#this is just me word vomiting about some things

[allthesmutl0vers]

Fred Weasley x F! Reader Smut

MDNI, 18+ Requests: OPEN Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.🥰💖 Request: Smut with Fred or George, female reader please! Requested By: @justgethappy Word Count: 3,251 A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I had a family emergency. But I think it might be worth the wait. 🫡🌶️🫠 Summary: You've been crushing on your best friend, Fred Weasley, for years. One night, during a game of truth or dare in the common room, you're forced to finally admit your feelings. Unbeknownst to you, he already knows and has been waiting for you to admit it so he can ravage you in the way he's only ever dreamed about. TW: Heavy spice (P! in V!- Unprotected, but on birth control), light BDSM (choking, some bondage), Oral (M & F receiving and giving), Gagging (no vomit), Possessive!Fred, Spanking, Claiming Kink, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, God Kink. (Let me know if I missed anything.)

"Nervous?" Fred asks as he sits down beside me. My heart flutters as his hand brushes mine as he leans back on his hands. How I've managed to focus on anything all of these years with him always at my side is nothing short of a miracle.

I shake my head with a small smile spreading across my lips. "Nope," Liar. I lie and lean closer, smelling fireworks and cedar. God, why does he have to smell so good? "You?" I ask as Lee sits down with an empty bottle in the middle of all of us.

Fred chuckles, biting his lower lip with a smirk as he looks me up and down. "Not even a little," he winks. He's such a flirt that for just a moment, I think he actually might be flirting with me. But that's crazy. Not only did he just break up with Katie Bell, he's my best friend, not to mention the biggest fucking flirt in the school.

"Everyone ready?" Lee asks, rubbing his hands together with a smirk. We all nod and agree, and he clears his throat. "Brilliant. Now, remember, you have to do your dare or answer your truth honestly. If you don't, you get a jinx, and we'll know you're lying anyway. Not to mention, you'll have to live with the jinx for a whole day," he laughs.

My stomach flips with nerves. I don't think I could live with 'liar' or 'wimp' painted across my forehead for a day. My plan of action is just to pick 'truth' the entire game. It's better to admit something embarrassing than have to do some horrific dare like stripping and running down the corridor and back like Lee had to do last time.

As the game goes on, I'm lucky enough to not have to bottle land on me. Angelina is dared to make out with George. Lee admits to having stolen from Honeydukes multiple times. Harry had to take a shot while doing a handstand. George had to eat an entire handful of puke-flavored Bertie Bott's Beans. (Lucky for Angelina, it was after their make out session.) And Fred was dared to give Harry a very sultry lap dance. I might just make it out of this game unscathed. At least, that's what I thought until the bottle landed on me.

"Y/n," Lee smirks. "Truth or dare, love?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me. He knows I'll pick truth, but he also knows about my crush on Fred. If I pick truth, he'll no doubt ask about it. But if I pick dare, he'll no doubt make me act on it.

I take a deep breath and sit up. "Truth," I tell him in a flat voice that contrasts the adrenaline and nervousness rushing through my veins, and settling deep in my stomach.

Lee smirks and looks at Fred before looking back at me. "Y/n, is it true you have a crush on one of our Weasley twins?" My stomach drops, and the only thing keeping me from completely passing out is the fact he didn't specifically name Fred.

I weigh the options for a moment, which is pointless because if I say no, the jinx will out me anyway. "Yes," I admit, barely above a whisper, as I feel my cheeks flush. Goddamn it, Lee.

"Which one?" Angelina asks from my other side, her eyes narrowing at me. Shit, maybe Lee should've asked if it was Fred. I know Angelina likes George, and as much as I love him, he's all hers if she wants.

"I answered my truth," I try to play it off as a joke. I can tell her in private later if I have to.

Angelina spins the bottle, then stops it as it lands on me again. "Truth or dare?" She damn near spits at me.

"That's not-"

"Pick," Angelina practically seethes.

"Truth," I answer hesitantly.

"Which one do you like? Fred or George?" She asks sternly. Merlin, I could strangle her with my bare hands right now. I say a silent prayer for George if this is what he's into. But from the look on his face, he might be rethinking Angelina. "We're waiting," she says impatiently when I don't answer right away.

"Fred," I admit, feeling the blooming jinx fade away. I watch relief wash over her face, and she smiles. I'm so glad you're relieved, bitch. Because I might just fucking die. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and refuse to look at Fred, who I can feel staring me down. "Let's just keep playing," I mutter, my heart not into it anymore.

When the game finally ends, I sit and watch everyone else leave before I stand and let out a huge sigh. Whatever fallout comes from admitting my feelings for Fred can wait until tomorrow. "Y/n," Fred's voice says softly behind me as I reach the stairs that lead to the girls dorms.

Guess we're dealing with it tonight.

I turn to look at my best friend as he steps closer. "Fred, I-" he cuts me off by taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine harshly. Fuck, is this really happening? I lean into it, my hands finding his waist and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

When our lips finally part, my eyes flutter open, looking up into his eyes. "It's about bloody time you admit it," he chuckles against my lips. "Merlin, woman. You know how to keep a man waiting."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean? You knew?" I ask, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

Fred chuckles, shaking his head and resting his forehead down on mine. His hands roam to my waist, gripping me tightly and making me suck in a breath. "Darling, I always knew. I was just waiting for you," he says with a smirk. "Why do you think I left Katie?" he shakes his head, lifting it and tipping my face up to his by my chin. "She isn't you," he grips me tighter, making me clench my thighs. "You take up so much damn space in my head. I couldn't cum unless I was looking at the back of her head, pretending she was you," he says huskily.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out, leaving me looking like a blubbering fish. He pretended someone else was me? He left someone because they weren't me? My brain is in a fog. The only thing it's able to focus on is Fred, fucking. I've imagined it so many times as I pleasure myself under my sheets. I feel my panties dampen at the thought of Fred between them, fucking me better, harder than anyone else before.

"Show me," the words escape my mouth before I can stop them.

Fred looks at me as if I just handed him a million galleons. "Don't temp me, darling. Say you don't mean it," he says huskily, his grip on my hips tightening to the point of pain, but I don't move away.

I bite my lower lip, my teeth biting into the tender flesh under his darkening gaze. "I mean it," I tell him.

Fred groans, his head tipping back before his eyes meet mine again. "Come with me."

Fred grabs my hand, leading me to his dorm room. I can see it's empty, but that doesn't mean that Lee or George won't be back soon. Fred doesn't seem bothered by it, however, given the way he spins me, pinning me to his door. One of his hands pins both of my wrists above my head, the other hand gripping my waist as he presses his lips to mine.

I hum with pleasure into the kiss, parting my lips to allow his tongue to enter when he licks my bottom lip. Fred groans, his grip on my wrists tightening as he moves to kiss down my jaw, my neck, and the sweet spot right behind my ear that turns me into putty in his hands. "Freddie," I whisper.

"Mm, yes, darling?" He hums as his other hand moves to my ass, cupping it and lifting my leg to wrap around his waist.

I hold back a moan as my desire and lust for him only grows. "What- what if they come back?" I ask with a hiss as he nips my neck.

Fred chuckles in my neck, his breath sending a pleasurable shiver down my spine. His eyes meet mine, the usual funny and kind sparkle in them long forgotten as they darken. "Don't worry about them. They won't be back tonight," he says firmly.

I nod, helpless, as he lifts me by my thighs and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back. Fred kisses me again, kneeling between my legs as his fingers work to unbutton my top with haste. Once all of the buttons are undone, he lifts me by the small of my back as I remove it the rest of the way, taking off my bra along with it.

Fred pulls back, breaking the kiss as he looks me up and down, biting his lower lip. "Merlin, have mercy, woman," he groans. He lays me back down, propping himself up on one hand as the other moves to grope my breast, his fingers pinching and rolling my nipple between them, making me let out a whimpering moan. "You're so fucking beautiful. You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

My fingers unbutton his top, tugging on it so remove it as he leans back to finish pulling it off. "Then get to it, Weasley," I tease with a smirk. I stare at his chest with need. Merlin, quidditch does a body good. His toned and muscular shoulders, his profound abs tensing at my teasing.

Fred's hands move up my thighs painfully slow to the waistband of my skirt and panties, pulling them both down and tossing them aside in one fluid motion, leaving me bare in front of him. "Watch your tone, darling," he warns as he cups my pussy, making me gasp as he slides a finger between my folds and circles my entrance, careful not to touch my clit.

"Or else you won't let me cum?" I tease, grinding myself against his hand, desperate for his fingers to reach my clit.

Fred smirks as he leans over me again, thrusting a finger inside of me and eliciting a moan to leave my throat. "No, darling," he teases back as he curls a finger inside of me, pressing right on that spongy sweet spot inside of me, making me pant with need. "Or else I'll make you cum so hard you'll cry," he says, nipping my nipple. "Begging me to take it easy as you cum over, and over again."

I feel my walls clench around his fingers as he slides another one inside of me. "Mmm, but it seems like you want that, don't you?" Fred taunts as his thumb finally lands on my clit.

I nod, moaning softly as he works his fingers with perfect precision in and out of me as his thumb rubs my clit. "Yes... God, yes," I whimper underneath him, my nails scratching down his sides and making him shiver. I undo his pants and reach into them, grasping his rock-hard cock. Fuck, he's so big. How is that supposed to fit?

Fred groans, tilting his head back as he thrusts into my hand. "Such a good girl for me," he praises. He leans down, kissing the sweet spot behind my ear again as he whispers into my ear. "I need to taste you. I might just die if I don't," he pleads.

I tilt my head, pressing my lips to his with a moan. "Yes, Freddie. I need it," I whimper against his lips.

"Mm, then get on my face, darling. Take your seat on your throne," he says with a groan as he pulls back, taking his devious fingers with him. He takes off his pants and boxers, kicking them off to the side as he lays on his back.

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks. "What if you can't breathe?" I ask nervously as he pulls me onto his face to ride it reverse-cowgirl.

Fred slaps my ass, making me gasp as he grips my hips. "I swear to God, darling. If you don't sit on my fucking face, then I will die. Now sit on your goddamn throne and let me eat my pussy," he demands.

He doesn't leave me with any option as he pushes my thighs apart, forcing me to sit on his face. "F-Fuck!" I moan loudly as his tongue dives inside my entrance, thrusting in and out as he devours me whole. My eyes find his long, thick cock as the tip drips with pre-cum, making my mouth water. I lean forward, pushing my pussy into his face and making him groan.

I take his cock in my hand, pumping it a few times before I lick slow circles around his tip with my tongue. Fred moans, gripping my hips tighter as his tongue lands on my clit. I take his cock in my mouth, sucking as I take him deeper in my throat, my hand pumping his cock where my mouth can't reach.

Fred smacks my ass again, drawing another moan from me around his cock. "Fuck, yes," he moans against my clit, adding the perfect amount of vibration. His hips thrust up, forcing me to take more of him down my throat. Tears prick my eyes as I gag around his cock when it hits the back of my throat. "That's it, darling. Gag for me like a good little slut," he growls.

I feel myself get wetter from the mix of his filthy words and his praise. My legs begin to shake on either side of his head as my orgasm begins to crest. "F-Freddie, I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me, darling. Give it all to me," Fred demands from beneath my thighs as he begins to suck on my clit. My hands grip the sheets, digging in as the tether inside of me snaps, and I let out a loud moan, a string of curses, and his name as Fred rides me through my orgasm with his devilish tongue.

When my orgasm finally fades, I'm a shaking, whimpering mess as he lifts me, switching up our positions and laying me on my back again. "You're so beautiful when you come undone for me," he praises softly, kissing me and allowing me to taste myself on his lips. "Do it again," he says as he lines his cock up with my entrance.

I moan and whimper as he pushes his long and thick cock inside of me. I've never taken anyone of his size before, and it hurts at first. "Relax, darling," Fred says softly, holding still as I adjust to his size. "That's my girl," he says sweetly, kissing my neck. "Are you ready?" he asks, his expression caring.

"It's not all the way in?!" I ask in shock as my body begins to relax around him.

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. "Only half-way," he smirks, nipping my bottom lip between his teeth. "Though I appreciate the sentiment," he teases.

I let out a shaky breath and smirk. "You're insufferable," I tease.

Fred hums as he pushes himself inside of me further, settling into the hilt. "Just for you," he says lovingly. He leans back, looking down at where his cock starts to thrust in and out of me, gripping my thighs. "You take me so well. Fucking made for me," he groans.

I grip the pillow above my head. "God, Freddie, it's yours," I moan softly as the pain disappears and melts into Earth-shattering pleasure.

A low growl escapes Fred's throat as his speed picks up. "Damn right, it's mine," he moans. "All," he thrusts. "Fucking," another hard thrust. "Mine," he emphasizes with a hard thrust, making me mewl and writhe under him.

"Fred, God, yes!" I cry out as he leans down, his thrusts unrelenting. His hand wraps around my throat, not cutting off my air, but cutting off the blood flow to my head.

"Don't cry out for God, he's not the one fucking you," Fred moans darkly. "I'm your God now. Cry out for me," Fred demands.

I whimper, my hands draping around his neck. "Freddie," I moan as his thrusts quicken. "Freddie, yes. You're- You're my God," I whimper.

"And you're my parishioner," he answers. "My devout little lamb," he praises as he releases my throat, allowing the blood to flow back to my brain as he sits back on his ankles. His thumb rubs my clit fast as his thrusts get harder, pounding into me with unrelenting force.

My legs begin to shake again as my orgasm threatens to crash into me like a bludger. My moans become frantic as I pull my legs up to my chest, keeping them spread wide to allow Fred's cock to reach impossibly deeper. "Freddie, I need to cum," I whimper and plead.

"Then cum, little lamb. Give me everything you have, and I will fill you up," Fred moans as his cock twitches inside of me, and his thrusts begin to stagger.

My back arches as my nails tear at the fabric of the pillow above my head. My orgasm crashes into me, setting off stars in my vision as my release washes over me. "Fred!" I cry out in a strangled cry.

Fred moans my name loudly as he thrusts into me one final time, spilling his hot cum inside of me. He rides us both through our highs before he finally withdraws his cock. He leans over me, brushing my hair from my face and tucking it gently behind my ear. "You did so well, little lamb," he praises softly, kissing the edges of my mouth.

I hum with pleasure as a smile dances across my lips. "Just for you, Freddie," I respond softly, kissing his lips.

Fred cleans us both up, tending to me with care as he wipes me down, puts on my panties, and dresses me in one of his shirts before laying back down next to me and pulling me to his chest. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you," he says softly as I cuddle into his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.

I look up at him and smile. "Was it worth the wait?"

Fred smiles and kisses my forehead. "For you? I would wait a thousand years to make you mine."

I giggle softly and kiss him back. "So I take it we're officially together?" I tease playfully.

Fred laughs softly and nods, running his fingers through my hair. "Unless you have other plans," he teases back. "Though I doubt anyone can make you feel the way I just did," he taunts with a wink.

I roll my eyes and snort a laugh. "Someone thinks highly of himself," I quip with a smirk.

"Says the one who called me 'God,'" he quips back.

I smile and snuggle closer, draping a leg over his thighs and pulling myself closer. "Fair enough. But, Freddie?"

"Hmm?" He hums tiredly.

"If you flirt with another girl again, I'll end you both," I warn him.

Fred laughs and shakes his head. "Yes, ma'am."

[moobloom-mention]

Drunk Words Are Crafted From Sober Thoughts

Summary: Drinking is one of Wukong's favorite pastimes. After all, it's way easier to heal a bruised ego when you're seeking the remedy at the bottom of a bottle.

It's not his fault said remedy always leads him back to Macaque.

Content Warning(s): Alcohol abuse, Mentions of vomiting

Word Count: 3096

It took me drinking way too much alcohol and three hours spent in a toilet bowl to give me the motivation to finish this thing.

Wukong had never known himself to be the brightest lantern set before an altar.

It was a fact he'd come to know well in his millennia of life; something he'd chosen with care to hide beneath his tongue whilst his throat sang melodies refuting such a concept. After all, it had never mattered to Wukong whether his actions proved his dimness time and time again.

Denial was a war, and one that he'd always intended to win.

He never fought hard in the miniscule battles of intelligence he'd lose to cheap jabs that ridiculed his inability to write or frustration with court etiquette. Eventually he'd scrape together some form of "win" and proclaim it to cancel any other loss that came before it.

Besides, being a jack of all trades far made up for it, with hands that had been dipped into almost every barrel of skill known to the Three Realms.

...intelligence just happened to be a barrel his hand was not dipped far into.

The skill of retaining information, however, now that was something he might as well have bathed within. It'd been a skill he'd fostered from the day he was born, from learning how to tell the little ones of Flower Fruit Mountain apart all the way to the thousands of different demons he'd fought.

Of course there were still things- small things, with such insignificance that Wukong would never notice were gone until a thought sparked vague recollection -that would manage to slip so easily through the cracks of his mind, deaf to his pleads to return to him less they become mere droplets in a sea of forgotten information.

It'd first become noticeable after he'd attempted to convey his distaste for a book Peng had coerced him into reading.

In an earnest moment of honesty, Wukong had admitted that almost every word his eyes had managed to flit over was nothing if not a rhythmic patter of gentle rain; an endless contribution to his stream of lost information that quieted only in the moments it had taken to turn the page.

And then it'd been those detailed soliloquies Yellowtusk so proudly dedicated to his sigils.

Wukong had been entertained, sure- the elephant rarely ever expressed his passions -but they were still another complex monologue to cast within the river after they gave their parting goodbyes.

Besides, the dialogue had fit perfectly beside those pesky admissions of adoration that Azure tended to offer like candy to a child.

…okay, maybe his hand didn’t reach too far down the information retainment barrel either.

Wukong was always quick to blame immortality anyway. The small details were so quick to fade when faced with the grand scheme of experiencing millennia of life.

Still, there was always one thing he found himself able to recall even centuries after he'd lost the need for it; a piece of information he could stake his life on knowing without understanding exactly how. It had always just...been there, like a ribbon that'd wound itself tightly about his index finger at birth and refused to leave despite his desperate attempts to get rid of it.

Because why would the Great Sage, Equal to the Heavens themselves, ever need to recall Macaque's whereabouts?

And why would he only ever be able to locate the shadow during moments of intoxication?

The first time Wukong had found himself blackout drunk in front of an abandoned house- one that upon entering revealed an aggressive Macaque -it had been easy to wave off the circumstance as pure instinct. Being in such a state of vulnerability would've triggered some need to surround himself with the familiar.

And with Flower Fruit Mountain so far, and the addicting thrum of Macaque's magic nearby, the choice had been obvious.

But the dozens of times after that? The intoxicated flights away from the island to random cities?

Yeah, no. It was more than a little odd.

For the longest time Wukong had convinced himself it was his wine storage, that every bottle had been cursed to lead him into trouble. But countless visits to bars and the wine cellars of nameless mortals all proved to yield the same results:

A furious shadow and Wukong awaking to memories he could just barely touch the beginning and endings of.

With a sigh of defeat he'd relented that he just seemed to have an internal compass; one that annoyingly pointed itself toward Macaque.

Did he have the capacity to understand it? No.

But was it beneficial in pitiful moments like this? Absolutely.

So maybe he'd overheard a mortal talking about how Lantern City had the best liquor in China. And maybe his ass had been kicked a little too hard during training that day.

Sue him, there still isn't a better remedy for a bruised ego than the bottom of a cheap bottle of whiskey and mortals cheering him on. By the time the bartender had deemed him too drunk and ushered him from the bar, the sun had still yet to rise from the east.

The city had never looked so bright against the darkened sky painted above it. Mindless neon signs flashed around every corner, each with their own calling to whatever craving a mortal could have. A dulled pink one told the story of a rundown sushi shop. Another of some nightclub Wukong could already see drunk patrons stumbling from, their shirts rumpled by their own hands and the weighted drag of sweat.

But he didn't linger for long on the streets; he was on a mission after all.

At least, some kind of mission. His brain hadn't quite told him the specifics, but feet kept walking and fuck if that wasn't reason enough to continue onward.

Sign by sign the city's bright lights began to dull, caving to make way for the humble atmosphere of residential housing. Admittedly, it was nice to know there were still neighborhoods that resembled architecture from a time predating the invention of "electricity".

It was enough that it made his chest bubble with pride, lungs jolting. Ah, nope. Just a hiccup.

With a woeful sigh he pauses to lean heavily against an obscure house's door. The wood feels cool beneath the tips of his fingers, the temperature a kind reprieve from the warming embrace of alcohol.

Apart from its temperature, the door isn't...unique. Which is kinda disappointing if he's being honest.

The door's only a darkened shade of that one Blue Guy's skin, the words of "dark navy" an already long-forgotten thought lost to the midnight air. Who needs fancy words anyway?

The door's some sort of blue. That's all that matters.

Cobbled pebbles consume his vision and it's only after a blink that he finds his claws dug painfully into the grooves of the door. It's a weak attempt to stabilize himself, but it works well enough as he refocuses his eyes.

If he can't stare at the ground then he might as well inspect the door at hand.

Y'know what? Now that he's gotten a closer look at it, it's kinda pretty.

The perfect shade of blue that manages to calm the spots of green that dance behind his eyes, the dark swirls engraved within its wood a calling to Wukong's attention. It's a damn-good piece of wood, and one that totally deserves a place in his treasury.

...isn't that a thought?

A door. In his treasury. A laugh escapes between clenched teeth.

It'd certainly look nice. Not many celestial beings he stole borrowed from had stunning doors. This would be the first of its type to see the light- or lack thereof -within Wukong's hoard.

He could already see the excitement in the door handle's polished reflection. Or maybe that's his own reflection.

If only he could just relocate it to its new home.

"Sorry 'bout this-"

There's a shrill screech as Wukong's claws dig further into the door's wood, intricately carved symbols reduced to splinters in his feeble attempts to rip it from its hinges.

His eyebrows furrow as the door barely moves toward his pulls, a little miffed over its audacity to remain put. His treasury is far better than whatever shithole the door guards now. Why can't it see that?

Wukong's tongue runs itself along his teeth as he finally lets the wood go.

Maybe it's one of those "push" doors?

He swiftly turns at such a thought, shoving his weight loudly against the door. It groans, and much to his delight, begins to bend at its middle.

Ah, that's better.

At least until the door against his back gives way.

Wukong's gasp quickly surrenders to a wheeze the moment his spine hits the ground, vision a chaotic swirl of dark colors and mind vibrant with the sudden thud of a migraine. It quiets only once his eyes refocus on the organized blend of black, red, and yellow shades that cautiously lean over him.

It's undeniably Macaque, alive and just as disgruntled as Wukong had always known him to be. Actually no- he looks just the tiniest bit more disgruntled than usual, a long stick that's notably thicker at its end resting against his shoulder.

Wukong's only half-sure it's some sort of bat.

For a moment he lets himself blink, an odd itch at his fingertips as he gazes at Macaque. There's just...something about the demon that's off.

The frazzled fur and annoyed expression is the same, down the subtle scrunch of Macaque's nose and the flatness of his ears.

...

...oh! His ears!

His claws dig their home within the palm of his hand as he glares heatedly toward the single pair of ears that flick against black fur. Pfft, as if glamors would make Wukong forget about the other two pairs he favored far more than the dulled pink ones currently displayed.

Still, doubt crawls ruthlessly amidst the lining of the deity's stomach and Wukong surfaces the sudden urge to touch Macaque's face- to confirm with every press of his fingers that his internal compass hadn't finally guided him wrong.

It isn't until the familiar demon properly stands up that Wukong realizes he'd already been in the middle of an attempt to grab the other.

"Macaque-" he whines, the name a sweet sap on his tongue. Or maybe that was the one glass of wine he stole from a mortal; wine always did tend to leave a sweet aftertaste.

Ah, nope, it's definitely Macaque's name. Everything about the other sings of sap, from the way the shadow slowly goes back to hovering over Wukong to his honeyed voice.

It's an addicting sound even in its a state of confusion and irritation.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Wukong allows himself a few seconds to swallow the instinctive reprimand of "language" that threatens to escape alongside a hiccup. He has greater things to worry about anyway.

Like how he should’ve warred true hell against the Heavens for ever daring to stand between him and such a beautiful demon. Even the idea of just looking at Macaque is thrilling; it was like looking into the eyes of a siren, one who he’d follow to the ends of the three realms just to hear a single song from. 

Gods, he’d carve his heart out and gift it on a platter. He’d only need Macaque to give the command. 

His mouth unhinges awkwardly to confess such a thing, only for his lips to snap shut at the jarring hiccup that jolts his lungs. His chest hurts amidst the instinctive squeeze, and ever the type to ruin the butterflies within Wukong’s stomach, Macaque’s face does something...odd.

It flickers at the edges of Wukong's mind, sweetly reminiscent of their shared youth millennia ago. A mercy, he supposes, one he only receives in moments where his memory will fail him the morning after.

Dark brows pinch together before they're hidden by a hand that presses against them, a fire in those yellow eyes that feels much tamer than the usual bite of Macaque's anger.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

Wukong's lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile, praying to the Heavens that his attempt to look smug outweighs the flutter in his stomach.

"...'might be."

There's a harsh hiss that faintly resembles a curse before Macaque takes a step away.

Wukong lurches to his feet at an instant, his mind alight with panic.

Macaque is leaving and he needs to come back- please come back come back comeback comebackcomeback-

As it turns out his lurch only gets him to kneel in the doorframe, mind settling only once Macaque's voice returns.

"Are you coming in or do I have to drag you inside?"

Like a balm, the underlying tones of amusement soothe the thud that plagues Wukong's mind. It floods him with enough relief that he nearly heaves on the spot.

Heavens above he loves the way Macaque asks questions.

Wukong barely takes in the fact he's moving, his legs relying on instinct whilst his mind stares at the curious expression on the shadow's face. If he weren't so drunk he would've labeled it more akin to fondness than anything.

A few steps ahead Macaque pats at a dark grey couch and Wukong barely manages to crash onto the lumpy cushions before the shadow whisks himself toward a kitchen.

For once the world grows quiet, sans for the opening of cupboards and gentle hiss of water pouring from a sink.

Wukong lets himself bask in it for a moment before he decides that he despises it.

"Y'know," he grunts, the pillow beneath his chin pinned rather comfortably between his face and the couch. "You're a worrier."

Macaque's impressive hearing must've failed for once as the demon blinks, curiously, in the corner of Wukong's eye. Half of his body is covered by the countertop as the shadow juggles two cups in his hand. "A warrior?"

Wukong thinks Macaque's gaze to resemble how one would look when confused over a jigsaw puzzle and he silently hopes he has turned into a jigsaw puzzle. Anything to remain the eye of Macaque's attention.

"No," his brows pinch, a spark of anger igniting over the miscommunication. The issue's even frustrating enough to make him lift his face from the pillow- a difficult battle but one he reigns triumph over. "A worrier."

It must've been the wrong thing to say because there isn't a snort of laughter that filters through Wukong's ears but instead a distasteful click akin to nails on a chalkboard.

"I'm not a worrier."

The way Macaque spits the word is almost spiteful enough for Wukong to redirect his anger toward the word as well. If the demon doesn't like such a comment, then it must have been downright terrible.

But then the shadow perches at the couch's arm to Wukong's right, two cups of water in hand. The staple image of a worrier.

"The kid just woulda been a mess if his mentor got himself mugged on my doorstep."

"Pfft, it woulda been fine," Wukong waves aside, and his next thought is funny enough to get himself to snort.

Wish you'd mug me.

Again Macaque's face does a funny thing, his lips twitching into a thinly veiled grin.

Ah shit, he'd been caught. Quiet thoughts, quiet thoughts.

Thankfully, Macaque nods his agreement. "Quiet thoughts are a good idea."

Wukong must've hid his shock a little too poorly because Macaque suddenly laughs. It's a rare thing, and reality be damned, Macaque's subtle laughter is enough to shake the world; to cause a disastrous earthquake historians will write about for centuries to come.

He's only able to bask in such a sound for a couple seconds before a shadow tendril nudges him to lift his head.

"Sit up and drink some water. If you throw up on my couch you're cleaning and replacing it."

Much to Wukong's delight, the moment his head lifts the shadow fits himself close to his side before offering one of the cups.

He barely manages a couple gulps before he sets it on the ground, lolling his head until it leans against Macaque's shoulder. The shadows stiffens only slightly before he melts back into the touch.

A hand even lifts and entangles itself between fur of gold, eliciting a gentle purr from Wukong.

Now this is familiar. It doesn't matter that he can't remember why it's so natural, just that he's grateful he can fall back into a habit so comforting.

There isn't even the echo of television to disrupt them, silence enveloping the house all at once.

He lets himself wrestle with the idea of breaking the silence. While he wouldn't mind letting the peace lull him into a nap, he knows this atmosphere of tranquility is only a mercy he'll be given tonight.

Tomorrow Wukong will wake up back on Flower Fruit Mountain and should he run into Macaque, their conversations will only consist of lashing tongues and harsh words.

An olive branch will only ever be extended during times of intoxication, and truth be told he'd much rather try a civil conversation than fall asleep.

"I've been thinking," he finally decides on.

"That's new," Macaque grins. Yellow eyes only roll at Wukong's tail swats at his thigh. "What about?"

"Mm," Satisfied, Wukong leans further into the gentle fingers that comb themselves through his fur. It's nice; Macaque had always been unfairly talented at grooming. "Your ears."

He nearly whines as Macaque's hand lifts from golden fur, uncertain why the attention had stopped. "What about them?"

"I want 'em in my treasury."

The other's expression falters and again Wukong can't make sense of why. Is this another door situation? Something untakeable?

"I wouldn't take your face," he adds for good measure. "You always look too sad anyway."

At least that gets a scoff. "I do not."

"Totally do."

"You're such an idiot."

Ah, low blow. It's a good thing Wukong's had millennia to practice his retorts. "Nuh uh."

"Yea huh."

But it isn't enough. Macaque's hand doesn't return to comb through fur.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Macaque hums, if a little too quickly.

"...what is it?"

"Drop it."

It's a weak demand, unfitting to quell the king's curiosity. He'll pry and pry until there's nothing left he could grow surprised from hearing. "Nah."

"Please?"

But that one's new.

"...just let me have this?" a black tail flicks in the corner of his eye and Wukong finds himself uncertain at the other's show of anxiety. "You won't remember this in the morning anyway. You never do."

Still, with all the bravado a drunken sage could possess-

"Just watch me."

"Whatever you say, Wukong."

[al-the-remix]

Random fandom thoughts/feelings

The reblog button is turned off on this post but I think it's another incredibly important one to be thinking about. I enjoy their framing of how the profit economy of other social media sites has been bleeding into fandom spaces on both tumblr, and like this post focuses on, Ao3. It's something that I've been noticing more and more and it really rubs me the wrong way and I feel like OP's post words it perfectly in a way I've been struggling to express.

This sort of connects the previous post I reblogged on the topic talking about how fandom is not a good in road for becoming internet famous.

A facet of this that's really bamboozled me recently is that I feel like i've been seeing more and more of is the idea that a singular person has a right to call "dibs" on a specific piece of media. Which is honestly totally fucking wild to me and if I'm being totally frank kind of dumb.

Every single one of us who interacts with fandom and by extent and IP is flirting with copy right law, the consequences of which everyone should be extremely familiar with by now with the fall of LJ and various lawsuits by authors, dmca notices, etc.

We have all heard the adage "there's no such thing as an original idea"; the idea that everything we create is the amalgamation of all the things that influence us, good and bad.

This is totally normal and good, actually.

For example, if I and another person both watch a TV show, see a production photograph that we really like and decide to draw it and post them one after the other it would be considered extremely bad behaviour to then turn around and make a big stink about how someone else had the gall to turn around and draw the same thing that I did. We can all look at a picture, video, lyrics to a song, become inspired and create something wildly different based on our tastes and influences--but we also are equally, if not more so, likely to create something nearly identical to our peers, especially in a fandom space where ideas are concentrated and we are all consuming each other's thoughts, opinions, and creations. More than once I've come up with an idea for a fic or a drawing that someone else had had a nearly identical execution of without us communicating or viewing each other's work. That's just the way the human brain works, we're hard wired to make connections in a fairly similar way.

You do not have a right to call dibs on any one photograph, clip of video, song lyrics or any other bit of media you might consume.

This stands for artists, writers, gif makers, AMV creators, and any other way you choose to express your love of fandom creatively.

If you are really hard pressed to focus on the numbers and work at being ~influential~ the burden is on you to distinguish yourself creatively.

There's a reason why not being able to see follower counts is so important to the way fandom and tumblr functions. The concept of ~small creators~ and ~big creators~ or BNF or whatever are all burdens you place on yourselves. No one is taking anything away from you by engaging with the same bit of media you are in a similar way. We all have a right to express ourselves creatively and emotionally through any snippet of media that sparks our interest. You do not get to "own it" just because you happened to pump something out first. There are no creative "dibs". This isn't even some sort of "fandom" etiquette thing that has gone thus unspoken. It's a strange possessive thing that I've seen crop up more and more as the idea of being a capital "C" Creator brain rots people's minds and atrophies their ability to be creative.

Sort of on a tangent, but I have a bunch of other personal random thoughts about how this push to be prolific stagnates fandom, but these are more complicated for me and I'm not as clear on how I want to express them. On one had I am completely on board with the "there is no such thing as cringe" mindset and that everyone has a right to create whatever super indulgent thing they want to without having to suffer people being snobby about it. But, on the other hand I feel very strongly that the cycle of people seeing one trope or characterization being repeated repeated over and over and gaining popularity, reading only that--writing only that--leading others to also only consume that, really stymies creativity and makes it harder to grow the fandom if people that are trying to enter aren't into That One Thing, while also ostracizing people who are already in the fandom that aren't into That One Thing. I strongly believe that people's tastes are at least 70% just what they're exposed to, and obviously not everyone is going to be into whatever weird niche concept they're exposed to through fandom, but the more they are the more opportunity they have to expand that horizon. I don't know how many times I've gotten a version of the "I wasn't sure I would like this but I gave it a shot and it turns out I really love it!" and how good that feels and how much I wish other people were emboldened to do the same instead of being so wrapped up in how their work may or may not be received.

This is mostly a subjective thing though, so it's less cut and dry. Like for example, I really struggle with engaging with transgender fic despite being transgender myself because of the way most AFAB fic is written to the point where I avoid it now almost entirely. Which, frankly, really fucking sucks but also I will be the first person to fight for other's ability to write transgender characters wether they appeal my personal feelings and taste or not.

Anyway, this is one of the reasons I'm so protective of fandom community events, especially ones that employ aspects of the fandom gift economy such as exchanges. There are one of the few wholly un self-centred places left where the focus is on gifting someone something they will love and giving back to the fandom at large by flooding it with art and opportunities appreciation and engagement with each other. It is not supposed to be an opportunity for you to think about yourself and "getting something good" in return or using it a convenient deadline. It also offers you an opportunity to engage with fic tropes and genres that you've never considered writing or reading before.

TL;DR if you've found yourself recently squabbling over how many notes your gifs, art, writing, etc. has been getting compared to other people instead of focusing on forging community ties and your own creative expression, I'm sorry to say you're doing it wrong.

[greasydumbfuck]

also just for the record. no matter how much utterly stupid shit i say or draw about him, frank actually makes me so deeply sad. this old man should be picking up his grandkids but he cant. i think about him too much and im so sad

[laddertek]

shoutout to you giving us the tangtho highlights of the decked out 2 streams

hahaha thank you. I'm far from providing all the highlights because there are simply Too Many. that I just don't post about all of them. but hooo boy are the tangtho enjoyers living well right now!!

[triglycercule]

guys i havent written since may (for killer's birthday) but stupid silly swapinverse has been on my mind for a little bit and i threw together this silly (he has a panic attack and throws up) little short draft 4 swapinverse horror!!

-

“hah… ah… oh god… no, no, nonono…”

he ran. sprinted through the forest like a frightened deer, his demeanor that of prey, although his previous actions aligned more of a predator. panting and shaking, his mind cycled through countless variations of how to react to what just happened, what he just did.

how should he react? how could he react? it was impossible to tell for him in the panicked state. and as the trees in snowdin slowly began to surround him (but weren't they always doing that?), paranoia couldn't run anymore. he was surrounded, he was blocked off, he couldn't escape. not from horrortale, not from snowdin, not from the dusty graveyard he had just left it, and not from the blood smeared across his mouth.

“no, i- what did, what did i do? paps, snowdin, even-undick, no, it-”

paranoia’s incoherent rambles brought his hands to wander across his face, tugging at the massive hole in his skull spanning majority of the left side of his head. picking at the chipped bone didn't help, it never did, but a nervous habit was unbreakable, and he was more than nervous in this moment. in fact, quite terrified. everything was terrifying. he was terrifying. and as the slightest hint of red blood touched his sleeve, the once red, now magenta eye quickly locked onto it, and he couldn't hold it back anymore.

“fuck- oh god, no, aliza-!”

falling to his knees, a disgustingly gorey mess of red, pink, and black spilled from his mouth. sounds of retching and hurling were all that filled the empty forest, and paranoia couldn't bear to look down and see the mess he’d made. the mess he’s caused. wasted food, he would've said. but that statement normally only applied to others. he never imagined using it on himself. choking on his spit and certainly not his blood, tears fell from his eye, joining the vomit and blood seeping into the snow. strange. paranoia didn't think he had enough magic to even shed tears anymore. just for the bare necessities. he managed to surprise even himself, after all this time.

but could it be could be considered surprise, or rather terror? he fit up to his name, certainly horrified at his own actions. forcing out as much of the grossness he could that he’d just consumed, paranoia couldn't help but look down at what he’d done.

red. a lot of red. too much red. he’d never been queasy before, never. he had to adapt to it, being the one to hunt down humans that ran or sneak up on those when times got desperate. there was no time or need to be queasy at what he even considered his job before. a duty he had to do.

but now, there was too much red. far too much red. and he didn't know why, although he totally knew, but paranoia couldn't stomach it. he just threw his guts out (shouldn't they be aliza’s guts, or no?), and here he was, wanting to throw up until his SOUL shattered. his SOUL cycled through those strange 4 shapes, unsure of which to settle on. he couldn't blame it. paranoia himself was unsure of what was even going on anymore. he wanted to run, but was frozen. he wanted to scream, but didn't know who at.

everything was contradicting. everything was going on, and not enough was given for paranoia to understand how to deal with it. and with a muttered curse, he flopped on his side onto the somehow dry snow, losing consciousness in the haze of fear now intermingled with his SOUL.

-

ik theres probably grammar mistakes i wrote this on my phone,,,, but like idk. had idea for a little moment in paranoia's lore and i sure as hell didn't wanna draw it so i wrote it as an easier media! god this is so much easier compared to drawing idk why i dont do this more often (because youre lazy silly!) anyways swapinverse silly i love swapinverse. i've only thrown up like never so i dont know if this works. also never had a panic attack (i think) and AGAIN i dont know if this is accurate but whatever i dont write to be good i write for expressing my ideas. like everything i do

[cherriesandcharms]

..

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

having incoherent thoughts actually

(mostly a small collection of everything I can discern that gives us insight into sherb and raes relationship as children)

(also known as a long post about c!sherbert and Rae and siblings-)

(Also also known as mildly incoherent long post time that it just word vomit and stringing along thoughts-)

so like. Going through the notes in order, at the end of notes 1 there is the hint that Sherbert maybe isn't the best older sibling, with the '-lled me stupid because I got her name wrong'

do I Uh. Have to go through notes 2? Do I. Do i.. cause. Cause that was pretty fuckin shitty. There's nothing I can say that will excuse that Or what they said to him. I get stress and everything going on, but I'm not sure there is an expectation for that. Sherbert shouldn't have done that, and was obviously not being a good older bother in this moment.

first entry of notes number three that we can see (post notes 2, and presumably post sherb ripping it up) talks about sherb saying that they shouldn't go into Isla room anymore. With the addition of the fact the both of them won't have sleepovers in there anymore. Sherbert couldn't have cared that little about him, if they had sleepovers presumably fairly regularly in their mothers room.

Just. Sherb calling Rae weird. (Entry 9 that we can see) which. Might just be a sibling thing, but ┐(ﾟ～ﾟ)┌

Entry 11 that we can see, Sherb caught Rae sneaking out, Rae says they're going to tattle. That they always do. Gives the impression that sherb just wants rae in trouble for one reason or another. (However, my dad likes to tell us that tatting is okay if someone at risk at getting hurt. Sneaking out isn't exactly harmless. On the other hand, we don't know what the other events they've tattled about, so I cannot say if this was a concerned older sibling tattle or a needing and wanting a younger sibling to get in trouble tattle.)

Entry 12 of notes 3, and '-eld notes' both reference rae questioning something that someone (presumably sherbert, as said person is referred to with they/them) else presumably doesn't believe, saying that it was made up. Which. Maybe listen to your sibling when they say they've seen/heard/experienced someone?? I don't know, it doesn't seem like Sherbert believed mush that Rae said. (It is important to note entry 12 was labeled a day after entry 11.)

Also in '-eld notes' "we can't get it to stop" in reference to their eye implies they were both trying to get it to stop. What Rae said today on stream pushes doubt on the idea that Sherbert wanted that help.

(I. Going on a side tangent about the eye and the eye patch and sherb throwing it away and laughing at Rae trying to help and Rae being upset. Um. Okay. So um. As the older sibling you are. Expected to be the one younger siblings lean on when your parents are busy or when your parents cant or they're unavailable or or or. And with that, you're expected to really only need help from either, a, your parents, or b, another older sibling (who is older than you). now sherbert didn't have any of those. they're without fable. Without Isla. (Without anyone above you, these are just 'expectations' you set for yourself.) They are the older sibling, they're not supposed to need help from their younger sibling. Sometimes you don't want help from your younger sibling. The eye thing must've hurt and they must have been very stressed about it on top of everything else, and and and. The laugh could've been something bitter. It also could have not. Them throwing the eyepatch away could've been them hold themself to "expectations" they dont have to, not thinking theyvneed their younger siblings help. (not wanting it.) We don't know, we weren't there, but also just. I don't know if that moment was sherbert being a shity older sibling or sherbert being a worn out done with the world (still kinda shitty because they didn't explain why) older sibling. Dont know. Just. Side tanget.)

(Rae being upset about it is perfectly valid. He has his right. I'd be upset to if my older sibling was hurting and I tried to help and they wouldn't let me and they laughed at me because how dare I try to fix something and how dare i try to care about them. I'd very very upset.)

Side tangent over. Alone together. Alone together. This book haunts my dreams /vvpos. Do I take it at face value? Do I look further into it? I don't know. So. This is mostly just. Quotes I'm pointing out because how do I take them after that lore today? I don't know-

So, first, "masking their disappointment as they put on a forced smile for the boy beside them."

This too, "In spite of every disagreement and struggle, their bond was unlike any other." Implying that despite everything priorly mentioned, they were still close.

And. And this. ""Rae, I'm glad I have you""

Also all the memories fable showed sherb and Rae the two of them seem. Really close. Rae clinging to sherbert and sherbert talking very gently to Rae.

Also. Also that one message in spoilers about sherb and the corruption and how its probably very similar to how a younger sherbert acted and heyhays response. that too. Actually-

And. That's. All I'm looking for right now. I'm sure there's more and yall are very free to add on and correct me (please please do correct me if I made a mistake) I'm being very incoherent and just having older sibling vs. younger sibling thoughts right now, so I'm not sure if any of this makes sense-

[soulsxng]

Sometimes, a person allows me to geek out about dog training/behavior/nutrition stuff a little bit (because they asked me for advice/help), and my brain just latches onto it for the rest of the day. And then I’m just going on long winded dog related info dumps completely out of nowhere to literally anybody in the room.

[highlifeboat]

Me @ Me when the Urge to Create is there but also the Urge to Just Word Vomit in a Post (much more appealing)

[mythesque]

alhaitham and dehya are FRIENDS they are friends THEY ARE FRIENDS they are besties they are F R I E N D S this Is the hill i Will die on

[palms-upturned]

Needed to listen to some music while I did the dishes and for some reason picked “von” from the zankyou no terror soundtrack and jesus god. Experiencing emotions that don’t exist.

[cripgineer]

I gotta do more headcanons but none of them r like. Idk normal shit. Sniper has pyschotic depression and it doesn’t make him uwu sad boy it makes him lock himself in his van for 72 hours straight and exclusively pisses in jars because toilets have Malaise that Can and will kill him.

[swankpalanquin]

thank god work has been fairly busy cos that means i can save up all the emotional turmoil bubbling inside me and have a mini breakdown this weekend

[onipanda379]

i may have talked about it here before, but i have a original writing project i'm always building up. i just call it "tellusverse"

its mostly just another generic high fantasy setting. at least, mostly.

i got fae/fairy races in it, right. but oddly enough, i haven't given any of them wings. and i just realized that now. i have like, all the basic fantasy races in this world that can fly. dragons, harpies, etc.

but my actual fae characters that are humanoid? i haven't given them any wings. not a single one. and honestly, i'm thinking of keeping it that way for various reasons.

right now i really only have one major fae oc. he doesn't have wings. but he's also a woodland/earth fairy who's powers are heavily related and themed around th earth. so he really doesn't need wings.

but then that prompt got me feeling things about a fae hating their wings.

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

fist clenching over a reblog of one of steams kh3 hercules posts and im not even past the screenshots bc iTS ALWAYS THE FUCKING DADS

I say "always" when im mostly talking about two worlds (hercules, tron) in general, but whatever! im iiii needdd to knoww whatt the fuckingg deal is with these damn. These damn riku parallels and their fucking, dads.