if it was too cold out, they would bring the baby goats in to run wild in the basement. She remembers it fondly, but it must have been incredibly chaotic for her parents haha.

New Water Source:

Creeks, lakes, and wells will likely freeze over, but luckily you may have another option: snow! Just look for a clean patch, scoop it up, and heat it. It is not a perfect system (during my wilderness survival training days, there were times of picking pine needles out of the water) but it was better than wasting energy to go cut into the ice every several times a day(the holes will re-freeze over).

If it is cold without snow, cutting the ice is exactly what you’ll have to do.

Tree Wells:

Evergreens — like pine trees — are built to shed snow off their triangle-shaped form, so often have little pockets around the trunk with less or no snow. This might not sound like a problem, but occasionally people on skis and other equipment die in them. People are on the move, fall headfirst into them, and their skis are pinned above in the snow out of reach.

Alternatively, these wells can be an emergency shelter from a storm or hunting hiding spot. Do note that you (for the obvious reason of wood everywhere) can not light a fire in these shelters.

Easy Tracking:

It’s not easy to hide prints in the winter, and they are more obvious. This could be good if your character is tracking something, but bad if they are trying to get away.

Some shows have the characters sweeping the ground behind them, but if the snow is over a foot deep, that wont really work.

Realistic Ice:

If you are on a lake, do not expect it to be quiet. It is always flexing and cracking, and sometimes this sounds like a pop, and other times it can sound like the lake is singing.

Ice can also look different. Some (like Abraham Lake in Alberta) is known for it’s frozen bubbles, while others flex so much while freezing that the ice breaches the surface into what look like frozen waves.

While we are on the topic of ice, crampons/ice cleats. Crampons are spikes that attach to your boots, and people here use smaller ones just for walking the dogs. They bite into the ice, making you less likely to slip. They are not a new invention, either. They have found archeological evidence of them that are thousands of years old in different places around the world.

Sounds:

If it is very cold out, sounds are louder. This is one part because there are no leaves on the trees, but also because noise travels through cold air easier. Both these are why any sound (such as the crunching of snow) can seem so loud in the winter.

Alternatively, the snow can muffle sounds (it is an insulator) but only to a certain temperature. This insulation can make the world around you seem almost unnaturally quiet as it muffles any surrounding sounds.

So basically, mildly cold with snow means muffled sounds, while very cold means traveling sounds.

Multiple Socks:

If you are hiking in the winter, it is recommended that you carry at least three pairs of socks to change into at some time. The reason? Your feet will still sweat even if it’s cold, and that sweat can freeze. As a general rule, if your feet start getting cold, consider changing socks.

Boots Near The Fire:

In movies, characters always put their hands near the fire, and that does happen. It is not just the hands, though. People often sit with their boots near the fire and they may start to steam as the ice and snow melt.

This can be so tempting, that there is normally that one person in the group who accidentally melts the rubber of a boot by putting it too close to the fire, or by resting their boot on the metal rings that some campsites have. While we were sleeping in lean-to’s, one kid even scooted too close to his fire in his sleep, and woke to his whole boot melting. It melted so bad, his boot had to be duct-taped together or else they would send him home.

Since people in the past would not have rubber/plastic on their boots, they would react differently to the fires, but you can bet people in the past did the same.

Pack Sled:

If the snow is deep, you may see people (especially skiers and snowshoers) with a sled that has their pack in it. This is to help take some of the weight off you, which stops you from sinking as far in the snow.

Little Modern Details:

Shoveling the Walks

It’s a silly detail, I know, but it is never in books or movies. Here, you have to shovel your walks by law, but there are two other reasons as well. You need to keep the snow from piling up over your boots, and also to keep your vehicle from getting stuck. For this, people either own a shovel or a snow-blower, then put salt or gravel over the icy spots.

Our homes here are built with a roof overhang to keep snow and such from piling at the door, but homes that are not so lucky (such as places that don’t normally get snow) or homes that face towards the wind, might end up being snowed in if they don’t keep up with shoveling.

Prep your vehicle.

In movies and books in cold places with a storm, the hero jumps into the car and rushes away. In real life, they wouldn’t be able to see out the windows. The real process: Start your vehicle about 10min before leaving. While you wait for it to warm, brush off the snow and scrape ice from the windows.

If your character is in that much of a rush, they can put the window down (if it is not frozen) and stick their head out the window while they drive(100% not recommended lol. You can’t even use a seatbelt if you do this).

Fighting for the Register:

If you are a kid and you come in with wet boots, the fight for the spot over the heat register is on! Those with the lucky spot will have far drier and warm boots or mittens for next use.

Dead Batteries:

If it is really cold out and you have something like a phone with you, you had better keep it in your inside pocket(most winter jackets have them) closest to your body. If not, even a full battery can completely die out in record time. Batteries simply are not made to handle extreme cold. They sometimes turn on again if you warm them up, but other times you will have to plug them in and charge them.

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barrenclan · 4 months

Note

for the next music post: bird song by f+tm is a good one for rainhaze killing asphodelpaw (& then, depending on how the rest of the story goes, him subsequently being haunted by his actions)

Ahh, Bird Song is such a classic. You know the visual I can imagine for this; Rainhaze speaking to himself/his conscience/previous self as the "bird", as he wanders to BarrenClan territory. And then in the part of the song where he kills the "bird", it cuts to him having killed Asphodelpaw.

"Well I didn't tell anyone, but a bird flew by Saw what I'd done he set up a nest outside, And he sang about what I'd become He sang so loud, sang so clear I was afraid all the neighbours would hear, So I invited him in, just to reason with him I promised I wouldn't do it again"

"I opened my mouth to scream and shout Waved my arms and flapped about But I couldn't scream I couldn't shout, The song was coming from my mouth"

youtube

Yeah, Rainhaze. Fuck McCafferty though.

"And I know that I'm not a nice guy I hurt people's feelings, I guess I should die But my body says hurt myself, and my heart says to harm myself"

"How did I get like this? So afraid of everything"

youtube

Wow, yeah, it really is. Look at these lyrics.

"We're machines that breathe and weep And look really good Trained to kill"

"Send me back in time And I'll bring us back in line Just tell me whose mother I have to kill" <- ermmm. well.

"And I've replaced my heart With metal parts And I'm working out just fine But I can't get it to start"

youtube

Lmao? Okay YouTube thanks

JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS MENTIONED!! This AU idea is actually along the lines of my original draft of the script; originally Asphodelpaw and Pinepaw wouldn't have a last moment of connection before she was murdered, so he'd be more torn about her death. But yeah, wailing, I love this song. Watch this show.

"No time for goodbyes Didn't get to apologize Pieces of a clock that lies broken"

"If you could only know I never let you go And the words I most regret Are the ones I never meant to leave Unsaid Emily"

youtube

Another classic! I think I've been suggested this one before, but it fits very well of course. Cormorantpaw specifically I can imagine singing it; goes well with Issue 33.

"All day I've been wondering what is inside of me Who can I blame for it? I say it runs in the family"

"But business is business and business runs in the family We tend to bruise easily, mad in the blood I'm telling you 'cause I just want you to know me"

youtube

Wilbur Soot is honestly a pretty good voiceclaim for Rainhaze.

"Under the weight of a broken nose It's not that simple, but he won't seem to notice There must be more to this"

"Would do something, if it wasn't all so effortful 'Cause I'm so high, my brain can't even look at the fall And when you've reached the top there's nowhere else to go but-"

youtube

I hadn't, but I do like it!

"I'm alive and I can see The water is foul and it's hard to breathe There's lead in the water, there's lead in the water There's lead in the water, and you think that I'm fine I'm stained by the water and only the water I'm drained by the water, are you losing your mind? Dead in the water, dead in the water"

youtube

No, I haven't heard of this one before! But you're right, it's very fitting! Also, psh, no one has ever animated before you start animating. If you want to, go for it. I'd certainly be interested!

"Oh, in Pine Point, where I was born The roads are all overgrown And no one's lived there for years The town was never the same The mine was closed in '88 And everyone disappeared"

"Oh, in Pine Point It's deteriorating And your memory started fading"

youtube

#ask #anon #music #rainhaze #asphodelpaw #au #cormorantpaw

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stuckybarton · 1 year

Text

Sirens Call

Summary: You were just a marine scientist, but with the recent urge of the US Government to locate more Vibranium, you would have never thought that it would spell the unexpected change in your life. Character: K'uk'ulkan/Namor x Siren!Female Reader. Word Count: 6,408 (jesus christ was this long) Chapter Warnings: Black Panther Wakanda Forever Spoilers. Mention of Kidnapping, Death, Bloodshed, drowning. Possible Stockhold Syndrom. Angst. Sort of Happy Ever After. A/N: A request from @kpopgirlbtssvt, sorry for the delay. I did tweak a little on your request since i didn't want it to be too similar to the series i'm writing but i do hope you enjoy.

Also, the song included in this story is a Filipino Lullabye

Masterlist || Join the Library ( i no longer do taglist you can just turn on notif here)

Sirens Call

It has been over a year now since you have turned your life around. With the death of Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff, you had no one you could truly depend on to protect you from the government coming for you. Without Steve, and with the desolation of the Avengers, of the family you have created with them, your life of running had ended with finally agreeing to the Government's terms whether you liked it or not.

You stood on the deck of the large boat, the wind blowing through your hair and the salty smell of the ocean filling your lungs. You were a Marine Scientist before your involvement with the Avengers, now you were working for the CIA, and the current objective was to locate Vibranium that is said to be located deep beneath the oceans floors.

You had knew about the abundance of the metal in Wakanda, the durability and power it had when making weapons, Steve Rogers’ shield was an evident example of it. So it was no surprise to anyone, even for you at this point that it was an immense interest to the government. They had ignored Queen Ramonda’s warning of staying away from Wakanda to search for the metal, instead doing the exact opposite to help even out the odds against their own feud with the people of Wakanda. Fight fire with fire if you will. But you were hesitant about this mission. You were now only a scientist, no longer a hero nor were you a solider, and the thought of being one of the individuals responsible for creating a possible weapon of mass destruction made you uneasy.

As the boat bobbed up and down in the rough waves, you can’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. It felt off. It’s was almost as if the ocean was singing, the gentle breeze of the night winds was calling you out, beckoning you to come closer. You shook your head, chalking it up to exhaustion. You have been working countless of days and even week for this mission, your team’s safety had been your top priority instead of that stupid metal, and your mind was simply playing tricks on you.

“You alright, Doc?” It was Daniel, one of the dozen of agents the CIA had given as your “protection” during this mission, but you knew for a fact that man like him wouldn’t even bother to save you from drowning if he was given a chance. You’ve met men like him in your lifetime and you wouldn’t trust him with your life because of it.

“Nothing that needs your concern, Agent.” You brushed him off, taking another healthy sip of your tea, your eyes had lingered onto the waters. It has been well over ten minutes now since two members of the team have been deployed to submerge from the waters to locate the Vibranium.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, the water is find and that suit is practically impenetrable.” He scoffed only for you to ignore as you continued watching the line wires that held onto the suits move further and further down. “This should be the least of your concern knowing what will happen if we find nothing.”

“If any of them are hurt or killed, you know what would happen.” You threatened him right back.

You had made a deal with the devil for your own freedom from the Government. What they had over you and your secret that you wished to put your grave would be buried along with the fallout that you were certain would come one way or another. God only knows what Wakanda would do to you when the truth comes out about your involvement. Your head would be in a silver platter for all you know. It was only a matter on whose table it would lay upon at the end of the day.

“You worry too much, Doc.” He scoffed before leaving you all on your own—peace that you truly needed at this point in time.

But as the night wears on and they have descended deeper into the ocean, the feeling grows stronger. Even as you had headed into the control room to check how they were doing in the water, there was something that was keeping you uneasy.

You can hear a faint humming sound, almost like a song. It was in the same moment you heard the panic from the communications and everyone was scrambling to and fro inside the boat and you were left stock still from where you stood, even as you tried to locate the two members in the waters. You were informed that it was the Wakandans that had attacked.

Your team has been hard at work, scanning the ocean floor with the suits. But as you approach the coordinate where the Vibranium is believed to be located, something had fucked everything you worked so hard for. The suit and the members were gone, your vision of them had gone black. You and what was left of the escorts were scrambling to figure out what was happening.

You tried rebooting the system hoping it was a glitch, but to no avail. It’s as if something is interfering with the signals. Your heart begins to race. Is this some kind of attack? Have you been discovered by Wakanda’s forces?

And then, without warning, the hum that sounded grew louder, almost blaring through. You had watch some begin to put on earplugs but there was something that kept you from doing such a thing even when they were in your pockets as a precautionary measures—old tale’s don’t die it seems when it comes to the unknown of the waters.

It was a sound that you have never heard before, it had your heart racing, palms sweating and from the looks of everyone else that acted far too late, glazed over as they walked closer into the water in a trance. Had it not have been for the gunshot that echoed, the spell would have remained and there would have been more bloodshed that you would not even be able to imagine.

“Move!” Someone had screamed at you and before you could realize what was going on a bulking man had risen from the waters and you were left frozen at the sight of the man as his spear had penetrated into your escort, Daniel right to the wall besides you.

The man was no Wakandan. He had blue skin, some type of breathing apparatus, and the daunting sight of his headgear made out of a hammerhead shark’s skull. The man over towered over you as he took a step towards you, but your adrenaline has finally kicked in and you find yourself making a mad dash back into the control room, hoping to find anything that could help you in the situation.

It was only in this moment that you had put on the earplugs, deafening the sounds of death up above. You tried to find a gun, a knife, anything that could miraculously keep you alive at this point. Left empty handed, you found a small cabinet right under the control panel. Shoving all of its content all over the floor in hopes of messing with their trail of you before you cramped right in, shutting yourself in complete darkness of the cabinet.

In the deafness of the earplugs, you could hear your heart racing and your breathing shallow. You can feel the vibration of footsteps approaching, getting more and more prominent. You know that the attackers were getting closer and closer to finding you.

Your mind raced as you try to come up with a plan instead of just hiding. You know that if you are found, you are dead. You try to remember your training, but your mind was a jumbled mess and everything was well forgotten in the face of the reality of the danger. You can’t think straight, and your hands were shaking with fear.

As the footsteps draw neared, you slowly find yourself removing the earplugs to the sound of voices. You strain to listen, trying to make out what they were saying, but the language was not like you had ever heard before in your life. It was garbled and indistinct, and you couldn’t tell from where you hid just how many people were there.

You close your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. You know that you have to be brave, that you have to stay calm and think rationally if you're going to survive. But as the sound of the footsteps grows louder, your resolve begins to crumble. You're so scared that you can hardly think straight. You feel like you're going to die.

And then, suddenly, you hear the sound of the door opening. You hold your breath, praying that you won't be found. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you're sure that they can hear it too. But as the seconds tick by, nothing happens. You're still hidden in the cabinet, and your attackers haven't found you. You begin to relax, thinking that maybe you're safe after all.

But as you felt the sound of the monitors being broken from above you, you felt all the reassurance turn into nothing but panic and dread.

Your life flashes before your eyes. You think of your family, of your mother that you have never talked to since you had pulled away from her and her people growing up, your friends that have accepted you for who you were, the people you have loved and cherish, the members of your team that had risked their lives for this excavation—all for nothing. You wondered if you would ever see any of them again. The profound sense of sadness and regret, knowing that there was still so many things you have not done, places you have never been able to see, to have the family you have never thought you would deserve to have.

It was the first line of sobs that escaped your lips that caught their attention and the cabinet was torn off the hinges and you were in front of them all. Pulled by the arm by one of them, you were scrambling to pull away from their hold but the spear that was now pointed at you, you were left standing still.

There were five of them, the man from earlier was also here, but it was not him that had your attention—it was the man with the normal skin.

You stand in front of the man, looking him in the eye. You can sense his fury, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. His face is twisted in a scowl, his eyes flashing with an intensity that makes your heart race. You can feel the tension in the air, the electricity that seems to crackle between you.

But as he gets closer, you start to feel a little bit of fear creeping in. You can see the veins bulging in his neck, his breathing becoming ragged and uneven.

In the closer proximity, you took a look at him from head to toe to realize that he wasn’t normal either. Sans the blue skin, he had pointed ears and the physics-impossible wings where his Achilles’ heels should have been.

“Who created the machine?” The man spoke, accent-heavy. His voice deep and daunting, you can feel the heat of his anger, the rage that seems to be directed at you.

You were left frozen at his question.

“All I know is her name is Riri William.” You spoke honestly. When you had learned that the government had a mobile drone that would help in the location of Vibranium, you did not asked too much question knowing what it entails in the future.

The spear you didn’t realize was in his grasp was now pointed directly at you, the sharp blade of it resting on the base of your neck. One wrong move from you and you could slice your throat open. The tears begin to fall freely from your eyes, pleading for him to spare you. Pleading for him that this was all the information that you knew.

As the spear was finally held down, you felt your knees turn jelly realizing you were still alive and he had spared you—for now.

“If I find out you are lying, I will feed you to the sharks.” He warned.

You shook your head.

“I promise you, on my mother’s name. That is all I know. I’m just here as a scientist helping them finding Vibranium, nothing more.”

The man turned to the hulking man, speaking in a language that you didn’t know before the man had approached you and pulling off his breathing apparatus for you.

“What are you doing?” You questioned moving your head away from him.

“You are coming with me back to Talokan. I cannot trust you to keep my people’s existence as a secret.”

Accepting the breathing apparatus, you were lifted onto the man’s shoulder and the adrenaline was slowly dying down at the foreign device covering on your face and your world begins to fade into the dark abyss.

The throne room was quiet, save for the argument that was exchanged between K’uk’ulkan and his cousin and most trusted General, Namora. He was pacing back and forth, while Namora stood stoically, arms crossed in front of her. It was one thing to watch his cousin and Attuma butt heads from time to time and see Namora come out victorious, it was another to have himself be in the middle of it all, more so for his action that led to this argument to begin with.

"I cannot believe you would bring an outsider into our hidden kingdom, K'uk'ulkan," Namora said sternly. "We have always kept our existence a secret, and now you want to invite this woman into our midst?"

He stopped pacing and turned to face Namora.

“She is not just an outsider. She is a scientist from the surface world, she possesses the knowledge that could help us in finding out who we are up against.”

A part of him did wonder why he did what he did. He could have killed you then and there and be done with it. But how you spoke, to your mother’s grave, it was the truth and he trusted a surface dweller so easily because of it. It was pathetic to see you in hiding, in the confinements of a small cabinet, with just the sob that escaped your lips that gave your location away.

He took you in to his nation, knowing he could find a much better use for you for the time being, at least, that was what he kept telling himself and reassuring Namora too in the process.

Namora's expression remained unchanged. "And what if she reveals our existence to the surface world? What if she leads them here, endangering us and our way of life?"

He sighed heavily. “I have thought about that, my child.” He cupped her cheeks hoping to give her the reassurance that she would need in this moment. “But I have also considered the potential benefits that could come from her here in our Kingdom for the foreseeable future.”

“You are willing to risk everything we have worked for, just for a potential benefit? Is it worth it?” Namora questioned pulling away, with her eyes narrowed at him.

“For our people, for their safety, it will be worth it, My child. With her here, our people will be hidden and protected.”

Namora remained silent, considering his words.

“It’s on you. But we must keep a close eye on the surface dweller. We are not to trust her, not until we know if she is safe for our people.”

“I understand, Namora.” He nodded in agreement. “I will take full responsibility for her while she is here. And if she proves to be more of a liability, we will deal with her accordingly.”

Namora’s expression softened slightly.

"Very well. But if anything goes wrong, it will be on your head."

K'uk'ulkan nodded once more. "I understand."

With that, Namora turned and left the throne room, leaving K'uk'ulkan alone to contemplate the potential risks and rewards of his decision.

Slowly opening your eyes, feeling disoriented as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. You remember being on the boat, the attack that killed almost certainly everyone in the team, to the memories of your life flashing before your eyes in the confinements of the cabinet. But now, you were in a strange chambers inside of a cavern, surrounded by walls of rocks and water.

Sitting up, you noticed the figure standing in front of you. The same man at the boat. The man stood now with robes on instead of just the green shorts and there was a lack of the spear much to your relief. He sees you finally wake up and turns to face you.

“Welcome,” he says, the same daunting voice from the boat but no longer did it held the anger from that night. “I am K’uk’ulkan, King of Talokan.”

You looked at him confused. Talokan? In your years of working for the Avengers and eventually the CIA, learning about all different kinds of aliens and otherworldly beings, both in the surface and in the water, this was the first time you had ever heard about Talokan. Not even from your own family’s history have you heard of beings just like him.

It was as if he could sense your confusion and fear as he held his hands up in reassurance.

“You are in my chambers.” He explains. “You are safe here, Surface dweller, I have spared you in hopes of learning what your people want with the Vibranium in our kingdom.”

You start to feel a sense of uneasiness. What if you told him the truth, of what the government wanted with the Vibranium, would you finally be killed?

“Do not be afraid.” He continues walking closer to you now, his hand placed on your shoulders. “You are safe here, I have brought you alive for a reason and you have my word that you will not be placed in any harm throughout your stay under my jurisdiction.”

As you start to look around the chamber, you notice something strange. The walls are covered in murals, painted in bright colors. They depict scenes of ancient rituals and ceremonies, with strange symbols and images that you can't quite decipher.

He seemed to have noticed your interest.

“Murals of Talokan,” He explains gesturing to the walls. “They tell the story of my people, of our history, and of our beliefs.”

You start to feel a sense of awe, looking at the intricate designs and patterns. You’ve never seen anything like this before in your life. He moves to the wall, taking a brush and paint from a nearby table. As he starts to paint, you watch in amazement. The colors seem to come to life, swirling and dancing before your eyes.

As he paints, K'uk'ulkan begins to speak. He tells you of the ancient gods, of their power and their wisdom. He tells you of the secrets of the Talokan, and of his origins, of why he was different from the rest of his people. He was mutant, the first born son of Talokan.

“Why am I here then?” You questioned, as much as you now grow interested in his stories, you were more concern of what was needed from you in this moment. “I don’t fit into any narrative in your stories or your people?”

“You know too much, and it is best for you to remain here for the time being while we handle the person responsible for creating the machine.”

“How long?” You questioned.

“For a while.” He spoke nonchalantly. “For the meantime, you can visit Talokan with me or you can spend your days here in the chambers, it is up to you.”

You blinked seemingly having no choice in the matter at this point.

It was not what he intended to happen, all he wanted was for Talokan to remain a secret from the surface world. Never did he even think that a glimpse of you and the wonder in your eyes through the water suit did he think he could ever fall in love, with a surface dweller of all people, but here he was.

It had been days now since your arrival, days since your time has been spent in his chambers and in Talokan. How you had made use of your expertise in the waters for their benefit. Fishes and other marine creatures that even the oldest of their scholars did not know of their use was now being integrated into their daily lives.

Y/N.

He had learned so much about you in your stay in his home. How you found yourself making use of your love for the water into your studies to be what you were now. How from so much trials and tribulation in your life, have ended up under the government’s jurisdiction and in your expedition for Vibranium would have been the last part of your agreement with them. Who would have ever thought that someone as shell shock as you would have been a siren in hiding all this time?

He fell in love with you for your love for the water. How the simplest of gifts he would give you would send the biggest and brightest smile on your face. He fell in love with your intention to do better for the world even with everyone against you. He had fallen so madly in love with how easy it had been for his children to open up to you—even Namora that has been far too apprehensive with your stay in Talokan in the beginning.

“Sing me a song, In Sirena?” He asked, his head rested on your lap, your fingers combing through his hair.

In the silence of his bed chambers, he had opened himself to you, about his mother, of the promise he had kept of burying her in their home in the surface world, of the name that was never his own by took to inflict fear to those who were a threat to his people.

He closed his eyes and felt the comfort that came with your touch and of your voice that echoed through his chambers. How your hauntingly beautiful voice placed him at ease, something he was not given as often in his life. He was at peace.

He felt the smile slowly form on his lips as you continued on with your song that was now becoming all too familiar to him. It was a lullaby, one that your own mother had sung to you as a young child, it brought back memories of his own mother, of the love that only she could give you even with the responsibility that rested on his shoulders—he felt like a child all over again.

“When this is all over, if I let you go, will you ever come back for me?” He found himself asking, slowly opening his eyes to look up at you.

You had halted in your song to look right back at him, eyes softening at his question.

“I don’t know,” You answered honestly.

Another thing he had appreciated about you was your honesty, no matter if it would offend him or anyone else, you held honesty that was few and far in between for a surface dweller. He understood your answer, though he was sadden by the reality of it—you were still a captive of his domain, stuck in the crossfire of his mission to protect his people. But he longed for the day that you would stay, even for just his people.

“I understand.”

“I have people that depend on me in the surface. I’ve already lost some of the people I’ve treated like my family—I want to make sure that I explained what had happened to their families.”

He looked away, knowing the weight of his action had on you now. Of the deaths that was to be expected for the protection of his own people.

Their little moment was interrupted at the sight of Attuma arriving.

“What?” He inquired, not leaving his positon on your lap much to your own discomfort and embarrassment.

“The Princess and the scientist are here.” Attuma announced and it was the sign he needed that his moment with you was now over.

At the news of someone else from the surface now being held under hostage of Talokan, you had asked K’uk’ulkan about seeing them. No matter how much you were slowly understanding the man’s need to protect his people a part of you still wanted to see and check upon those that are for certain scared of being here.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

The last thing you would have expected to see was Princess Shuri and Riri Williams here. But then again, it was Vibranium that Talokan was protecting, and having them here was becoming more understandable than anything else.

“Are you two okay?” You asked, checking them from head to toe for any sort of injuries.

“You were reported dead.” It was Shuri that had spoken and your heart fell. But realized that after everything, at the death of your team and escorts, it would have bound to happen that without your body recovered, they would have expected as much.

“They have taken me here to keep quiet.” You answered. You worry that if you said too much it would end with your hurt or worst the women in front of you would.

The guilt was now washing over your system at the realization of your admittance of Riri being responsible for the machine had now led to her here—bringing Shuri along in the process.

“We have to find a way out.” You whispered holding onto their hands, you know it would take some work to find the suits they have used but it was better than whatever they might have planned for them—or for you at the matter.

“No.” Shuri shook her head.

You shook your head. It was not the right thing to do for her. Unlike you, that now had everyone believing you were dead and for certain would face prosecution if the Government found out you were alive, Shuri had so much to live for, someone to that loved her, and everything else in her life that you know for certain that you did not have anymore.

“He wants to go to war with the surface world, and asked me to help him.”

You blinked realizing then and there the reality of the man and his intentions. One of the servants remained, providing food for the three of you and you had hoped that she did not understand anything that you were talking about in this moment. Your eyes lingered to the guards also station around to watch over you and over the two.

“Princess, please.” You held onto her hand, hoping to talk some sense to her even in this very moment. “The world has done all of us wrong, but this is not the right thing to do.” You plead for her, turning your attention towards Riri that was still shaken by everything that was happening.

“Then why did you remain when you could easily have escaped?” Shuri questioned.

Your eyes closed at the reality of her words, how easily you could have escaped because of your powers but chose not to do so. In the moment you did not have a reason to leave, for you genuinely fell in love with Talokan even with the circumstance of it all.

You fell in love. How stupid it was for you to do so, falling in love with your captor but you did. You see your family in this people. How your own was cast to the waters by the very same people that had once cast K’uk’ulkan’s people into the waters. He was just like you, just as much as you were just like him.

“I’ve lost everything, Princess.” You whispered. “I’ve got to no Tony or Nat to back me up anymore, the government is wringing me dry for all that I have until they have the better reason to finally lock me away and experiment on me. He gave me an opportunity to live here and I might just stay because of it.”

In the struggle of it all, you once had Tony and Nat to depend on in your life, but with everything that had happened during the snap and their death to save the entirety of the universe, life has never been the same for you and you linger in the chaos of the life you tried to rebuild for yourself in the process.

Your eyes lingered behind and the sight of Nakia had caught you off guard.

Before you could even act, Nakia had shot the guards on stand by and the servant had now held a knife against Shuri. It was chaos and you did not know who to save in this moment. You held your hands up towards Nakia and pleaded for the servant to let her go, the sight of her hesitation was all you need to know that she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Please. It doesn’t have to end like this.” You plead to Nakia. “They will let Shuri go, and you can escape safely. Please.”

Nakia held a blank look before talking to Shuri and before long shooting the servant without hesitation. You were quick in your steps, dashing towards the servant as you held onto the wound and your eyes turned towards Shuri and Nakia.

“You need to come with us, Wakanda can protect you. It is the least we can do for all the help you’ve given us in the past.”

You wanted to, but as the servant had held onto you as she fought for her life, it had you second guessing yourself. If it was worth the risk coming back, with not only the Government coming after you but now even Talokan that has shown her nothing but kindness since your arrival.

“You’ve waged the war…all he wanted was to protect his people.” You shook your head refusing to come with them.

You had watched them leave, in the emptiness of the caverns that they stayed in, you found the tears have slowly fallen as you begin to sing the servant a song, hoping to be there for her in her dying moments.

‘Ili-ili tulog anay Wala diri imong nanay Kadto tienda Bakal Papay Ili-ili tulog anay Mata kana tabang mo Ikarga ang Nakompra ko Kay Bug-at Man Sing Putos ko Tabang Mo Ako Anay Ili-ili Tulog Anay Walang diri Imong Nanay Kadto tienda Bakal Papay Ili-ili tulog anay’

“In Sirena?”

The sight of K’uk’ulkan approaching brought all the guilt to the surface as your eyes turned back to the servant girl, how she was begging for her king to save her even when it was far too late for her.

“I tried to stop them.” You whispered closing the servant girl’s eyes as she now laid lifeless in your arms. “I tried to make them go without hurting anyone else in the process.”

You turned to the sight of Namora walking behind at the scene of death at the hands of Wakanda. You did not have the heart to look her in the eyes now, after all the help she had given you in your stay in Talokan—this was the price that you paid. It was better off if you were dead just like the rest of them.

You sobbed as the cousins begin to converse in their language. It was all your fault, from the moment you had accepted the mission to seek Vibranium from under the waters, you have left nothing but death and failure in your midst and now even in Talokan, the same curse has come to present you.

Even as K’uk’ulkan has pulled you away from the servant girl to allow her to be buried, you sobbed over and over even as you were pulled into his chest.

“Why did you stay?” He questioned you, his hand cupped your cheeks wiping what remains of the tears on your cheeks. “You could have left with them.”

“I can’t.” You confessed. “Not like this, not if it means someone dying in the process.”

“Then join us, in our fight.”

“I can’t. Revenge is never the answer.”

It was a week now since the attack in the cavern, you have decided to remain in K’uk’ulkan’s chambers for the entirety of it. But you have never talked to the man after what he had done as retribution for Nakia’s attack. The Queen of Wakanda was dead—drowned, and the invasion of Wakanda had set off more conflict than anything you would have ever imagine from them.

“In Sirena,”

You turned, the frown rested heavily on your lips in the moment but you said nothing even as the man approaching you, standing right in front of you from where you sat in the bed. You know why he was hear, it has been a week as the agreement and at any time a war is about to break through and you could only fear the damage and death it would cause in their paths.

“I want you to join me in this fight. After everything with Wakanda is resolved, I want you to be my Queen.”

You closed your eyes, it was not how you would have wanted to stay, not in this circumstance.

“Revenger and retribution is not the answer. It will only cause death and pain for everyone involved.”

“Then please stay here in Talokan, with me, with my people. Live with us and flourish and grow to be what you were always meant to be.”

And just like every instances that he asks you the question, you shook your head. In a perfect world, when things have not been filled with bloodshed, you would have. But in this instance, you couldn’t, not when you had a part in the mess that created the fight between Talokan and Wakanda.

“I can’t.”

“Then when you are ready, you can leave.” He spoke to which had your eyes widen and you looked at him now straight in his eyes, the sadness that came with his words. “Just know that you can never come back or you will be killed on the spot as you are a surface dweller trespassing our home. My love and fondness for you does not change the fact that you are an enemy of Talokan.”

It was cruel for him to say after everything that you have both been through together. But in the end, it was always his people above his own emotions and the love you have come to realize you both shared for each other in the short amount of time in his chambers and in his home.

“Okay.”

As he had laid on his back so close to the brink of death, defeated by the Black Panther, his mind had been only on two things. His mother and you. He was ready to die, but his memories were brought back to you as the Princess had the spear by his neck, ready to kill him. He was brought back to your words as you had pleaded for him to reconsider the fight against Wakanda. He was brought back to the hope that you would stay if he made the right decision.

He had yielded, with you and his mother on his mind. He had yielded hoping that you would stay even at the venom of his words when he last spoke to you.

As he had spoken to his people, ordering them to go back to Talokan, his mind was flooded with you—the glimpse of hope that you would remain still and be with him. He swam back to the waters, with his people guiding him throughout, his injuries were slowly healing, but it will take time and he needed to rest.

“I want to be left alone.” He spoke to his servant, brushing them away as they intended to patch him up. He refused, deciding to lick his wound in solitude.

Groggily, he had made his way back to this chambers, the silence broke his heart as he saw no sign of you anywhere. Walking towards his bed, he laid face first, the ache and pain that came with the battle against the Princess did a number on him and it would take a while before his wings would grow back.

He closed his eyes, for the moment, making peace with the silence of his chambers, the ghost of your voice echoing his mind. Your lullaby that would give him the comfort he never truly had in his life.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

His eyes snapped open, confused and devastated, it might be the delirium from his injuries that made him hear voices that were never there. But the panic of the voice continued to sound and it was when he felt the warm familiar hands on his shoulders that he had realize it was not his imagination playing a cruel joke on him.

It was you. You were still here.

“In Sirena,” he spoke turning his head to look at you.

The tear stricken face and the worry that was all too evident in your beautiful features.

“Why are you here?” He questioned, sitting up with you guiding him.

“I didn’t have the heart to leave until I know for certain you were alright.”

It was how quick his heart fluttered by your words, the effect you had on him knows no bound and made it all the more painful when you decided to finally leave.

“It is over, I have made an agreement with Wakanda.” He spoke. He watched the way your shoulders relaxed at this words. “You no longer have a reason to stay, you can leave and never turn back.”

“I can’t.” You smiled gently wrapping your arms around the man, sealing your fate to be with him forever, not only as his partner and companion, but as the Queen of Talokan.

#k'uk'ulkan x reader #K'uk'ulkan smut #K'uk'ulkan oneshot #K'uk'ulkan oneshots #K'uk'ulkan fluff #K'uk'ulkan imagines #K'uk'ulkan imagine #namor x reader #namor oneshot #namor oneshots #namor imagines #namor angst #K'uk'ulkan angst

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polyklok · 1 year

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Hello there!! I really enjoyed your "what makes them soft/what gets them hard" headcanons for Dethklok. I was wondering if you could write a similar thing for Charles? If you're comfortable taking that request, that is. If not, feel free to ignore. I love your blog!

OHHHH BOYYYYY

So Charles isn’t in my “men to simp for” Radar, as much as I love him as a character and I don’t think I would ever write anything like that on my own-

BUT YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS IM GONNA TRY also you seem like such a sweetheart so I have to

Charles Offdensen

What makes him soft 💘

Charles is, obviously, a very busy man. All day, everyday, work work work. His hands are usually full, signing away at documents, shaking hands to confirm business deals, fidgeting nervously while he discusses finances. So it means a lot when you gently stop what he’s doing and take the time to kiss his hands. Graze your lips over his knuckles and fingertips, he’ll be entranced by the sentiment. Even if you let go to let him continue whatever he was doing, he’ll be thinking about it for at least an hour.

He really likes being sung to. The only music he listens to nowadays is death metal (usually Dethklok’s) which obviously includes a lot of screaming, growling, and heavy instrumentals. He says it ‘puts him in the brutal mood’ for whatever Dethklok is going pursue next. But, despite this, his favorite type of music is listening to your heartbeat while you quietly sing or hum. Doesn’t matter what song, doesn’t matter how good you are. Please let him place his head on your chest and just sing for him.

Basically the opposite of Toki’s Charles is a serious, uptight, no-fun business man. Everyone calls him Mr. Offdensen, Dethklok gets the privilege of using his first name and occasionally robot, and only you can use any sort of pet name. Use it to your advantage, it’s so funny how dry he is to your dumb names, and despite seeming indifferent, he really does love the silliness of it.

“Hey there, my adowable, wittle pookie-bear muffin boy!”

“Hello Y/N.”

The thought of a room full of government officials and businessmen having to watch this display while holding back the cringe is so funny to me holy shit.

Whats gets him hard ❤️‍🔥

I’m gonna repeat again; Charles is busy. As much as he cares about you, he hardly has time for your relationship and is simply trying is best. Sex is barely ever on his mind. Until it is all that’s in your mind and you let him know. Seeing you needy and wanting him, hanging onto him, tugging at his tie, trying to pull him away from his work is the quickest way to get him hot and bothered. He just hasn’t considered being so desired before and it makes him crazy to watch you act like that for him.

Continuing that, when the two of you are in public and you suddenly get all touchy with him. Grazing his thigh, kissing his neck, running your hands in his hair. He knows that he should be above this and tell you to stop, but he really does love how shameless it is and how good it feels. He’s usually the most economically and socially powerful person in any room he’s in, so no one’s gonna tell him to quit on on the PDA anyway. If you’re lucky, he’ll pay you back for it at home. If you’re really lucky, he’ll drag you off into a nearby bathroom or closet. If you’re unlucky, well…

Is he a mean lover? No. Charles is very attentive and mindful of your needs. He’s going to constantly affirm with you that he’s doing the right thing. How selfless of him. But once that is all done and taken care of and he understands your limits…oh my god he wants to see you cry so badly. He just loves seeing you whine and squirm, your pretty face leaking tears for him. Of course he’ll be nice enough to kiss your tears away and praise you for how good you’re being, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop.

#dethklok #metalocalypse #polyklok is real #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #charles offdensen #charles Offdensen x reader #charles Offdensen headcanon #metalocalypse charles #I draw the line at magnus hammersmith tho #also I dont know why the ‘get him hard’ part was like…connected or something #why did I low key make Charles an exhibitionist what does that say about me #request filled

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talesofesther · 2 years

Text

Darkest nights

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You find Eddie after he witnesses Chrissy's death.

A/N: This is just a small drabble, I guess to warm myself up into writing for Eddie, because I love him loads but for some reason, he's kinda hard for me to write about. Also, because in the scene where they first find him at Rick's home, I just wanted to give him a hug man, he was so goddamn scared. Do send in Eddie requests if you have any, I lack ideas.

Masterlist

"Can you just please drive a little faster?" You held onto Steve's seat, from the backseat of the car, peering over at him.

"I am going fast, don't worry we'll find him." Steve took a sharp turn. Trees and darkness surrounded the moving car as you made your way to Lover's Lake, and to Rick Lipton's house, where hopefully, Eddie would be.

Your knee bumped up and down in anxiousness, eager to find him and see for yourself that he was okay. If what Dustin said was right, and this had anything to do with the upside-down, you could only imagine what Eddie had gone through.

The isolated house came into view amongst the dark night, the car's headlights illuminating the front porch. The wheels had barely stopped moving and you were jumping from your seat. It was a cold night, there was a soft fog looming over from the trees around you.

Grass crushed beneath your feet, crickets singing in the distance, and the quietly moving water of the lake were the only other sounds.

"Eddie!! It's Dustin, we just wanna talk!" Dustin called out, pounding on Rick's door as soon as you all reached it. You pointed your flashlight against one of the windows, the house was a mess but it looked abandoned, no one seemed to have come here in a long time. Your eyebrows furrowed, your mind running a mile a minute with every possible scenario.

"Hey, guys." Max's voice called your attention, you and everyone else walked up to her. There was a boathouse at the back, with metal walls and small enough to not call much attention.

The air was eery as you carefully made your way inside, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin; the boathouse was devoid of any light, save for your flashlights and a clear blueish moonlight seeping through small windows. A boat rested in the water right in the middle, soft waves making it rock back and forth from time to time. You directed your flashlight around to see floaters, various buckets with fish bait, fishing rods, nets, and many other fishing supplies. Just like the house, it was messy and abandoned. Your heart accelerated in fear that maybe Eddie wasn't here, your palms holding the flashlight became clammy.

Steve had started to poke the tarp above the old boat with an oar, you tuned out his bickering with Dustin, rummaging through one of the counters in search of anything that told you someone had recently been here. You found discarded chocolate wrappings and were about to speak up when the loud noise of the tarp and the boat moving made you jump, followed by screaming and a loud thud as someone shoved Steve against the wall.

"Woah woah woah, Eddie stop," Dustin exclaimed worriedly, raising his hands and keeping a safe distance from Eddie, who had a broken bottle against Steve's neck. Robin and Max stood behind him, and you rushed beside them.

Your breathing got caught up in your throat when your eyes finally found Eddie. You didn't pay much attention to Dustin trying to calm him down and telling him you were all there to help. You had never seen him so distraught, and it tore your heart into two. Small beads of sweat covered his forehead despite the cold night, his hand around the broken bottle was shaking and his voice broke when he spoke.

With a gentle hand on Dustin's shoulder, you stopped his rambling and walked around him slowly, careful to not spook Eddie more.

The glow from Steve's flashlight on the floor illuminated your face as you walked forward. Your lips curled up in a bittersweet smile. Eddie's gaze laid on you and his eyes softened, you saw tears collecting at the bottom of the brown orbs you loved so much.

"Eddie." You called out lowly, extending a hand to him. "It's okay." You promised, your own voice breaking at the last syllable.

He gulped, his gaze averting from your eyes. He didn't pull away when you touched his cheek, it was wet, making you realize the tears were already falling. And he didn't object when you carefully took the broken bottle from him, handing it to Steve.

"You're okay." You breathed out for him only, thumb moving to wipe away the wetness beneath it.

It was instant, his lips parting in a quiet sob as he lowered his head on your shoulder. Eddie felt the tension leaving him in waves, his hands were shaking violently as he clung to you, to the feeling of finally not being alone after all that happened.

Your hand moved to the back of his head, tangling in the fluffy hair there and pulling him more towards you. "I was so worried about you."

"I didn't know where to go, or- or what to do, I'm sorry." He cried against your skin, you could feel the lapel of your jacket getting wet.

"Don't apologize, I'm just glad you're okay." You rubbed his back soothingly, closing your eyes in relief.

Eddie wouldn't be letting you go anytime soon, you could tell from the way his grip on you never wavered. His body shook on your hold, you could only imagine what happened for him to be this terrified. As you nuzzled your head on his shoulder, all you wished you could do was drag him away from all this mess; even if deep down there was no turning back now.

"I didn't do it." His quiet voice brought your focus back to him. A sob broke through, you felt his fist closing on the fabric of your jacket. "I promise I didn't do it."

The break in his words cut through your heart, how his main concern was telling you he wasn't a murderer, as if you'd ever believe otherwise. Eddie was the sweetest man you knew. "I know, Eddie. I know."

"Are they, like, together or something?" You caught up on Steve's voice.

"I have no idea." You heard Dustin answer, dumbfounded; making you roll your eyes at them, even if they couldn't see it.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane

Let me know if you wanna be added to his taglist.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #eddie munson x you #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunsonedit #joseph quinn #stranger things x reader #st #my story

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buckyscombatboots · 2 years

Text

Monstertober Day 3:

The Scarecrow walks at midnight

Pairing: Scarecrow!Ari Levinson x Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, serious Non con, death, mentions of blood, asphyxiation/choking, bruises (not the kinky kind), Beefy!Ari (6,8ft), size difference, held down, chasing, p in v

Nicknames: Song bird, birdie

Word count: 2.3k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🎀 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

AN: My apologies that this is a bit late, I had some health issues yesterday which really messed up my whole day. I ended up changing it from Headless horseman!Bucky to Scarecrow!Ari, because I had such bad writers block when trying to write it. I hope y’all enjoy and like all the Goosebumps references ♥︎

You pull up to The Stanley's farm, you’d know the Stanley’s for a long time. Everyone in this town knew everyone, that’s how it always been. Which is why, when Natasha sent you texts saying to come find her in a corn maze. You knew this was where she was talking about and despite the fact that it was technically closed right now, you knew the Stanley’s wouldn’t mind. You hopped out of the warmth of your car and into the autumn night. You loved the countryside, but you hated the fact that there were no lights. You only had the stars and the moon to guide you as you stumbled across the rocky path towards the corn maze.

It wasn’t far, you could see the sign, but you could also see a foreboding wooden cross standing outside the corn maze that you’d never seen before. You stopped in front of the wooden cross, running your fingers across the red paint chipping off the splintering wood. There’s nails with shreds of fabric still tangled around the posts; there was something hung up here at some point, a scarecrow more likely than not “The shity neighbourhood kids probably ripped it off” you huff “Always ruining everything, they threw paint in the plaza fountain only last week.” You drag your hand to the apex of the cross, it’s warm. Peculiar. You brush it off, despite your uncertainty, and look back at the text Natasha sent you.

I’m in the corn maze

Bet you can’t find me, scaredy-cat 👻🐈‍⬛

She had some nerve calling you a scaredy-cat, who in their right mind wouldn’t be scared to go alone into a bloody corn maze at midnight. It was pitch black, aside from the piercing light of the moon that parted the slate clouds that drifted across the inky, velvet blanket of the sky.

You stand infront of the en tree dance of the corn maze. It’s marked by an ornate metal sign, with chipping discoloured paint ‘Stanley’s Corn Maze’ it said in a faded orange paint. It felt like the beginning of a horror movie. Two friends enter a corn maze at night, now you just need a killer.

“Natashaaaaa” you sing “where are youuuuuu?” You’d been walking for what felt like forever, your phone was only on 4%. Nerves were starting to prickle in your belly “Come on I can’t find you! I give up okay so let’s go! I wanna watch a scary movie. Oooo maybe we can watch ‘Stay out of the Basement’ that’s meant to be good.” You hear the rustling of the dying corn leaves being pushed aside behind you, but still no reply from Natasha “Nat, if you’re trying to scare me it ain’t gonna work. I can hear you.” You spin around on your heel. It was not Natasha.

It was a man, he looked to be well over six foot tall. From where you were standing he was an Adonis; a halo of blonde hair and bulging muscle. He stepped closer, you remained still.

In the moon's pale light you could see the dirty blonde hair, tousled and scruffy with loose bits of hay and dirt tangled in his locks. He had a thick beard and moustache, but the glow from the moon still allowed you to see his prominent cheekbones. His firm chest strained against the thin fabric of his red, plaid shirt. You could see the contour of his torso and arms, he was covered in muscle and towering over you. As he stepped closer, further into the moonlight, you could see his face clearer; there were two messy stitches on either side of his mouth, clotted blood surrounding the punctures and strands of hay protruding from his skin. As he neared closer. You stumbled backwards. Fresh blood coated his thick, veiny arms all the way up to his sleeves rolled at his elbows, the cloth of his sleeves stained and dripping “Where are you going little bird? I want you to sing for me.” The stitched corners of his lips stretched into a smile as he lunged forward at you, his heavy body's ungraceful movements allowed you to dart past him into the thicket of corn. Your hands guarded your face defensively as you dashed through the corn, the brown, aged husks and leaves whipping at your exposed skin “Birdie! I’m gonna find you!” His bellowing voice pierced through the deafening sound of your blood rushing in your head.

You paused as your foot treads on something squishy, yet firm, you turn your gaze to the floor. Natasha. She’s beaten and bloody, clothes torn and her head appears to almost be severed from her shoulders “Nat…” you whimper, her eyes are still open. You hear the jostling of corn. You have no time to close them as you take off again, the bleak night air drowning you as you gulp it down like a fish. The burning tears dripping from your eyes burn your icy skin, you turn your head back to try to see him. He’s not there. You practically jump out of your skin as you hear a loud crack of thunder rumble around you, then cold drops of rain begin to fall. The drops that sprinkle across your skin send goosebumps across your skin, your hairs prickling to a point as you shiver.

You need to keep running, despite your exhaustion you find it within you to keep going. You can hear the corn rattling around you from every direction, you were so disorientated. As you jogged through the maze you reached down to your pocket to search for your dying phone, that’s when all hope drained from you. You’d dropped your fucking phone. The rain began to pick up, turning from a light dusting to harsh, thick droplets that fell with such speed that it hurt your skin. You came to a halt in a patch of newly formed mud, what were you meant to do? You felt doomed, you could no longer restrain the sobs that left you, lip wobbling as you choked on your sorrows.

One second you're standing, the next you’re tackled to the ground. Your shoulder collides with the sludgy earth and air catches in your lungs as you let out a choked yelp. You smash your hands into the Scarecrow's strong chest as you writhe against his fierce grip, he only needs one of his hands to overpower you and pin your hands above your head. You’re forced to look at him atop of you. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat and the moonlight causes the thin sheen covering his skin to glitter like tiny diamonds. He bends closer to you, hot puffs of air from his heavy breathing suffocating you. He presses his face into the crook of your neck; the bristly hairs of his beard scratching against your neck as he licks at your neck, he shoved his nose into your hair and takes a long deep breathe in “Smell so good birdie, better than other woman. Ari’s gonna give you pleasure now.” You thrash against him kicking at him, he ignores it and bends one of your legs over his shoulder, “Lie still, Song bird, gonna make you feel so nice.” He grunts as you kick at his face, catches your ankle in his free hand and squeezes. His grip strength is inhuman. You shriek as you feel your bones creaking against the pressure he applies, your bones threaten to snap.

“Stop! Stop! I won’t kick you please!” You scream, the agony sending shocks across your nerves and to your brain, a dull ache lingering in your skull. He lets go of your ankle and lands a powerful punch to your gut, grit your teeth and grunt “Oof!” acidic sickness rising in your throat, you swallow it.

“Other girl wouldn’t stop screaming. Squeezed her too hard. Always squeeze too hard, it was an accident. Not gonna squeeze as hard with you, Birdie, like you, like your voice, like your scent. Want you alive.” His large hand tears your shorts and panties with one pull, the display petrified you but it also made your pussy drip. He ran two fingers through your fold, collecting some of your slick and bringing it to his mouth. He sucked his fingers clean of your cream, releasing his fingers with a loud pop “Taste so good. Need to fuck you.” Ari grumbled, undoing his jeans, releasing his member that slapped against his clothed stomach. It was long and ribbed with a thick purple vein running up the shaft and patch of pale blonde hair dusted his pelvis.

You moved your hips away from him. He hooks his calloused hand under your knee quickly and pulls you closer “No riggling, Birdie. Don’t wanna hurt you.” The fear freezes you in place and he takes the chance to thrust all the way inside you, smashing into your cervix causing you scream out and thrash as his dick crams uncomfortable inside you, he’s too big. You can feel the rubbed texture of his cock as your walls clamp harshly in an attempt to push him out. He pistons his hips without a care, unbothered by your body's feeble attempt at rejection. Your shrieks appear to fall upon death ears until he lifts you slightly by your wrists and then slams you back into the ground. Your brain rattles in your skull as your head hits the floor; a pounding pain throbs across the back of your head, and you look at him with a bewildered expression.

“No, Birdie, you’re meant to sing nicely. No screaming, or I’ll squeeze.” His scratchy knuckles brushes away the tears flowing down your cheeks. You nod and whimper, fighting the pain and letting out soft ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s as he continued his brutal pace, bending closer to you pushing your legs into you, angling your hips so he could thrust even deeper. Spearing you all the way to the hilt of his girthy length, you let out a guttural cry as he grunted and groaned in response to his own wild thrusts. Heat spread across your back as his pelvis rubbed against your clit “Tight.” He growled, pressing a kiss to your temple, he smelt strongly of hay and dirt, but underneath that strong scent of petrichor was a uniquely manly musk. Your pleasure was interrupted as his hand released your wrists, he slammed his fist into the ground, snarling as he thrusted. The hand holding your knee squeezed extremely tightly, you could feel bruises forming under his touch.

“Ow! Ari! Squeezing too tight!” You yowled, he was going to snap your knee. You dug your nails into the back of his neck, his pace slowed; his hips stuttering as he came to a stop entirely.

“Sorry, SongBird. Won’t squeeze anymore.” For a man…Scarecrow who was raping you he was being surprisingly considerate. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against your reddened cheeks soothingly before pulling out all the way to his tip before ramming back into you, hard enough for your body to slide around in the mud below you. Your lungs burn and your throat is raw. You bite back a scream when his bulbous tip collided with your cervix once again “Close. So close. Sing! Sing for me Birdie!” You whimper and let out an involuntary moan as his cock rubs the sweet spot within you. His barred teeth soften into a smile at your moans, his free hand comes to neck and he begins to squeeze. You remember Natasha, the way her head laid in a pool of blood. How you could barely see any remnants of her neck. You began to thrash once again, Ari ignored you, lost in his own pleasure. You could feel his cock twitching inside, in your mind you pleaded for him to come. For it to be over. His thrusts quickened even more, his hips bashing painfully into your ass. The sound of his balls slapping against your skin overpowering the crackle of thunder. He threw his head back and let out a full bodied groan, which resembled a roar as he came inside you. The ropes of his come were cold, just like his whole body-ice cold, the amount of his spend was unrelenting. He released your neck, you let out a series of cough thanking God for answering you as took deep breaths of air. You’d never been so grateful to be able to breathe.

Ari still hadn’t pulled out, he was still hard. Your pussy was rubbed raw from his pubic hair, and your clit ached painful from the force of his pelvis colliding with it. Then his thrusts continued. He wanted to go again. You clawed at him and he pinned you again “Bad Birdie, not done yet.” He murmured. You stared up at the moon as it mocked you, moving so freely through the sky. You curse the moon for letting him come alive. Your thoughts begin to fade as you just gaze up at the moving clouds heavy with more rain.

Resistance was futile. So you just laid there taking it. You close your eyes, your head was heavy from the adrenaline crash. You hoped sleep would take you, and it did.

The orange, pink tinge of sunset colours your vision as you open your eyes. Your ears are ringing, a piercing static reverberating in your skull. Your eyes sting and your throat is strained and scratchy. You push your hands beside you, they sink into the mud slightly as you sit up. A dull pain radiates throughout the apex of your thighs and legs, the bruises that litter them clear in the garish glow of the orange morning sun. You look around you, there’s hay scattered across the ground and beside you is the Scarecrow, face down in the mud your phone beneath his freakishly human hands. The baritone sound of his voice echoes in your mind as you pull your phone out and turn it on. 1% battery…Better call the right person.

Tag list: @alina02 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @cevansgurl @getwellsoontana @bval-1 @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @flamefoxxrecs @savstranger @sojuxxi @cjand10 @sweetwrathoflilith @adoreyouusugar

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fromtenthousandfeet · 11 days

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Smells Like Steady Vocals and Perfect Pitch

Part 1.

I wrote this on April 5th, 2024 in a fit of rage/inspiration. I wasn't going to post it but I've decided to anyway because I'd like to give a little perspective about why Jimin, out of all the members of BTS, is popular in the US, and why I think he has amazing potential as a solo artist if he's given the right team and tools.

*******

Today is the 30th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death, so it feels like a sign from the heavens that it's time to write a post I've been composing in my head for months.

So often when I'm on Twitter/X looking for information about Jimin, I see one nasty comment after another downplaying his singing, his artistry, and his talent in general. The phrase repeated the absolute most by the fandom of a particular member is that the reason HYBE invests in one above all the others is because he has the most stable singing voice. And perfect pitch. And the perfect tone for pop music.

Frankly, I get so sick of reading those comments, but I also have to laugh, because it shows such a fundamental misunderstanding of what appeals to music fans in the US/Western countries.

If you open Spotify right now and search for Nirvana, you will see 31.1 million monthly listeners! As a reminder, their last album was released 30 years ago and they only put out 3 major label albums over a 3 year period. Meanwhile, BTS has 28.6 monthly listeners and has a discography a mile long and a career spanning more than 10 years.

Do you honestly think that Nirvana has enjoyed so much popularity over the years because Kurt Cobain had perfect pitch and could sing live? Yeah, no.

I remember where I was the first time I heard "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I couldn't decide if I loved it or hated it, but the song held a strange grip on me. It was sooo different than all the other popular music at the time, even in the alternative scene. It wasn't quite punk, wasn't quite heavy metal. The song was angry and raw, but also oddly charming. But mostly, it was refreshingly different from all the highly produced music that was on radio stations' rotations at the time. Don't believe me? Here's a link to the Billboard Top 100 on the week "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was initially released:

Check out the list and tell me how many of these songs you know. Probably a few, but not many have withstood the test of time (shout out to 3 a.m. Eternal by The KLF, though. That was a fun song).

This was the #1 song that week:

Didn't like it then. Don't like it now.

Now compare that to Smells Like Teen Spirit:

Look at the Billboard list again. Lots R&B (love), dance tracks, a smattering of college radio/alternative tunes, and a whole lot of what we would call easy listening/adult contemporary music. A snooze fest. Nirvana came along at the right time when the American music audience was in desperate need of something more authentic and not so over produced.

Sorry for this long-winded pop music history lesson. Believe it or not, I have a point to make. Americans like a huge range of music styles (as can be seen on the current Billboard charts). We get bored easily. We don't demand a steady voice or perfect pitch. What we want is something new. Something innovative. Something authentic. The biggest western pop stars who have enjoyed long careers in North America know that they must push boundaries and release new, unexpected material in order to stay relevant.

Be it BTS' English trilogy, songs that blatantly emulate American pop singers, or the conveyor belt of 2 minute TikTok-ready tunes sung by Korean girls, so far it doesn't seem like we should expect anything terribly innovative or cutting edge now that Big Hit has morphed into HYBE with its many labels/subsidiaries. Fickle American audiences will move on quickly, in my humble opinion.

One last thing. The US is a huge country with very diverse cultures based upon geographical location. Gender, age, ethnicity, urban vs. rural, and region of the US all influence what people are listening to. What's popular in Atlanta isn't necessarily popular in Salt Lake City, for example. Americans are not a homogenous group and neither is our taste in music.

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radioisntdead · 1 month

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Hihihi

I read the request you wrote for lucifer, and it made me so happy!!!!

And, I do have one more request, could you maybe generally write for the hazbin group finding out the readers cause of death being from a roller coaster, and them not knowing who they are? (Could it maybe be a song fic using the ballad of Jane doe?)

A platonic angel dust fic with the reader talking(singing) about their previous family and / or life? Along with them breaking down at the end, with a small bit of comfort from angel dust? (Dead mom from beetle juice)

You can choose either or, it doesn't really matter to me :)

With love,

-Xin 💙

Good evening my dear! So glad to have you sending in another request,

I AM A MAJOR RIDE THE CYCLONE FAN, I FORCED MY BEST FRIEND TO WATCH IT WITH ME AND GOT EM' HOOKED ON IT, I WATCHED IT AS I WROTE RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I CRIED IT IS A GREAT MUSICAL, I GREATLY RECOMMEND IT, IT'S ALLEGEDLY ON YOUTUBE

Reader much like Jane Doe is going to be a doll, I like to call this, reader having a lil existential crisis during a trust exercise turned life stories sharing time.

Also I'll tag you like I did last time! @fuck-this-shit-xin

The fallen saint

People who live in the hazbin hotel x gn reader

Warnings!

Death, decapitation, dolls, I am still terrified of dolls why did I add them? I don't know, accidentally implied underage drinking but the reader isn't underage, reader and Angel are very loosely implied to be besties because yes

Ballad of Jane doe

You came to the hotel confused and scared, you found a flyer that advertised and you thought that it'd be better then the chaos in the other parts of hell.

You didn't remember much about your life, just that you died from a rollercoaster accident with your friends? Classmates? Family? You didn't remember,

The last thing you remember was someone clutching your hand saying something that was muffled over the screams before a sharp piece of metal sliced your throat and you saw the sky.

Sometimes you get glimpses of life before, school uniforms, arcades, lights, someone saying a muffled name, holding you, smiling at you.

Who were they? A friend? Family?

You wish you knew.

Charlie was the most sympathetic to your situation, embracing you with open arms into the hotel, imagine not knowing who you were? Well you didn't have to imagine.

You were practically a clean slate, perfect for redemption no matter what you did in the past, because you weren't that person anymore.

Charlie had organized a trust exercise that had pinwheeled into mild drunken shenanigans venting about life and how they lived before they died, Husk had revealed that he apparently had a child somewhere that caused a small commotion of "YOU HAD A WHAT-" and that turned into Sir Pentious saying he missed his son,

Niffty brought up some guy she was obsessed with while alive that may or may not have died it wasn't clear, Vaggie revealed small, very small parts about her life in heaven and being an exorcist, Angel dust brought up his family that was in hell and his twin sister Molly who was the only one to go above, and even Alastor was in the conversation talking about his mother and what a wonderful mother she was.

And then it came to you, cradling a alcoholic beverage.

"I wish I knew what my life was like, like What did I do end up down here? I mean I know I died because of a rollercoaster but I don't think that was a sin." You said your fingers circling your glass, Angel dust patting your shoulder in support.

"I'm sure it wasn't anything that bad"

"You probably set orphanages on fire, I can see you doing that" Niffty chimed in staring into your soul

"Niffty what the hell."

You took a breath as music began to play, one of the things you don't expect in death is that everything becomes a musical.

"Some might say we're release, pushing daisies, deceased,"

You place the glass you were holding onto the table in front of you before standing up from the couch you wrapped your arms around yourself.

"But we all know the worms must be fed,"

"And They're singing." Husk muttered taking a swig of his drink as he was told to hush.

"There's just one lingering fear, Oh my soul, is it here?"

It was a silly question but was it? Most Hellborn supposedly didn't have souls but they were still alive in someway, was it the same case with you? Is that why you couldn't remember? Was your soul back on earth where you perished?

You let one of your hands drift up to your neck, feeling the thread stitching that kept your head attached to your neck, it was slightly lighter then the rest of your body, reminiscent of a dolls.

"Or is it rotting somewhere with my head?"

The people you mostly considered friends [Alastor was on a thin line of friend or weird smiley guy that lived in the hotel] watched you pace around.

"Oh my soul"

Who were you?

"Oh my soul"

What did you do? What didn't you do?

''Oh my soul''

What regrets did you have? Did you live life to the fullest? Who did you love, who did you cherish? Did you have friends? Family? Who were they?

"Oh my soul''

"Ooh...Ooh...Ahh...Ahh... ah''

You missed people you didn't even remember,

Were you loved? Hated?

Did someone miss you? Who did you die with? What did you do to end up here? Did you kill someone? Did you set an orphanage on fire like Niffty suggested?

The people that appeared in your dreams, who's faces were blurred, that would disappear when you tried to reach out to them, were they real or were they just from your dreaming state?

"Oh no soul, and no name"

Everyone had come up with their own nickname for you, typically something related to dolls like doll, Dollface, Dolly, Raggedy Ann, Raggedy Andy or Chucky etc

That last one was from Husk.

you didn't mind it but you desperately wanted to know what your name was, did you get to choose it? Or was it given to you? Did you like it? Did you want to change it? Did you go by a nickname instead? Was it long? Was it short? Was it fancy or simple? Were you named after someone? Oh how you desperately wished to know.

"And no story, what a shame.."

Was your life exciting? Dull? Did you wish for something more?

"Cruel existence was only a sham?"

Dying in a rollercoaster accident was odd, insane and tragic, you showed up in hell with a uniform, were you a student? Did you attend some weird uniform requiring college? You died with others you knew them didn't you? Did you die with strangers or did you die with people you knew?

Tears swelled in your glassy, shiny doll-like eyes

"Oh Saint Peter, let me in!"

Charlie and Vaggie shared a look, recalling the whole welcome to heaven thing and him straight up moaning in song.

"You must know where I've been, Won't you tell me at last who I am?"

You could bare it, being in hell, it was horrible because it was hell but everyone else knew who they were, somewhat, they had a name that they chose or got, they had some semblemblance of an identity,

So why didn't you?

"Who I am,"

It wasn't fair, it really wasn't

"Who I am"

Everyone in the room knew who they were, they remembered their lives or in Charlie's case her life so far.

"Who I am"

You didn't ask for much, you helped out at the hotel, you gleefully participated in the exercises, you were a decent person, at least now you were if you weren't before.

"Who I am"

Would you get your memories back if you went to heaven?

"Ooh...Ooh...Ahh...Ahh... ah"

Or would you completely lose your memories again, would you have to start all over again?

You didn't want to forget the folks in the hazbin hotel, they were your friends right?

Right?

It'd be one thing if you lost your memories here but it'd be just cruel if you lost them again, you didn't want to lose them again you desperately clung to the glimpses you got of the past, you needed to keep the memories of the present.

"And from the ground, beneath my feet, I hear the anguish of the street"

You glanced outside the window, people were doing whatever they did, someone was actively getting stabbed they probably remembered who they were.

"A choir never complete"

Something flashed in your head

You died in a choir, you were apart of a choir,

You were apart of something, you sung with them, were you all close? Were you like family?

Where were they? Would they recognize you if they saw you now?

Would they? Would you recognize them? Would all your memories come rushing back in an instant like in the movies?

"And like an old forgotten tune, a song that no one knows..."

A appeared in your arms, a doll that had been gifted to you by Angel dust for a day they had dubbed your birthday, they threw you a party and everything, confetti, balloons, cake, you got a few gifts that you treasured, from Charlie, sir Pentious, hell even Alastor gave you a weird doodle of you that laid with the other gifts.

You held it close to you.

"Forgot how it goes, just John, Jane and me"

You didn't name the doll John or Jane, you didn't know a John or a Jane, or maybe you did? Anyways you carried it around with you, finding it as a source of comfort for when your friends weren't nearby

"Forever eternally, Doll Doe"

You hugged the doll tighter as a tear slipped slid down your doll-like face,

You were angry, what had you done to deserve this? You should at least know what condemned you here? What sin was so bad to warrant this?

"And I'm askin' why lord,"

The effects kicked in as the room went darker as your voice raised, desperation, confusion.

"If this is how I die, lord"

Why couldn't you have a normal death at least! Did anyone even find your head? Was it eaten by animals? Did it hit some poor person trying to have a fun day at the amusement park?

"Why be left with no family"

The hotel residents began to develop a found family relationship, and you were apart of it, you loved it but, what was your family from before like? Did you even have one?

"And no friends?"

Assuming no one you knew had fallen down below, you didn't die alone but you came alone while the others had ascended to above.

"Ooh."

Background vocals came in out of nowhere lowkey freaking out some of your friends, Vaggie had already gotten her spear ready to Incase, of something maybe if the voices decided to attack

"I've got no celebration, just this consolation,"

Did you even have a funeral? Was it closed casket? Who attended?

"Time eats all his children, In the end"

You had questions and you wanted answers.

"Ahhh..."

Freaky disembodied background vocals

"A melody floats through the air, when silence falls, does no one care?"

You were human once, you didn't care what genre your life fell into, comedy, horror, tragedy, thriller, if you played the role of a villain or a hero, a funny side character, you just wanted to know

"Does anyone care?"

Where were the background vocals coming from, they were freaky.

"Another sad, forgotten tune"

Your story laid forgotten, abandoned on some bookshelf like a book a teenager brought thinking they'd like it but they couldn't even make it past the first page so it lays, rotting away.

"Another song that no one knows"

You wanted to go back, you wanted to live your life again, you didn't know what it entailed but you would do anything, make a deal, throw whatever afterlife you had away.

"So that's how it goes!''

No, you would keep the afterlife you were given, you cherished the memories you've made here.

"Just John, Jane and me"

Your life was cut short wasn't it? What didn't you get to experience, what didn't your choir experience?

Why did you all have to die that day? Why did the rollercoaster have to derail, why didn't they check it?

"Forever eternally, Dollface Doe"

"And she's asking why, lord?"

The disembodied voices were in all honesty a nice touch to the song, still freaky though especially since was now dolls scattered around the area, is that where the voices were coming from?

"Why, oh why, oh why, oh why...?"

Why?

You were the one who convinced your choir to go on the rollercoaster, you begged them offering to buy them snacks after,

They agreed, you didn't know.

Was that the thing that condemned you here??

"This is no way to die, lord!"

At least getting decapitated by a rollercoaster made for a good conversation starter, probably.

"No one to sing, no one to sigh"

You only got glimpses, sometimes a nostalgic feeling for something you couldn't remember no matter how desperately you wanted too.

"Now that all is said and done"

Life had ended, afterlife had only begun,

You couldn't go back, no matter what you did, even if you sold your soul, a soul you weren't sure you even had anymore.

"Isn't there anyone to tell me who I am?"

You were turned away from your friends, you didn't want to see the pitying face some of them probably had.

"No singing songs of celebration''

Were you someone who liked to party? A homebody? Were you a sweetheart? Did people say you had a heart of stone,

"Just this sorry speculation"

You could try and force yourself to remember but in the best case scenario you could get a glimpse and a headache, and the worse case you'd be left clutching your doll trying to comfort yourself with a horrible headache.

"Like John and Jane I'll be eternally"

Maybe you should give up on trying to figure out who you were, try to forget that you ever lived before this.

"A forgotten name, some lost refrain"

If anything, you didn't have to have your memories back completely, if you could just remember your name.

"Just 'Doll' "

You closed your eyes, clutching the doll.

"Dolly..."

The freaky dolls that appeared sneaked close, Vaggie stabbed one like a doll kabob

"Doe!"

You twirled and landed back in your seat, you leaned to the table to grab your drink again, intending to down it as the dolls finished your lament.

"A melody floats through the air, when silence falls, does no one care?"

The room began to lighten back up again as the creepy little dolls poofed away one by one, including the kabobbed one.

"Doll Doe."

You got a hug from a tearful Charlie and a two handed headpat from Angel since he couldn't really do anything else since you were trapped in Charlie's hug.

Charlie would later note that it was a successful trust exercise since everyone including you had opened up a little bit, you felt relieved to get that lament of yours off your chest, it didn't change much but breaking out in song was oddly therapeutic, you guessed that's why others did it so often!

Would you ever regain your memories? You didn't know, but for now you would try to remember anything from your past while making new memories with your friends at the Hazbin hotel.

Good evening folks! thank you for tuning on in, this has gotta be one of my favorite songfics to write to date, AGAIN I REALLY RECOMMEND RIDE THE CYCLONE, thank you for tuning in I hope you enjoyed! Goodnight folks!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel reader insert

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