Just-A-Monster-Blog

(+18)general alien/monsterf❤cker 👽Certified Freak -k-baby I'm attracted to monsters/aliens💗

[just-a-monster-blog]

(Meant to post this days ago but I'm a mess 😅)

-minors ❌DNI

-homophobia/racism (yes even if you reblog with said awful comments❌ DNI

-columbiners ❌DNI (General TCC Is a-ok by me!✅)

-M@ps ❌DNI

-n@zis ❌DNI

🥳Anyone trying to send me hateful messages will be blocked without reply🤡

-Cye

[margonika00]

My wife is in my arms

[12doomed]

they don’t even know…

[purpldology]

The way Houses brain looks like a heart,, yeah I'm normal

[seaslugfanclub]

Smee: Why does (Y/N) call you babygirl?

Captain Hook: How about we stop talking for a while?

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*(Y/N), taking the stage after the Villains took over the House of Mouse*: Clap if you ever wanted to kill somebody

*The Villains devolving into claps and cheers*

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(Y/N): I don’t think we ever got over that language barrier…

Ernesto De La Cruz: No, no, it’s not your fault

(Y/N): What the fuck, you speak English?!

Ernesto De La Cruz: Of course I do

————————————————————————

(Y/N): I’ve got to get back home before James realizes I’m not in bed

*Hook, back at (Y/N)’s house*: (y/n)?..(Y/N)!?

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(Y/N): How old are you?

Gaston: Wait… guess.

(Y/N): 36?

Gaston: WHAT!? 36– THAT WAS SO FAR OFF

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[knoepfl]

I if requests are open, do you think you can do a syndrome x reader, a continuation of the Christmas special. Maybe he sees the reader interact with kids or babies, and starts to realize what she meant, and becomes an angsty/fluff.

Thank you!

Ohh I had so much fun writing this! Thank you so much for this request. I just love writing for Buddy and I hope you enjoy it.

Family Syndrome ||

Characters:

• Syndrome (Buddy Pine): A former superhero fan turned villain, focused on world domination. Highly intelligent, manipulative, and often self-centered in his pursuits. He initially dismisses the idea of having a family but gradually begins to feel the absence of his wife’s affection and realizes what she truly meant.

• Reader (Wife): Syndrome’s loving and supportive wife, who yearns for a more personal future with him, including raising a family. She is compassionate, hopeful, and patient but also deeply hurt by his initial rejection. Over time, she distances herself emotionally, finding comfort in moments with children, which unknowingly sparks a change in Buddy.

• Various Children & Babies: Represent the warmth and love that the reader desires, unknowingly influencing Syndrome’s realization of what he might be missing.

Trigger Warnings:

• Emotional Conflict: The reader and Syndrome experience a deep emotional rift due to differing desires for the future.

• Dismissive Behavior: Syndrome initially disregards his wife's feelings and aspirations, creating emotional pain.

• Isolation & Loneliness: The reader begins to pull away emotionally, and Syndrome starts to feel the emptiness of her absence.

• Angst & Regret: Syndrome struggles with the realization of how much he has neglected his wife’s emotional needs.

• Soft Manipulation: Syndrome’s past tendencies to prioritize his own plans over their relationship contribute to the tension.

• Bittersweet Realization: Themes of longing, self-reflection, and unspoken love create a slow, aching emotional shift before leading to a heartwarming resolution.

Masterlist

Part 1

Words: 1249

--- Days passed since the conversation, and something had changed. His wife was still there—she still kissed him in the morning, still sat across from him at dinner, still brushed her fingers through his hair absentmindedly when passing by. But there was something different in those gestures, something subtle yet impossible to ignore. She lingered less. She smiled, but there was a flicker of distance in her eyes. And worse, she wasn’t as present in the spaces they used to share.

Buddy didn’t want to think about it. He buried himself in his work, throwing himself deeper into his plans, into new inventions, into every little thing that kept his mind moving so fast he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the unease settling inside him. He told himself he was just imagining things. That she would get over it. That this was just some fleeting phase, a passing thought, and soon enough, everything would go back to normal.

But then he started to notice the silence.

It crept in slowly, so subtly that at first, he didn’t realize what was happening. The quiet hum of their life together, the way she used to sit beside him while he worked, asking about his latest designs even if she didn’t fully understand them, the way she used to press against his side while he ranted about heroes, offering a quiet comment that made him feel heard—it was all fading. And in its place was nothing.

She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t cruel or distant in any obvious way. But he could feel it in the way she moved around him, in the way she seemed to be somewhere else even when she was right beside him. And he hated it.

He wouldn’t bring it up. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she had shaken him. He would just wait.

And then one evening, he saw her.

It wasn’t planned—he had just been walking through the estate when he stopped in his tracks, his attention drawn to the courtyard. She was there, holding a baby, laughing softly as the child cooed and reached for her hair. Buddy froze. He had never seen her like this before. She was always beautiful, always captivating, but this was something different. There was a warmth in her eyes, a quiet kind of joy, something so tender and real that it made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.

He should have walked away. He should have shaken it off. But he stood there for too long, staring, something unfamiliar twisting inside him. He had never seen her look at him like that.

That night, lying in bed beside her, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way she had smiled, the way her voice had softened when she spoke to the child, the way she had held them so carefully, as if she had done it a thousand times before. He turned onto his side, glancing at her. She was still awake, staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts.

“I saw you today,” he muttered, voice quieter than he intended.

She turned her head, blinking at him. “What?”

“In the courtyard.” He hesitated, then admitted, “With the kid.”

A flicker of something passed across her face before she sighed. “Oh. Mirage asked me to watch her cousin for a little while.”

“You looked happy.” The words felt foreign in his mouth, strange and uncertain.

She didn’t answer right away. Then, with a small smile, she said, “I was.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it landed like a weight in his chest.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.

But in the following days, he couldn’t get the image out of his head.

And suddenly, it was everywhere.

At a coffee shop in the city, he saw a father lifting his daughter onto his shoulders, making her squeal with delight. The sound grated on his nerves more than it should have. At one of his warehouses, a woman rocked a baby in her arms while speaking to one of his men, her voice soft and soothing. Buddy turned away before he could look too closely. He went about his life as he always did, but for some reason, it was all starting to feel… hollow.

The worst part was that it followed him even in the quiet of their home.

At night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the thoughts creeping into his mind. He imagined little footsteps echoing through the halls, small giggles filling the empty spaces of the mansion. He pictured his wife sitting on the floor, a child in her lap, reading some ridiculous bedtime story with that same warmth he had seen in the courtyard. He imagined that child looking up at him with her eyes, grinning at him with his smirk.

And the idea didn’t repulse him the way it should have.

He still didn’t understand it. He still wasn’t sure what it meant. But when he looked at his wife now, he could feel the weight of everything unspoken between them. She wasn’t pressing the issue. She wasn’t trying to change his mind. But she was still waiting. And he didn’t know how long she’d wait before she stopped altogether.

One night, he found her sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, flipping through an old photo album. He wasn’t sentimental, didn’t care much for looking back, but for some reason, he sat down beside her. He glanced at the pictures, old memories frozen in time—years ago, when they were younger, before everything had fallen into place. Before he had become this.

“You miss something, don’t you?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I miss what could be.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. But when she looked at him, there was something so honest in her expression that it made his throat feel tight.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “…I don’t know how to be that kind of person.” His voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Buddy.” She squeezed his hand, voice softer now. “You just have to be you.”

He swallowed hard, staring at their hands.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. It was the first time he had ever said those words out loud.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh or scoff. She just leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Me too,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just sat there with her, listening to the quiet crackling of the fire, feeling the weight of something shifting between them.

That night, as they lay in bed, he pulled her closer than he had in weeks. He wasn’t sure where this was going, wasn’t sure what it all meant yet. But as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, he whispered, “Maybe we can talk about it. Someday.”

She tensed for just a moment before looking up at him, eyes wide. “…Really?”

He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Really.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a commitment.

But it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

---

[gamma-gal-24]

✨️More Syndrome/Buddy Pine x reader HCs to cure my many mental illnessses☝️🤓🩷✨️

Minors dni, please! Thank you!

・ Okay, so I doubt this need be said, but Syndrome is no angel. He won't lie to you and say he is one, either.

・He can be passive-aggressive, condescending, greedy, and sometimes just downright rude for funzies. He's the reason gingers are called "red-headded step child". He is that child.

・That said, he has his good points, too. Especially if he likes you.

・If you have managed to find a spot among his favorite people, (a list of 1), congratulations! You get special treatment over EVERYTHING.

・ If you become an item while working for him, you're going to gradually receive lighter and lighter work loads. You won't notice it at first; the stack of paperwork shrinking, him stalling you in his office or lab with idle chitchat rather than sending you right back out to adjust his schedule. It's not at all obvious for the first few weeks...

・ That is until one day it hits you- instead of three stacks of papers a foot tall each, you have one, half that size. You realize he's only required you attend one of his meetings instead of five, and when he has you send his lunch order to the chefs, he insists you have them make something for you, too. "Take a break! We have all day."

・For a guy who counts every minute of every hour, it's a shock to hear those words come out of him. Huge shock.

・If you're a superhero, it's both very similar and very different scenarios.

・You'll notice an influx of emergencies caused by HIM, (Statewide blackouts, rampant robots, the like), but slowly, day by day, less about other villains...

・He's scared them off. Or bribed them to lay low. You aren't exactly sure which. Either way, he's gotten rid of them for a while.

・The witty banter loses the monolog, bit by bit. He doesn't talk about himself quite as much?? Like, don't get me wrong, he's still entirely full of himself, but his comments become aimed more at you. "Look at you go! I'm almost impressed!", "Woah-ho-ho! You almost had me there! Have you been training up for little ol' me? I'm flattered!"

・He's just openly flirting at this point. He'll even get to where he stages fake emergencies just so you'll come see him.

・You get to the rooftop, expecting to see him doing his regularly scheduled evil shit, and instead, he's lounging on a spread-out blanket, wine on ice beside him, and he is REEKING of that cologne you accidentally mentioned liking. Swimming in it. That stuff is impossible to get out of a supersuit.

・He's so proud of himself, though, bless his heart.

・Like with the cologne, he analyzes you and everything about you. Things you like, things you can't stand, little quirks you probably don't even realize you have - he sees all. Knows all.

・Low-key stalker-ish... but he means well, for the most part.😅

・If you work for DevTech, random gifts begin turinging up out of the blue, seemingly from an anonymous fan, labeled with just an "S". Anything from pretty flower arrangements to new accessories for your supersuit(or regular suits if you're a pedestrian), all of it is pretty and high-dollar, perfectly tailored to you.

・But of course, eventually he catches you in person and very proudly confesses. Who else could it have been but him, after all?

・That said, he does like to have a hand on you if there's other people around. A soft grip on your hip or your shoulder, just to let others know your his, and keep himself assured nobody's going to mess with you.

・ Syndrome is not a cuddly, touchy-feely person. While not adverse to the idea, he isn't going to initiate cuddle sessions or big bear hugs most of the time. Not never, but not usually. He's more of a side-hugger or a slap on the ass in passing, always followed by an evil laugh.

・He tends to get a little overstimulated if he feels he's being smothered. Being sucked into a jet turbine will do that to you.

・He does worry, on days where he's feeling unusually thoughtful, that maybe his enemies will realize that you're a weakness of his. Dealing in weapons and villainy alike, he has pissed off his fair share of powerful people; people he wouldn't put above hurting someone just to get to him. It's a scary thought - that he might slip up one day and something happen to you. He can't lose the one, single human being he actually cares for. The one, single person that sees him.

・He has obliterated a few of his guards that have looked at you the wrong way before. Never in front of you, of course, but he's lazer-blasting that hoe the first chance he gets.

・Only he gets to look at you with those eyes.

・Slightly NSFW, but Syndrome has a thing for biting. There's something about sitting back, staring at those big red spots and the little, crooked dents that only he could leave that just gets every neuron in that big, beautiful brain firing.

・That and he simply enjoys the sensation of biting things, but mostly it's a possessive thing. He thinks it's hot.

・Sticking to a similar theme, power imbalances do him in something awful. Mirage was entirely right when she said power was his weakness.

・Now, he doesn't really care WHO the imbalance is in favor of. Yes, he loves the rush that comes with being in charge. He likes being the big shot, the one in control.... but he also likes it when he isn't.

・A quick way to put him in his place is with his hair. Use that troll doll head of hair like they do in Ratatouille. Pull the right way and he'll do whatever you want. He keeps it long for a reason, after all.😉

・Back to the normal stuff, (or at least as normal as Syndrome can be), he has a hard time peeling himself away from his work. As his partner, he's going to need somebody to make him take time away. He is a man of schedules and deadlines and failing to meet them is his worst personal pet peeve. Make this boy shower and have dinner with you, he needs it.

・Weirdly, he has such easier time taking breaks for your sake than for himself. You have become a priority, and so at least some of his time every day us yours.

・If you call him while he's out causing mayhem, he will still pick up. He makes a big show about it, too, the smug bastard.

・He'll use his Imobi-ray to freeze whomever he's fighting and chitchat with you like nothing is happening. Like, he'll have Mr. Incredible or like, Voyd frozen in some ridiculous pose, still perfectly aware and listening as he answers his cell, and he's all like, "Oh, hey, honey! -Me, busy? Nah, I'm not too busy! -Hmm-? What am I doing? Are you sure you wanna know?"

・He's such an evil little dork, I swear. He just smirks and wiggles his brows the whole time he's talking to you. He'll throw in innuendo and terrible flirting just to watch the color come and go from their frozen faces.

・And as soon as he hangs up, he's back to business as usual.

‐_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

And that is all for now, folks! If you would like a part two for Syndrome, or have a particular prompt in mind for headcanons for him, feel free to send in an ask! 😘🩷

[seaslugfanclub]

(Y/N): Ah- sorry, I thought I saw a wasp

Captain Hook: Do you love me too?

(Y/N): excuse me?

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*(Y/N), introducing the park to the Villains*: Here, right here, all your needs will be met—

Madam Mim: I’m hungry—

(Y/N): I N A M I N U T E !!

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Hans: My dad thinks I’m a joke too…

(Y/N): Yeah…well…. YOUR DADS RIGHT.

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(Y/N): You gotta calm down bro. Chill man, and smoke a joint

Frollo: (Y/N), I told you a long time ago to never fucking speak to me.

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Maleficent: Do you wish to kiss me?

(Y/N): Absolutely fucking kinda?

Maleficent: Tell me I’m beautiful first.

(Y/N): You’re beautiful

Maleficent: What is beautiful about me?

(Y/N): Um… how you’re able to turn into a giant dragon?

Maleficent:….. Okay slut, kiss me~

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*(Y/N), dreamily talking about John Silver*: Skinny guys are overrated, get yourself a fat fuck.

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(Y/N): Rat girl summer :)

Ratigan: I wish that I could understand you

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Gaston: Can I bother you for a second?

(Y/N): You always bother me, but go ahead

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*(Y/N) in Facilier’s room, after he convinced them to do a tarot reading*

Facilier: Since you’re playing alone, you’ll be pulling cards twice. Easy for you Geminis~

(Y/N): …How’d you know I was a Gemini?

* “Are you ready?” starts playing*

*(Y/N), yelling over the music*: wtf- I DID NOT TELL YOU MY BIRTHDAY???

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Hook: I have a headache

Peter Pan: It might be a tumor

Hook: YOU LITTLE SHIT ITS NOT A TUMOR, OKAY?!

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Cruella: :(

(Y/N): Are you ok? Did something happen?

Cruella: Oh darling, promise you won’t be mad at me~

Medusa: SHE JUST HIT ME WITH HER FUCKING CAR—

[animeluvr1000]

Disney Villains x Artist! Reader

How the different villains would act around you and how they would react with your art!

(They're more of short stories then headcannons)

John Silver!

After being hired to be a part of the crew, you worked along the chef John silver but yet he didn't let you do much. You of course would still help but not as much as Jim would be. On your spare time you would sketch the many creatures and planets you would see traveling across the galaxy, even sneaking in a few sketches of the cyborg. Everything about his robotic parts intrigued you and made perfect inspiration for your sketch pad. But one day when you were abruptly called for orders by the captain, you rushed leaving your sketchbook on the floor near the kitchen. After coming back you realized it was gone before seeing Silver come over and hand you the book. You were very flustered but he told you it was the finest art he had seen across the whole galaxy and not even the greatest artists could do what you could, making you feel quite unfamiliarly warm inside. From then on you would draw around him in the kitchen and show him your art whenever he asked. (Geez, supposed to be a headcannon but turned into a short story!)

Captain hook!

After being kidnapped from your home back in London by the great Captain Hook, there wasn't much to do in his cabin besides stare out at the island blankly, and hope to do something more than just sit around all day. That's what it had felt like for awhile before you found a drawer of blank old papers and a quill with just a bit of ink. Captain hook or smee hadn't been down in the cabin for awhile so you thought you would take the opportunity to draw something for captain hook for his strange hospitality (of not killing you). Minutes went by and you were almost done before the cabin door flew open and familiar footsteps came down, only it sounded more aggressive. You thought you were done for now, but in reality, Hook was just pissed at pan once again for flying around his ship and taunting him. He came down steaming and was going off on smee about capturing the boy, but he was stopped and quite surprised to see you holding up a picture you had drawn of him. It was just a simple side view of his face, but his face became as pink as a sunset sky when he looked at it. He couldn't help but marvel at it for a few moments before he was shaken out of his thoughts by smee. "My dear, why didn't you tell me you were suxh an exquisite artist?" He asked. He was quite flattered to have such a portrait done for him that was him! So from then on he made sure to supply you with whatever you needed to keep making those wonderful sketches, as long as you drew more pictures of him from time to time.

Cruella De Vil

Working as the secretary of the lady cruella herself, you were always at her side amd attending every need and task she asked you to do. She was a busy woman, and needed outfit designs for her models, but more so the design art for it. You only drew on your lunch breaks and sometimes on your days off but you never thought of showing any of your works to her because you thought she needed designs more "high quality" than any of the ones you drew. One day however, when you came into her office, she was holding up an illustrated picture that looked much like yours-and it was yours. You had forgotten that piece when you had mindlessly drawn it on your clipboard when you were writing notes for her and the things she wanted done. You thought she would be upset but she was rather calm about it. "Darling I never knew you to be a designer yourself." She told you, half smirking before she slid the paper over the desk to you. From then on, you were not just her secretary, but a part time dress designer, soon making the design for a polka dotted coat...

Well you know what they say "Force yourself to write, or it won't get done!" (I'm such a procrastinator that I almost stopped the project lol)

Anyways, Disney villains requests are open!

[slashingdisneypasta]

Cruella De Vil x Fem!Lover!Reader || Drabble

Plot: You're having a bad time and Cruella crashes in to be there for you. Somewhat against your will, somewhat against her own.

Warnings: Reader's life problems are not specified so you can insert your own. Cruella is herself; harsh. But this is mainly comfort.

You were very surprised when you saw Cruella's familiar silhouette behind the stained glass in your front door. The unrelenting knocking startled you, too, so when you opened it to see her standing there on your doorstep- her panther de ville parked on the normal old street in the front of your house looking completely out of place. With wide eyes, you give a few slow blinks; Confused. She's never been to your home before, she's always been severely against the idea. She referred to your neighbourhood as a slum! "... Cruella?- "

"Well don't just stand there, let me in. I don't revere standing out here like a sitting duck darling waiting to be robbed. Bad enough that my poor car has to stay out there."

Her harsh tone of voice jars you into consciousness again and you get behind the door, closing it behind her when she comes in like a whirlwind. "Cruella, what are you doing h- "

The woman looks around your home with a sneer, disgust in her eyes, like your place is some kind of hovel not a comfy flat. "It cant be often you receive guests, can it? You haven't even offered me tea yet."

Slowly you're coming back to yourself, after your week of moping. Her presence has that effect. "... I'll offer you tea when you tell me what you're doing here."

Cruella gives an irritated sigh and eye roll. "You've been hiding yourself out here like a mole for days, darling, what did you think I was here for?? The scenery??"

"Are you- Are you here out of... " You raise a brow, cautious. "Concern??"

Cruella De Vil? Concerned?

Your heart is kind of touched. Alright, maybe a lot touched.

She gives another eyeroll. "Of course you would put it that way... " Even if she is doing it in her own nasty way, Cruella is showing c a r e for you... You're surprised. And warmed. Her eyes flash your way, picking up on the change in your mood, and groans. "Pathetic emotional retch that you are, darling."

"... Do you always do house-visits like this?" You ask, more then used to her cutting words then you would care to admit. You'd been seeing each other for a few months after all, but you always expected an expiration date on it eventually. But this... is interesting. You rack your brain for a similar instance of Cruella showing empathy for anyone or anything, and you cant find it.

She knows what your question really is. You know it because her snake-eyes harden on you for a moment at the implications you were making, that she cared about you more then she did past lovers. Her eyes harden and one nostril stretched in a horrible half sneer, but she does not deny it. "... Oh, don't assume you're so very important to me, Y/N. Now where's my tea? Hm? Chop chop."

... with an eyeroll of your own, you gesture for her to follow you.

~

Over a steaming cup of yorkshire proper strong, dragging the tips of your icy fingers along the side of your mug, you explained everything to her that was happening at work... and home...

You hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about any of it, but somehow when you spoke to Cruella it all came tumbling out just right. You were able to articulate what you wanted to easily with her glaring at you,.. and sometimes just watching.

When finally you finished, she picked up the chipped tea cup you poured for her, shakes her head and takes a sip. "Darling you should have just told me before you had a mental breakdown and refused to leave your hobbit hole for a week. I can fix all of this with a check."

Immediately you give a sigh, rolling your shoulders. You knew she would say that. "I don't want you to fix it with money." Its a major temptation, but you know you would be disappointed in yourself later. It is nice to feel like you always have the option, hidden in your back pocket, though.

Cruella groans at you. Waives a dismissive clawed hand sharply in the air around her head. "I don't understand you."

You just take a deep breath and shrug at her. If she doesn't understand why you don't want someone else to swoop in and fix your life for you, you don't know how to explain it to her. She's way too hard headed to change her mind.

"Well... then, what are you going to do, darling?" You love how her voice softens half an octave whenever she calls you darling. "You're a smart girl, you must have a plan."

You're a smart girl. That warms you up from the inside out. Cruella doesn't do praise, so when she does you know she means it. Taking another deep breath, a real one that you need this time, you cup your hands around the warm mug of hot tea in front of you. "... I'm still figuring it out." You whisper, tapping each finger consecutively against your mug.

Cruella gives you another hard look, her blue eyes sharp and filled with Thoughts. Good and bad- mostly bad. Mostly harsh. Instead of saying any of that, though, she simply gives a restrained little nod and takes another sip of her tea. Actively showing self control because you need her to. You need her to be quiet on this and let you deal with it on your own. And she knows it, and she's allowing it.

Thats amazing.

"... thank you." You say, softly, before you can think about it.

"For what?" Cruella snaps.

"For- for coming today. For listening. Thank you."

Cruella zeroes in on you again with those terrifying eyes and narrows them. Her red lips are pressed in a tight, thin line until she speaks. "... There is nothing that would prevent me from ensuring your wellness, Y/N." A split second and the moment passes, your lips parted in surprise at the shocking revelation that Cruella cares about you. And she admits it.

"-Next time make it easy for me and answer the bloody phone, hm? Thats what its for. It rings, you hear it unless you're deaf, and you pick it up. I don't want to come here again; its a horrible little house."

[seaslugfanclub]

Disney, the Hottest Place on Earth

The annual heatwave has hit America, worsening each year due to global warming. The sun has become a skin cancer, heat stroke inducing death ray and the Disney parks have become increasingly un-equipped to handle such extreme weather.

How do our local Villains handle such heat?

——————————————————

Maleficent

Just because she can produce her iconic green fire, doesn’t mean she’s resistant to its heat.

Unfortunately, even the mistress of evil is susceptible to heat stroke. Especially in her thick black robe.

She’d never show it, but someone with a keen eye (i.e (Y/N) ) would notice the thin sheen of sweat across her brow, and darker green complexion due to the flush that overtook her face.

During a heatwave, she’ll lock herself into her room, every window drawn shut and lights off.

The lock is to keep others out, and her secrets in

Secrets, such as not wanting to reveal such a rare moment of vulnerability, and the single working AC in the building that she somehow manages to procure.

The only one who could ever hope to enter her lair of air conditioning would be (Y/N), as long as they kept Maleficent's secret of heat intolerance, and supplied a steady stream of mojitos to her awaiting hand

Frollo

Dead.

Frollos dead.

A man from medieval France, who refuses to wear anything but his thick, cotton pulpit robes? He’s dead.

This is (Y/N) opening the the door to Frollos room to check on him:

Captain Hook

Typically, Hook’s quite used to the heat. Being a well seasoned pirate who’s sailed across the coasts of Africa and the Caribbean, Hook has had years of experience to acclimate to uncomfortable temperatures.

But alas, even a pirate captain can’t face the boiling Florida heat, especially with the villain buildings AC on the fritz.

His English blood reveals itself to be his greatest enemy, next to Pan, of course.

You can find Hook in his quarters, stripped down to his breeches and sprawled across his chaise lounge

His usual voluminous, silky hair has become a frizzy monstrosity. Even his pencil thin mustache has become crimped from the heat

Hook’s eyes would droop more than usual, and an embarrassing flush would paint his miserable face

Hook’s relinquished himself to laying perfectly still in a pool of his own sweat, occasionally letting out a dramatic moan

He’d become more aware of himself if (Y/N) joined him in his sweaty misery

Would love them forever in they tied up his hair in a high ponytail, giving his neck much needed relief

Would make room on his couch for (Y/N) to lay alongside with him, regaling them with stories of times during his career where he and his crew faced similar heat

Hades

Thriving. Both from the heat and his fellow villains suffering

Reminds him of home

While everyone’s a sweaty, moaning puddle, Hades hammed it up by wearing a Hawaiian shirt over his toga and a pair of Mickey Mouse sunglasses he stole from one of the many gift shops

Reclining in a beach chair outside, smoking a cigar while the park’s on fire. Figuratively and literally

“Hey, is it just me or is it a little chilly in here?”

He’s such an asshole during the heatwave

Especially loves the heat because he can leer at (Y/N), who’s forgone their usual park uniform in favor of something… lighter

Literally the meme “I love wearing sunglasses, because no one can see where I’m looking” and it’s just Hades obviously staring at (Y/N)’s chest

Ursula

…. Is someone doing a clam bake? No! It’s just Ursula, who’s a single degree hotter away from being calamari!

Makes sense for her to have low heat tolerance, due to her and the rest of the mermaid race living in the Atlantic Ocean near Denmark

Ursula’s usual updo hairstyle has wilted. White, silky strands now hiding her exhausted face

Mascaras running

Due to her aquatic nature, there’s a definite risk of her drying out. Usually this can be solved by a daily showers, but due to the heatwave it’s become much more dangerous for her

Has commandeered the employee showers. Total control over the only cold water in the building

The only one Ursula allows in is (Y/N), and would be more than pleased to have them join her in the showers~

Gaston

No ones slick as Gaston, no ones quick as Gaston, no ones…. quite susceptible to heat like Gaston…

Like most villains, he isn’t used to extreme heat. And it shows

The sweatiest out of all the villains. It’s disgusting

I’m talking absolutely drenched

There’s a pronounced, damp sound to him when he’s moving around

Even though he’s obviously uncomfortable, his pride won’t let him admit he’s near exhaustion

Tries to play his sweat off as the excess manliness leaking out of him

Gaston attempts to go about his usual business around the park, but ends up passing out 5 minutes into his park-long jogging routine

(Y/N) needs multiple coworkers to drag him back inside. He’s now stuffed in his bathroom tub, in his boxer briefs as (Y/N) attempts to save him from heatstroke

He comes to a few minutes later, confused, near naked, and packed in a bathtub full of melting ice.

Looking up at a blurry figure of (Y/N), Gaston deliriously thinks that they’ve stolen his kidneys

Screams like a teenage girl

Hans

Oh his poor, little ginger body. It practically bursts into flames

You have never seen anyone become more sunburned after such little exposure to the sun

He looks like a lobster, his face somehow managing to become redder than his hair

Becomes especially needy and whiney, really turning up the spoiled prince act to 100%

Practically begs (Y/N) to drown him in Aloe Vera

Is so desperate for relief, he purposefully goes and pisses Elsa off so she can freeze him into a giant icicle

It doesn’t matter if he can feel his toes or not now, at least he isn’t sweating anymore.

——————————————————

Hope that everyone’s staying safe during the heat! I started this last week when the heatwave was in full effect, so I was really feeling the misery :’)

Be sure to hydrate (NOT ENERGY DRINK OR COFFEE) take cold showers, and slather on that sunscreen! Take it easy!

[hrefna-the-raven]

Hot as Hades

Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

Chapters 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Words: 3481

Notes: this is it, the final chapter^^ we finally made :)

Warnings: smut (18+)

Chapter 8 - Henosis

Hades shoved him out of the way and, as he reached you, ignoring Aphrodite and Hephaestos, his slender fingers tightly gripped your wrist and he pulled you away from the party, not stopping until you both reached the gleaming golden gate.

"I'm sorry babe, this was a mistake. I don't understand why he can never gra-", Hades abruptly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as a sudden realisation struck him, "I need to head to the Underworld!"

"What? Why? I mean I'm not overly comfortable being here but if you want to stay, I have no pro-"

Hades hushed you by pressing his finger on your lips. The warmth of his skin on yours almost made you shiver. The sensation stirred something deeper—a strange, rhythmic ache pulsing at the edges of your consciousness, like a memory trying to claw its way back into being. Everything about this moment felt misaligned, unreal—as if you'd stumbled into a dream laced with déjà vu. You flinched, a soft, broken sound escaping you as you fought to anchor your thoughts within the swirling fog overtaking your mind.

"Trust me, I'll explain everything somewhen, later maybe, okay? Right, well", he winked and turned around to address the other gods but your hand quickly reached for his, your delicate fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Hades froze, a thunderous silence bloomed in his chest as his heart pounded against his ribs. A flicker of crimson shimmered through his blue flaming hair—an unbidden tell of the storm he kept hidden. He had it all figured, the grand cosmic scheme that would not only get him Olympus but also your love and presence by his side. But now, with your hand clutching his and your eyes pleading for something real, something true, doubt cracked through the foundation of all his grand intentions. He turned his gaze back to you, and in that instant, something shifted. Your eyes, once so radiant and defiant, now shimmered with unshed tears. That sorrow—your sorrow—pierced through his immortal certainty like a dagger. His stomach turned violently, nausea surging through him, foreign and terrifying. Gods did not falter, not like this, they wouldn’t feel this… broken.

“Talk to me”, you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion, raw with fear and longing.

The sadness in your usually bright eyes almost shattered his heart in a million pieces. If he could just speak, if he could just give you the truth you deserved. But the weight of his choices pressed down on him, heavy and relentless, pulling him into a pit of guilt and dread. He clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes for a fleeting moment of escape, of cowardice—until he felt the soft, insistent pull at his wrist.

“I'm sorry. You mind runnin' that by me again? I must have had a chunk of brimstone wedged in my ear or something...”, Hades mumbled.

“I said”, you repeated, slower now, sharper, your grip on his wrist tightening, “why do you keep leaving this party to drop me off in my home like some abandoned offering on Poseidon's front porch? And don't give me your cryptic broody ‘I have the underworld to run’ excuse, I’m not buying it. Again.”

Something subtle but unmistakable shifted in Hades’ expression. It wasn’t just the usual dramatic God-of-Death brooding panted across his feature, but genuine fear. And Hades was not one to get flustered easily, he faced Cerberus’ dental checkups with more composure but something in your tone, that little crack, bore into the depth of that dark endless pit forming in his stomach.

“I…” he tried, but the word faltered, falling uselessly from his lips.

And all over the sudden, the tension within him snapped. He’d seen this scene play out before. His gaze found yours and both of your eyes widened as the realisation hit you. The room suddenly spun—or maybe it didn’t, maybe it were your own minds buckling under the weight of the realisation—but you staggered back, clutching your forehead while Hades’ mouth dropped open.

“Oh gods. Ohhh gods,” you breathed. “I remember. I remember now.”

“This is déjà ruin. I’ve been here before with you and it…”, Hades started but his voice trailed off.

“…and it ended in disaster,” you finished for him, your voice barely more than a whisper—and yet somehow louder than the entire cacophony of drunk gods arguing over who invented sarcasm.

An almost too loud and too manic laughter escaped your mouth. It burst from your lips like a cork flying off Dionysus’ champagne—less from amusement, more from the absurdity of it all. Because here you were. Again. At this cursed party. And Hades, sweet, brooding, Lord of Gloom and Doom, emotionally constipated Hades, was already halfway through the script of his own brooding Greek tragedy.

“You left”, you said, jabbing a trembling finger at his chest, “you left to ‘fix’ fate. You said you’d only be gone for a moment, just a little tweak, just a tiny cosmic tug here or there.”

“I had to!”, Hades interjected, hands flailing with a kind of dramatic flair that could only come from someone who spent several centuries perfecting monologues, “you don’t understand what was at stake. Aren't you forgetting one teensy-weensy, but ever so crucial, little, tiny detail? You’re a mortal! Fragile! You have a built-in expiration date!”

You squinted at him, arms folding tighter than Hera’s budget spreadsheets. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? You’re Chronos-blocking me because I have a mortal expiration date? Wow. I feel so empowered. Thank you for your service, Death Daddy.”

Hades groaned and dramatically rubbed his temples like the sheer weight of your sarcasm was giving him an immortal migraine.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I heard what you meant”, you snapped but a desperate chuckle erupted from your lips as you continued, “but let me tell you now what you wouldn’t listen to last time: I’m already fucking IMMORTAL!”

Hades stared at you, wide-eyed, unmoving. Your voice boomed through the clouds and the chatter and clinking of glasses abruptly stopped, each and every single god and goddess turned their head to stare at you and Hades. Even Zeus, who was never shy to loudly proclaim a joke at Hades’ was not uttering a single word or sound at the shock. Hades blinked. Once. Twice. Like you'd just told him Persephone had taken up interpretive dance and was choreographing a piece called " Underworld Unplugged: A Movement Meditation on Eternal Captivity and Seasonal Allergies".

“You’re... what now?”, he asked, voice cracking on the last syllable, his whole divine being devoid of its usual sleezy sarcasm.

“Immortal”, you said again, biting each syllable, “IMM. OR. TAL. You know, the whole not-aging, can’t-die, sparkle-at-dawn package. Somewhere in your grand tragedy-fuelled rewrite of reality, and I’m not naming names, but it starts with A and ends with -phrodite—tried to help us.”

Somewhere behind you, Hermes choked on an olive and Aphrodite pretended to cough into her wine while clearly stifling a giggle, but you couldn’t care less.

“And despite all that, despite the pain and heartbreak and the fact that I now had to witness Zeus retell the same lame jokes in eight different varieties at this cursed party, I’d still chose you.”, you sighed, the last words you ended your rant on surprising even you.

The silence that followed was so absolute it could have made an echo insecure. Then, slowly—very slowly—Hades stepped forward, gaze locked on yours. The usual chill around him, the little aura of frosty gloom and brooding dramatics, had been replaced with something else entirely. A comforting warmth a pinch of fear and, against all odds, a terrifying amount of hope, but before you could get the first word out, Hades surged forward and kissed you. The kiss broke gently after a while, like a wave pulling back from shore. You looked up at him, breathless, slightly dizzy, and suddenly very aware that every god and goddess within earshot was now staring like they’d just witnessed Mount Olympus’ juiciest soap opera twist. Even Hera had leaned forward, eyes narrowed, wine forgotten. A loud throat-clear, regal, booming, unmistakably coming from Zeus, filled the room.

“Well, this is touching,” Zeus said, stepping forward with all the subtlety of a parade float, “but I do believe there are… shall we say, cosmic implications to what just happened here.”

He glanced between the two of you, eyes glinting with interest that was equal parts curiosity, concern, and a healthy dose of elder-sibling nosiness. Hades didn’t move, he didn’t even look at Zeus. Instead, with the air of someone who had absolutely no time for interruptions anymore, he simply raised a hand.

“Shhh,” he said, with the casual, arrogant grace of a man who had waited several eons to do exactly this.

Zeus blinked.

"Did you just—"

You blinked and reality shifted, you were no longer standing on the shimmering glittering clouds of Olympus, surrounded by divine eavesdroppers.

You opened your eyes again, taking in the full haunted ballroom-meets-bachelor-pad aesthetic of the bedroom you were now standing in. The black stone bed loomed behind you like it had opinions about your soul. The carved skulls in the headboard seemed to be locked in a permanent state of dramatic whispering, and the flames at the headpiece, blue, of course, flickered as if sighing in rhythm with your heartbeat. And then there he was, Hades, Lord of the Underworld, drama incarnate, standing before you with that signature smirk that said “I’m the villain, baby, but I’m also your biggest mistake and your greatest love story”.

You barely had time to process the look in his eyes before his hands found your waist. And whoosh, your clothes vanished into a wisp of inky smoke. You gasped, stumbling back a step, your feet bumping into the bed, but Hades pulled you gently back toward him, his hands warm and grounding despite the chill that lingered in the air. He was silent for a moment, his eyes drinking in every inch of you, not lecherous, not possessive, just… awe-struck, like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here, with him, finally.

“Zeus will take this away”, he said, his words tumbling out faster than his mouth could control, “he’ll twist it or banish it or…I dunno…host a family intervention with lightning bolts and passive-aggressive monologues, but I can’t—I won’t—let you go again. I need you.”

He paused, gulped, then added, almost like he couldn’t stop himself.

“I… I love you.”

And there it was. Not a flashy declaration with lightning in the background, but Hades, the real one, raw, vulnerable. The god of death who suddenly seemed so very human. His grip tightened and his lips found yours without giving you time to react to his words. His kiss, first tender, quickly deepened, desire and desperation evident as his tongue eagerly passed your lips, teasing and coaxing with an insatiable, yet loving hunger. You swallowed a moan and your mind went wild, flooding with the sweet memories of how he had parted your legs, dragging his tongue through your folds in your third date. But Hades wouldn’t content himself with this simple act of giving pleasure this time. No, every fibre in his divine immortal body craved all of you. He needed to have you, bask in that deliciously sweet pleasure of becoming one with you at least once before Mr. High and Mighty would destroy his happiness yet again.

Hades pushed you on the bed, your back hitting the surprisingly soft mattress and your legs instinctively parted. His toga dissipated into thin black smoke, and, for the second time, you got a glimpse of that divine body. His grey skin highlighted the contours of his defined muscles perfectly, even more so in the soft glowing light that seemed pierce through the walls to illuminate the room in a soft blue light. He wasted no time and pressed against your growing wetness as he leaned down. A sinful moan escaped you and you looked at him with anticipation. It was finally happening, the unison between two souls. With one swift movement he pushed inside of you and both of you groaned. He remained still for a moment, relishing in the feeling of your wet warmth enveloping him. Your walls gently pulsed and as he started moving, you lost all sense of time as your head fell back. His movements were slow but dominant, hitting that sweet spot deep within you with every thrust. This wasn’t just about the pleasure of the flesh, it ran deeper, touching your soul in a way nothing had ever managed to do. His hand found its way to your head, slender fingers tenderly curling around the back of your neck as he leaned in closer. His lips collided with yours in a passionate kiss, both of you moaning into the embrace. His tongue pushed past your lips, deepening the kiss. You were the one to break the kiss first, gasping for air and desperately trying to ignore the pleasure pulsating between your thighs as he kept on thrusting.

“I love you too”, you breathed.

The words felt just right, a perfect confession in the perfect moment. Hades’ hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulled you closer to him, his movements growing more erratic and faster. His eyes locked with yours, the intensity of his gaze was nearly overwhelming. And then, the feeling of pure bliss cursed through your bodies as he moved his hips in a perfect rhythm, the heated embrace of desire, lust and immortal love unleashed as both of you toppled over the edge. Your walls clenched around his hard length, greedily taking in every last drop of him. Hades leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against your lips before resting his forehead gently against yours, his arms tightening protectively around you like he was daring the cosmos to try and pull you away.

“I don’t care what Zeus decides,” he murmured, voice low and steady.  

“I’ll fight for you. Always.”

His words weren’t just defiance, they were devotion carved in starlight. In his embrace, you felt it all: the ancient, aching love he held for you, the way your very existence steadied him, soothed the storm that had lived behind his eyes for so long.

“Are you sure?”

The question passed your lips before you could even realise it.

“Please”, he added, pulling back just slightly with a crooked smirk, “if he does try to pull the whole ‘mortal again’ stunt? Please. I’ve wrestled titans. I’ve handled Cerberus with the hiccups. I’ve even sat through a family dinner with Athena and Ares. I can handle this.”

You laughed despite yourself, and the sound lit something up in him, something fierce and tender all at once.

“I’m serious, sweetheart”, he said, his fingers brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness, “if Mr High and Mighty thinks he can just snap his fingers and take you away from me, I’ll unleash the Titans on Olymp.”

Your heart swelled, caught between the gravity of his love and the absurd charm only Hades could pull off mid-crisis. You smiled, leaning into him again, the threat of Zeus lingering like a shadow on the horizon but in his arms, you felt untouchable.

Thunder cracked across the golden sky of Mount Olympus, shaking the very columns of the great hall as Zeus paced with growing irritation. Sparks danced from his fingertips, each step of his enormous sandaled foot echoing like a drumroll of disapproval. He was grumbling to himself again.

“Mortals becoming gods, gods dating mortals who now are immortal without my permission… What’s next? Dionysus marrying a cloud?”

It wasn't that Zeus disliked love. He just didn’t like it being decided over his head. He had established careful rules for a reason, one that currently escaped his mind but it was there, surely… Especially when it involved Hades, his somewhat-singed and perpetually sarcastic brother, that he loved, truly, surely, suddenly forming a soul-deep bond with someone who wasn’t technically supposed to be immortal. Zeus’s grip tightened around his lightning bolt.

“Enough”, he muttered, “time to fix this. She’s going back to being mortal. End of story.”

But before he could unleash his divine decree, the room darkened. The air turned cold, the kind of cold that whispered of destiny and things far older than Olympian pride. In a swirl of thread, shadow, and grim amusement, the Fates appeared. Clotho smiled like she’d seen this coming for centuries, which she obviously had. Lachesis crossed her arms, already exasperated. Atropos simply held up her scissors, their glint sharp enough to silence even Zeus.

“This isn’t your story, thunder boy”, they said, not with anger, but with certainty, like three librarians scolding someone for rearranging the books of the universe.

They held up the golden thread that bound Hades and his beloved together, its light steady and unyielding. Not a fray in sight. The thread shimmered with the undeniable truth: this love, this connection, was fated. Woven with intention. Stronger than divine opinion. Zeus opened his mouth to protest but no words came out. Not even a thunder pun. Because deep down, even he could see that this wasn’t about him. Hera, who stood beside him, nodded with a little smirk. This wasn’t about power, godly protocol or maintaining cosmic balance for the sake of appearances. This was Hades’ love story and you were woven into the very tapestry of his fate. And no bolt of lightning, no rulebook from Olympus, not even from Mr "Hey You Get Off My Cloud" could unravel what had already been woven. Zeus let out a sigh that shook the sky, echoing across the marble halls like a rolling storm reluctantly heading out to sea. Sparks fizzled at his fingertips, but they dimmed, fading into harmless wisps of static as his shoulders slumped just slightly.

“Fine,” he muttered, “let my little brother have his fairy tale.”

He cast a sideways glance at Hera, who gave him a prim, knowing look that said “you’re learning, dear”. She reached up and gently patted his arm. Zeus grumbled something about “family chaos” and “romance ruining structure” before turning his attention back to the Fates, who were already halfway out the door—or dimension, rather—leaving behind a faint shimmer of golden thread and the faint smell of vintage parchment.

Before vanishing entirely, Lachesis turned back over her shoulder, calling out dryly, “next time, read the thread before throwing a tantrum.”

Clotho waved with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just seen her favourite drama renewed for another season.

“Tell Hades we said congrats!”

Atropos didn’t speak—she simply made a very deliberate snip in the air, cutting off any chance Zeus had at reopening the matter. And then they were gone.

And far beyond Olympus, beyond the Underworld, beyond even the mortal realm where heroes and legends were etched into stone and song, five familiar voices rose from an ancient mural mosaic into the cosmic air, bright, bold, and impossible to ignore.

The ever-watchful storytellers of fate, history, legends and everything worth belting out in perfect harmony. They didn’t just witness tales, no, they sang them, made them into the entertaining shimmer in the minds of gods and mortals alike. And as the final threads of this story settled into place, they gathered once more in their timeless stage between realms, deep within the fourth wall, where stars were spotlights and the sky was always opening for an encore. This time, they weren’t singing of a muscle-bound hero with daddy issues. No, not yet, that was a tale for later, maybe in a strange year the mortals would call the year 1997. This tale was different. It was darker, deeper, it held more shadow than sunshine but no less worthy of song.

They leaned in, radiant and knowing, each with a sparkle in her eye as she looked upon the story that had just unfolded. The Lord of Dead had found love, not in conquest or bargain, but in quiet devotion. You, a mortal had risen beyond fate, not through power, but through the strength of your heart. And even the King of Olympus, thunderbolt and divine supreme authority and all, had stepped aside in the face of something older than his crown: destiny. The Muses watched it all with amused pride. This was not a tale of rules or titles. It was a tale of choosing someone, not because they were safe or easy, but because the bond was real. It was fate with a twist, romance with a bite, and if you asked them, well... it was long overdue. They would, of course, tell it again. Often and with the usual flair and rhythm.

Thanks for sticking with me along this story :) <3

Tags: @makanirock05 / @dd122004dd / mythirdlife235 / @anna6anana

[bobastims]

✧ Glob Herman Stimboard ✧

(With pink slime stims)

💗💀💗/💗X💗/💗💀💗

i have like seven different boards im working on rn 🔥

[jay-wasstuff]

Smt smt the codex being a metaphor for eddie being pregnant... smt smt codex is the name of one of their children in the comics...

[jay-wasreblogging]

@castielsprostate's post

Wait a minute ....

[stealthypussycat]

😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

VENOM WANTED TO START A FAMILY WITH EDDIE

[just-a-monster-blog]

Oh....oh my god!

[mantisliberationfront]

Smile 3 the victim is a tumblrina who won't stop trying to fuck the smile creature and then passes it on to Elon Musk for communism reasons. She survives for less than a day.

[just-a-monster-blog]

This feels targeted

[just-a-monster-blog]

Meh id still smash

[just-a-monster-blog]

On god if they actually remove Ao3