#gendered behavior

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[aventurineswife]

Kinich with a Fontanian!reader who keeps overworking themself on projects they have, yet will always deny it to their grave if called out on it. They act awake and sparky most the time but of course their dear friend has seen through it, and knows they’d probably actually pass out from closing their eyes a second too long.

A Second Too Long

Summary: You’ve always been the type to push yourself too far, working yourself to the bone in pursuit of your projects. No amount of exhaustion can stop you—at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But Kinich sees right through the act. And he’s not about to let you collapse on his watch.

Tags: Kinich x Reader, Fontanian!Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Stubborn Reader, Pragmatic but Caring Kinich, Sleep-Deprived Shenanigans, Protective Behavior, Slow-Burn Friendship/Romance.

Warnings: Mentions of exhaustion and overworking, Slightly scolding but well-meaning Kinich, Reader being stubborn to their own detriment.

You had always been good at keeping up appearances. It was a necessary skill, after all—one that came naturally in Fontaine, where wit and endurance often meant the difference between success and obscurity. You thrived on projects, on discovery, on unraveling the mysteries of the world one sleepless night at a time.

And it was fine. You were fine.

Except Kinich, the ever-pragmatic hunter, saw right through you.

"You’re going to collapse." His voice was as flat as ever, his lizard-like eyes scanning you with that unrelenting scrutiny of his.

"Me? Collapsing? Don’t be ridiculous." You waved a dismissive hand, the movement a little too wide, a little too careless. "I just finished an important breakthrough—I can’t afford to take a break now."

Kinich said nothing at first, only watching as you turned back to your notes, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the pen. He had learned long ago that you were stubborn, but he had also learned your tells. The way your sentences ran just a little too fast. The way your posture wavered when you thought no one was looking. The way you rubbed at your eyes, like you could will the exhaustion away if you just tried hard enough.

"If you close your eyes for more than a second, you’ll pass out."

You scoffed, tapping at the parchment before you. "That’s absurd. I’m as awake as—"

Your own yawn betrayed you, cutting through your words like a blade. Your entire body seemed to deflate for a moment before you caught yourself, blinking rapidly. Kinich raised a brow.

"You were saying?"

"...That was just a trick of the light."

His stare remained unyielding, and you hated how much it unnerved you.

A rustling sound came from behind, and before you could react, something warm and heavy draped over your shoulders. You glanced down, startled to find Kinich’s jacket wrapped around you.

"Lie down," he ordered, voice as impassive as ever. "You’re wasting more time fighting sleep than you would just resting."

"I—" You tried to argue, but the weight of the fabric, the scent of the wilds clinging to it, was already working against you.

"Lie down," he repeated, and this time, there was a quiet finality to his words.

For a moment, you hesitated. Stubbornness warred with exhaustion, but Kinich had already read the outcome long before you had. With a resigned sigh, you relented, letting yourself slump onto the cushions beside your scattered notes.

The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you was the subtle press of his fingers adjusting the jacket, making sure it covered you completely.

And, though you’d never admit it, you were grateful.

[applestorms]

(tw for extensive discussions of dubiously consensual sexual situations, typical to canon. also spoilers for the decay route update)

honestly, one of the most interesting aspects of andrew's psyche that we get to see in the most recent decay route update to me is his nearly unending hesitancy about having sex with ashley, despite both his overwhelming desire to AND her incredibly blasé, Yeah Sure Let's Do It attitude in response to the question.

while the end of the burial route provides some key insight into ashley's point of view regarding this topic (e.g. if you go with the less enthusiastic/more teasing answer to andrew's question of "we're not like that, right? right??"), and the shots & such ending provides even more intrigue into her motivations, i think that decay presents two key reasons as to why andrew has continued to hold back for so long: his two core conflicting desires, and an inability to see ashley as her own full person. notably, both of these parts can easily be connected to his mother's childhood abuse and parentification of him as well.

with regards to the first point: andrew has two main overwhelming desires at the heart of his character that motivate most of his actions, which unfortunately for him are completely incompatible. andrew wants:

to be a normal, average person-- someone who can hold a steady, respectable job, fit in at the block party BBQs, and not attract any negative attention from the neighbors.

to fuck his sister.

to some degree, you could even read the distinction between the two main routes themselves (burial and decay) to be motivated by whether or not andrew can diffuse the tension between these two wants-- in burial, he gives up on his need to fit in with the rest of respectable society, presumably pushing him more towards the fucking-his-sister route; in decay, he struggles significantly to let go of this desire for normalcy, and the stress almost always breaks him. notably, in neither of these routes can he fully give up on the second desire-- really, his relationship with julia and the rest of his life up til the point that ep1 begins has been about him trying and failing to do so, so this makes sense.

(sidenote: i would also like to clarify that i think the Most key distinction between these two routes comes down to the decision you actually have to make to get one or the other-- namely, whether or not the siblings are able to trust one another. but anyways)

this focus on the first desire for normalcy is also interesting in that it seems to be one of the core desires that renee holds as well, as we see her so happily boast about during their interactions in ep2. honestly i could probably write a whole post about how much andrew (consciously or, more often, not) mimics his mother's behavior and takes on her standards and ideals, but the key point to pay attention to here is the fact that andrew has subsumed his mother's viewpoint in such a way that he is either not fully aware of or simply hasn't questioned in all that much depth yet.

we can also see this with the aforementioned parentifiication, which has really interesting consequences on how much andrew does (not) see ashley as her own autonomous person. pretty much every single childhood flashback we get in 3a shows the same terrible cycle:

andrew is told by renee that ashley is His responsibility -> ashley causes problems on purpose -> andrew takes the fall for her

frankly, we don't even really need that first step for andrew to fully internalize the idea that ashley's actions are His to take responsibility for. the horrible consequences of this are also quite obvious: not only is this pressure to take responsibility for someone else's actions an incredibly unfair burden to put on anyone, much less a kid, but it also continually pushes andrew to see ashley as something less than human, or as little more than an extension of himself rather than her own person.

the main conflict in decay really comes down to this conflicting desire between the two of them, where what both andrew and ashley want above all else is Complete and Utter control over the other-- andrew wanting control because he has again been groomed to see ashley as his full responsibility, and ashley wanting control to assuage her own insecurities and fears about being isolated and hated forever. the more sympathetic throughline underlying a lot of this is that what both of them seem to want is safety, to protect both themselves and each other from any and all situations outside of their control-- though, unfortunately, a lot of times those exact external situations are simply the other acting on this mirrored desire for control lol.

anyways, going back to the sex thing-- since andrew doesn't see ashley as her own person, since he sees her as incapable of taking responsibility for her own actions and therefore as someone who cannot make decisions for herself, due in large part to him automatically transferring this burden to himself, andrew also sees ashley's consent as essentially meaningless.

the more sympathetic reading here is that andrew does genuinely want ashley to be at least kinda into it as more than a manipulation tactic/transactional thing-- but i think it's also equally likely that andrew simply doesn't want to have to once again shoulder the full burden of Committing Incest on his own, and he doesn't trust ashley to ever be even capable of taking the fall for her own actions. the fact that andrew still ultimately sees ashley as Leyley and NEVER as Ashley Proper (as he himself recognizes at one point) really just reinforces this to me. he says it himself-- he practically raised this woman. and in this case, even above all others, ashley's actions are quite literally also his own. it all goes back to that initial mistrust, and he carries that resentment with him even after they get around to actually doing it. mutually dubious consent, truly in-fucking-deed.

[amostnobleyandere]

Persephone, Swept Away Into the Deep

Yandere! Wriothesley x GN! Reader

Summary: You’re a florist who catches the eye of the Duke, ruler of the underworld in Fontaine—and as the object of his affection, there’s nothing you can do to avoid your fate.

Warning(s): yandere, toxic behavior, possessive behavior, mention of blood, violence (Wriothesley beats someone up), stalking, obsessive behavior, unjust execution of the law, possessive behavior, corrupt official Wriothesley (?), drugging (needle injection), kidnapping, captivity, implied stalking, non-consensual touching, forced romantic relationship

A/N: I’m not sure if I did a good job at translating the themes ✨ of the hades and Persephone myth (however slight they may be in this particular fanfic) but I tried ;)

—————————

Every happy customer that came out of your shop would inevitably spread your business through tongue—that’s just the way things worked in Fontaine.

Of course, you weren’t complaining. You were running a thriving business and their lively conversations often brought you joy and pride. The little gardener on off of main street, the florist who sells the most beautiful bouquets you’ve ever seen, the flower shop tucked away like a hidden gem, they’d say, fondness in their tone and the echo of good memories in their minds.

You were proud of the lifestyle you had made for yourself and the reputation you had garnered. Your natural green thumb had made your shop quite popular among commoners and socialites alike, as anyone of any class could stroll inside to find something for a person precious to them; whether it was a child, a spouse, a friend, or an infatuation, you had helped mold their stories, crafting and shifting them around petals and bows.

Though some days, you let yourself dream. Of petals and bows, not meant for someone else, but meant for you. Though your business had seen many love stories, its owner had yet to find a love of their own.

On your worst days, you scoffed and thought to yourself about how ironic your life was.

But…some days, your aching romantic heart would have you sighing wistfully as you watched customer after customer buy carefully cultivated blooms to gift to their beloved. They would leave gleefully, only for you to remain in your shop, watching them walk out with a piece of you. A piece that you wanted to give to your own special someone.

Always watching, never experiencing.

And then suddenly, everything you had built was being torn down by the one thing you desired the most.

—————————

On a day that was insultingly ordinary considering the damning events that followed it, you were sitting in your shop, furiously pruning flowers and cutting stems and leaves. You were a little behind in work, so you had kept your shop open later than you usually would.

A festival was going to be thrown at the center of the city, and that meant you were busier than ever. Business was slow at the time, but it always picked up during events, as it was common for people to take advantage of the merry mood and ask out the apple of their eye, or propose, or buy a bouquet just to enjoy life.

And your bouquets were certainly beautiful, as you had heard from the many couples that walked into your shop, fawning over the arrangements and each other. You were sure you would see many lovers come into your shop once the joyous celebrations began.

You sighed, feeling the solitude of the your profession begin to seem depressing. It made you happy knowing your creations would be appreciated, yet, you knew the festival would end up torturing your heart with the same stale loneliness you often felt.

Friends had invited you to come with them to enjoy the festival together, so you weren’t all alone. Ultimately, you had declined.

Business would be booming.

…Plus, it wouldn’t be as special if you couldn’t go with someone special. It would only hurt to go out into the bustling streets and to see all those people holding hands, touching arms, carrying your bouquets, while your side was cold and your hands were empty…

You snipped at a rainbow rose a little too hard, hissing as the tip of the shears nicked your finger. You watched in mild panic and exasperation as the blood began to fill the small cut, feeling a sting form in your finger. Reaching for the medical kit you kept close by, you swiftly treated and bandaged yourself, watching the gauze go from white to a bright red.

Shaking your head, you waved away the pain and your nasty thoughts. You were sure your friends would be fine without you and, more than anything, you needed to be here to sell your flowers. It would be a waste to throw out your beautiful blooms because you let them wither, and soon customers would be grabbing for them…and who knows? Maybe you might meet someone.

Maybe you would even find someone to enjoy the festival with….

You heard the telltale ding of a bell and looked up, peaking out from behind the wall of floral remains you had constructed around yourself.

A man walked into the shop, and the first thing you noticed is that he was handsome. And big. Like, slightly intimidating big. A large, built stature, with broad shoulders and heavy boots on long legs. You pinched yourself, feeling your cheeks slightly heat up. Who were you to get flustered? And by a stranger? Pull it together.

“Hello!” You greeted cheerily, thankfully turning on your usual customer service voice without problem. “How can I help you today?”

“You’re still open?” The man asked, a note of surprise in his voice. The question sounded weirdly familiar for it to be spoken by a stranger, but you chose to ignore it. Plenty of people knew your hours, it wouldn’t be odd for one of them to send a new customer over.

You paused, taking him in. The stranger was tall, dark, and brooding, a person that looked strangely out of place in your little safe haven that was crammed to the brim with mosaics of colorful flora.

However, his eyes were the clearest color you had ever seen. They were like steel in their cool quickness, taking seconds to size you up. You unconsciously shrunk under the pressure of his gaze. Still, you smiled up at him.

“Yes, sir. We’re still open. What can I get for you?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure. I came here because of a recommendation; they say you’re the best in town, with the freshest flowers. I’m guessing you outsource from the country?”

“No, sir. I grow them myself.” You said, still smiling sweetly.

A flash of recognition behind those steel eyes. “Ah. You’re the owner then?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hummed, looking away in thought. “I’d like an all blue bouquet—something with an air of delicacy to it. Nothing too fancy, just something pretty and light.”

That sounded…really romantic. Delicate? Pretty? Those were words people used to describe bouquets with romantic intentions behind them. You had heard them time and time again, as you carefully put together arrangements and your customer fawned over the person it was for, tone sugary sweet. Those words never failed to clog up your chest with a bitter jealously.

A feeling of disappointment filled your chest and your heart sank. Of course, he was already going with someone. It seemed that everyone, except for you, had a date for the festival. Of course. That made sense. Anyone that good looking would most likely have a date—

You smiled, sweeping away the disappointment and putting back on a false merry face. You had just met this man, really. What was there to be sad about? You decided to fill the silence that was quickly making you want to curl up into a ball and hide.

“So you’ve got a date for the festival? I’m sure they’ll love it, since you seem to know what they’ll like. Can I get a name for the order?”

“Wriothesley. And, no. I haven’t got a date.”

Your brain short circuited.

“But you’re so good looking?” You blurted out, the thought in your head coming out of your mouth without warning.

Wriothesley looked momentarily stunned, and you wanted to scream. Of all the times to embarrass yourself in front of a cute guy, it had to be now—

“A-Ah!” You stuttered out. “I’m sorry! Sometimes my mouth moves faster than my brain! I just said what I was thinking, I hope you’re not insulted by it…or uncomfortable….not that I meant to insult you—“

He laughed, the sound startling you. When he looked at you again, he seemed less guarded, his eyes shining with mirth as he gazed at you with interest. Oh, and that smile. Oh wow. That. Wow.

“You know, people are usually too afraid to say stuff like that to my face. Or really, they’re too afraid to say anything to my face. Guess I was just lucky to meet you today, huh?” He grinned and let his voice drop as he spoke. The glint in his eyes turned bright, like a dancing flame. He leaned into your space, letting one arm rest on the counter.

You felt the smooth words roll down your back and over your skin, excitement or fear (or maybe a mix of both) running up your spine and through the rest of your body.

You laughed, trying to play off his words as if they were meant to be friendly. (At least, you thought they were meant to be friendly.) Maybe the naturally deep tone of his voice and his intimidating aura made your brain misinterpret harmless words as…predatory.

You grinned. “Well, I don’t know about luck, but everyone deserves a compliment every once in a while, right?”

He leaned back, that dangerous glint disappearing into his eyes as if it was never there. He crossed his arms, looking smug.

“Right.”

Silence filled the air again, and your curiosity got the best of you quickly.

“Goodness, I’m sorry but who is this for then?”

He chuckled and you were immediately relieved that he wasn’t annoyed with you. People didn’t like it when others pried into their business. The thought of Wriothesley with his leather boots, pretty face, and icy eyes glaring at you with disdain nearly sent you into shock.

“It’s for…a co-worker, you could say.” He continued. “She does a lot for me and I thought it might be nice to get her a gift to show my appreciation. Everyone’s in a good mood with the festival coming around, so I might as well, you know?” He smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you, though. No romantic feelings involved.”

You nodded, a weird feeling of relief filling your chest after finding out that a man you didn’t know and that you probably would never see again did not have a date for the festival.

Maybe you were just glad to know that you wouldn’t be the only person going without a partner.

You began to gather sample flowers, spreading them out between you fingers and taking comfort in the familiar weight of them in your hands.

“Not disappointed at all.” I’m also single, you thought, but thankfully didn’t say out loud. “I guess I’ve just gotten so used to lovebirds walking into my shop, I was surprised you weren’t one of them.”

“Because of my face?” He asked, amusement seeping into his tone. You wanted to smack that smile right off of his smug, beautiful face. Of course, you wouldn’t, because that would be a crime to everyone else who had eyes. You couldn’t mess up that piece of art.

You nodded, your face burning. “Because of your face.” You confirmed.

“Well, I’m flattered.” He said.

You thrusted the sample flowers out in front of you, mortified that he was making your already embarrassing situation worse with teasing.

“Pick out the ones you like.” You said, your face practically on fire.

He did, without further comment at that, but a smirk pulled at his lips the entire time. He looked at you, with that grin molded onto his perfect lips, more than he did the flowers in your hands.

He refrained from torturing you with teasing remarks for the rest of the conversation, and when you told him it would be ready for pick up in a few hours, he gently placed a bag of mora on the counter.

Only when he was walking out the door did you realize how much mora he had given you.

Your eyes bulged as you peeked into the bag, nearly fainting at the amount. Who carries this much on them?! What if he had gotten robbed?! Well, he would probably never get robbed looking like…that, but still.

“Hey!! Wait—Sir!! You gave me way too much!”

He waved as he closed the door behind him, the bell ringing cheerily as he ignored you protests without even turning around.

You stood gaping behind the counter. You turned to the bag, determinedly picking out the correct amount and putting the rest away so that you could throw it at him when he came back. Not his face, though. Never his face.

A few hours later, he came back, his face neutral and undisturbed, like nothing in the world could move him to react.

He saw you, and his expression twitched and changed, looking just as smug as when he left.

You wordlessly pushed his bouquet, which you had worked extra hard on out of spite, not because you wanted him to like it or anything, towards him. Again, without saying anything, you pushed the bag of mora back towards him.

He quirked an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut, also determined to win the quiet challenge that you had started. He (rather cheekily) slid the bag back towards you, a smile fighting to pull onto his face.

You, more forcefully this time, slid the bag back towards him, face betraying no emotion.

Eyes sparking with amusement, he held out his hand.

Oh my Archons. You thought. What does that mean? He doesn’t want to….does he? You hesitatingly raised your hand in response, suspicious of the man in front of you. He gently slid his hand under yours, making your heart pound in your rib cage. His gloves covered most of his hand, but the skin that did touch you was startlingly cold. Your skin downright tingled where his touched yours.

Whether it was from the temperature or just him, you didn’t know.

He placed the bag of mora in your hands, a graceless plop and a cheerily jingle sounding through the quiet room.

Okay. You take it back. This mora was going directly at his face.

“This mora is going right at your face.”

“What?”

“What?” You parroted. Inside, you were crying. The first time you’ve ever threatened a customer and it’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep and long and archons even his laugh sounded angelic.

“I could’ve sworn you just—“

“I didn’t.” You cut him off, panicking. You pushed the bouquet towards him, hiding behind it. “Enjoy your day. Thank you for your purchase. Have fun at the festival.”

“…Thanks.” He said, still amused, but following your lead and taking the flowers from your waiting hands. For a moment, maybe on purpose, his hands brushed yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up and down your arms, making your heart beat faster….Must have been the cold from his skin, sending you into shock or something.

He left the shop (without the bag of mora) and you wistfully thought that you would never see that beautiful face again, kicking yourself for not asking him out. You were both single, right? Right??

Ultimately, you went home with the same familiar wistful feeling that soon turned to giddiness at having almost held hands with such a handsome man—his personality was odd but that could be overlooked.

Overall, it was a good day.

——————————

Except he was there the next day.

And the next.

….And the next.

Everyday he would order a bouquet of a different color. Once he ran out of colors, he began grilling you on what kinds of flower combinations you liked best. You would tell him, practically shaking while trying to prevent yourself from imploding, and that’s what he would order. He spent an enormous amount of money at your shop as the ridiculous mora bag battles continued (you were going to throw it at his face, you really were. You just needed to muster up the courage).

He would take the flowers home, and you would be left with a burning face and a quivering heart.

Then one day he asked you if you would like to go out. With him. Together. And you said yes, tying a bow around his order with trembling hands as a strangling giddiness filled up your entire chest.

So, you went to the festival with him right after work.

For the first time in weeks you were closing the shop and stepping out into the fresh air during the middle of the day.

You had an amazing time.

You found out that Wriothesley was extremely funny, and that his dry, sarcastic wit could have you doubling over and laughing in seconds. You found out that he liked tea like, a lot. Like a concerning amount. You found out that the co-worker he gave the first of many bouquets to is a melusine and a nurse. You found out that he talked to the Chief Justice regularly and somehow knew a lot of important people.

You explained to Wriothesley that you actually did have a life outside of flowers. You told him about your friends, your hobbies, and whatever else you could think of in the moment, feeling comfortable with him after just a few hours together.

He bought you food, somehow correctly guessing your tastes at every stall you visited. When you protested and offered to buy him something in return, he merely shook his head with a smile and said you could buy him lunch another day.

You walked together through the streets under golden lights, eating delicious food and buying trinkets. At the end of the night, you tentatively inched your hand toward his, and he interlaced your fingers together, holding your warm palm against his cold one tightly.

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, thinking that absolutely nothing could change the way you were feeling.

Everything was going great until you got back to your shop, laughing and chatting idly with the man beside you.

Your heart stopped as you realized that something was wrong, and your hand left Wriothesley’s for the first time that night as you ran towards the open door.

The entire place had been ransacked. The money in the cash register was gone. Your precious flowers—countless blooms that you had taken the time to grow and cut had either been stolen or trampled on. One window had been smashed in with a brick. You lifted up your foot, feeling the shattered glass break into smaller shards under the pressure—Archons, it was everywhere. Luckily, the small vault you keep most of your savings in was still closed but dented in multiple places and on its side.

You nearly collapsed on the floor right then and there. It was only Wriothesley, who caught you as you were falling to the ground, that kept you from completely breaking down. You were mourning. All of your flowers. All of your hard work, ripped from your hands, without so much as a warning.

You felt rage and misery burn in your chest, resulting in hot tears running down your face as you pathetically picked up the ruined flowers scattered across the shop floor. Next to you, shadow cast Wriothesley’s face in darkness, hiding his expression from view. You heard him assure you that he would take care of it, that he would fix all of this for you, as he told you not to worry in that perpetually assertive tone of his. Your muddled and distressed mind immediately clung onto it like a life line, desperate for something to ground you.

Wriothesley would take care of it, you told yourself. If not him, then who would help you?

—————————

You found out soon after that the man who had robbed you was a rival store owner whose business had gone under ever since you had moved in. His storefront was situated on one of the more populated streets, streets that saw more foot traffic and that attracted customers of a higher class. Still, he had been losing to you, a small shop on some nowhere street, for months. In the end, arrogance and jealousy had driven him to attempt destroying your business.

Whether it be from fear and intimidation, or hopelessness from losing all the money you had made in the past couple months, he had hoped that you would chose to pack up and leave after he ruined the inside of your shop.

Fortunately, he was not a master criminal. A few shop owners on your street had seen his face and identified him to the guards. According to rumors you had heard from friends, he fought the guards during his arrest, shouting that he was not some lowly commoner to be pushed around. The guards and some mysteriously clothed people flooded around him, dragging him to the court house and sentencing him within the hour. He was allowed to go back to his shop, as his home was above it, but was put on house arrest for the time being and had guards stationed outside of every window to await further punishment.

It had happened so…quickly.

Wriothesley, during all of this, was very supportive.

—————————

It all came crashing down on the last night of the festival, a week after you had been robbed.

You were in the process of walking home before you realized that you had left your keys in your bag.

…Which was at the shop.

…That you would have to go back to.

Groaning, you made yourself turn around and trek back towards the storefront so that you could actually get into your house.

As you walked down the main strip of stalls and shops, you realized with a bitter heart that you would have to pass the shop of the man who made your life hell to get there and back quickly. You were glad that he had been caught and sentenced swiftly, but you were still incredibly angry about the damage that had been done to your business. The mental and emotional wounds left from the shock of seeing everything you had worked for destroyed were still fresh.

You fastened your pace as the night lamps began to turn on, the sky quickly turning dark as they became your only source of light. You knew the city was mostly a safe place to live, but that didn’t mean crime never happened, and it would be just your luck for you to get robbed a second time.

Then there was shouting.

You slowed your pace as you heard a voice echo off the tall buildings, only amplifying the panicked screams.

Uh oh. Had you walked right into a crime scene?

You looked around you, noticing that there were no guards in sight. Hopefully they had noticed the trouble and were taking care of it.

You sighed. You really needed to get into your house, as you weren’t too keen on sleeping on a bench for the night. Cursing whatever being had brought this upon you, you continued forward, walking in the shadows and hoping to avoid whatever drama was happening near the home of the man who had robbed you.

You turned a corner, freezing as you took in the sight of a group of men huddled together, seemingly trying to apprehend someone—

Wait. Was that—

You recognized that figure—those boots—that coat…

What was your boyfriend doing here in the middle of the night?

Swiftly, you moved back out of the light, eyes trained on the man you could now clearly recognize. You watched as Wriothesley raised his fist, his knuckles connecting harshly with someone’s jaw. You startled at the harsh noise of skin splitting skin.

You felt yourself flinch as blood splattered across the pavement. For a moment, you were grateful for the imposing figures blocking your view of the violent scene.

The victim was splayed across the stone due to the force of the blow, thrown right into the circle of people that had formed around him, pathetically whimpering as he tried to pick himself up.

You watched as he was dragged away, looking genuinely terrified, screaming bloodcurdling words as he went mad with fear. His pleas fell on deaf ears as those around him stood still, Wriothesley silently watching as he was picked up and thrown into the back of a carriage. The door squealed as he yelled that he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to go to the Fortress of Meropide, please—doors slamming shut, cutting off his final sentence as the men and the carriage disappeared into the night.

Wriothesley stood under a street light, a short distance away from where you hid in the shadows. His body was tense, his back drawn tight as he gazed at the retreating carriage, with the man he had assaulted and doomed to a life in prison lying within.

You stumbled back, you feet scuffling against the pavement. The noise sounded like an explosion in the dead quiet of the street.

His entire body stilled. He turned around, almost in slow motion, his eyes widening in horror as your gazes met.

You spun on your heel and ran, heart pounding in your chest. Heavy footfalls followed you, leather hitting stone with threatening thumps that seemed to get closer to you with every passing second.

You got to your shop, flinging open the door and rushing to the back of the building, heading towards the closet where you kept all of your supplies. Hearing the bell above your door chime mockingly, signaling that Wriothesley was in your shop oh Archons, you slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

For some reason, you could have never imagined him being so violent. You were shocked and terrified, seeing your new boyfriend, who you had only ever thought of as safe, as anything but. Now you knew. He was dangerous. You were so stupid for trusting a complete stranger—

You heard him run towards your hiding place, calling out to you as the heavy foot falls slowed to a stop.

“Y/N.” He said, voice calm and level, betraying no emotion at all. It was like he was discussing the weather and hadn’t just chased you down the street.

Your breathe hitched in your throat. Somewhere, in your frayed mind, you hoped, prayed he would just go if you were quiet enough—

“I never meant for you to see that. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

The doorknob began to turn. It stopped, hitting the lock.

You heard rustling and then a faint jangle as Wriothesley stepped away from the door.

You had left your keys in your bag.

The bag was on the counter, the keys were in your bag—

….He knew where you kept your keys?

You had never told him that.

The door knob began to turn. You grabbed onto the it with a white-knuckled grip, stopping it from the inside.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, beating rapidly as you desperately held onto the cool metal.

“Leave me alone!” Please was left unsaid. You shouted the words, terror making you shake and tremble.

Wriothesley fell silent. You heard him lean his weight against the door, his movements causing it to creak.

The doorknob stopped turning.

You prayed that he wouldn’t try to force it, or worse, break the door down. You didn’t know if it would hold, or if you could hold on, considering how strong he was.

You imagined his hulking figure standing outside, only a few mere inches of wood separating you, towering over you from your spot on the floor.

You were practically paralyzed with fear, and didn’t know what you would do if he actually managed to get in and get his hands on you—

“Damn it, I ruined it all, didn’t I?” Wriothesley murmured.

You jumped, not expecting the despairing admission amidst your racing thoughts that were trying to pinpoint where you had went wrong in life.

His usually playful voice was monotone, eerily flat for the self deprecating words he spoke.

You didn’t deign him with a response. You merely listened to the quiet that followed, feeling more scared than you would have been if he had been raging and banging on the door. There was something about the silence; something about it felt foreboding, like a threat was creeping up behind you and you couldn’t hear it no matter how hard you tried.

You heard him turn away a few minutes later, heavy footfalls walking towards the door, and finally the bell signaling his departure.

For a few minutes, you sat there and waited.

Eventually, you opened the closet just a sliver, looking out into the dim lighting with flickering eyes, checking every possible corner that he could be hiding in. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in here.

You slid out of the closet and almost immediately ducked behind the counter, still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Shakily, you peeked out from behind the counter, checking for any sign of him outside. When you found the street to be devoid of him, you silently gasped in relief.

You ripped your keys out of the door with rushed hands.

You went home alone, without Wriothesley, who had taken it upon himself to personally walk you there almost every night of the week. A part of it felt strange to deviate from the routine, but you needed no reminder to know that the man you had trusted and spent time with all week was now a dangerous threat. You ran to the door of your home, opening it hurriedly and slamming it shut.

You tossed and turned as you slept that night, a doomed feeling settling in your churning stomach.

—————————

The next day, you took measures to start rebuilding. Perhaps you were just frantic to get back to some sense of normalcy after having the rug ripped out from under you the other night—or maybe you were desperate to have something to keep your mind off of the buzzing anxiety that was constantly gnawing at the back of your mind.

The man who broke in had already been put on trial and sentenced to an undetermined amount of time in the Fortress of Meropide, and had also been forced to cough up more than enough mora to cover the damages.

This, oddly enough, had all been told to you by a third party, someone hired by the court to watch over legal proceedings.

Someone was pulling the strings behind the case, and you didn’t want to think about who it was, just in case the pieces started falling together. (Deep down, you already knew.)

When you had heard he was being sent to the Fortress, you felt something in your gut twist unpleasantly, a kind of stone-like anxiety that weighed and sunk a permanent pit in your stomach. People who went there didn’t usually come back, or if they did, they weren’t the same. They weren’t viewed the same, either. What would happen to him once he came back? If he came back?

You shivered as the memory of him being dragged away resurfaced.

You sighed as you swept up errant pieces of class, determined to discard of every shard before you allowed any more precious customers or flowers to come through the door. The window had already been replaced, as a very nervous man had knocked on your door a few days after the…incident with Wriothesley, and claimed that he had been sent to repair it. You hadn’t even talked to anyone about fixing the window. A sinking feeling appeared in your chest as you watched the jumpy man chip away at glass and wood, his movements tense and swift. When you went to close the shop, you checked if you had locked the door three separate times before rushing home, practically running through the stone streets, running from absolutely nothing at all.

There was no sign of Wriothesley during the months it took your shop to recover. You were glad that he had taken what you had said to him in your moment of fear seriously. Still, you feared that he would show up on some random day, at some random time, and catch you off guard. That you would be reminded of the violence that seemed to follow him like a shadow, leaving trails of devastation in his wake.

Everyday you went home glancing over your shoulder while walking briskly down the street, always making sure to make it home before dark.

—————————

You unlocked the door to your home, hurriedly glancing behind you as you shoved the keys into the lock, pushing the door in quickly as it gave way. You closed and locked the door behind you, allowing yourself to relax minutely against the cool frame.

“Back so soon? I noticed you’ve been closing earlier nowadays. What’s that about?”

You froze, an ice cold fear creeping through your veins.

There, sitting in the dark of your unlit living room, was the man you had been simultaneously avoiding and thinking about constantly for months.

You could make out the silhouette of his hulking figure, leaning back into your favorite chair with his fingers laced together and knees spread apart, relaxed and causal. His eyes, which always held a mildly scrutinizing gaze, had turned razor sharp—they hadn’t moved from you since the moment you had stepped into the room. You were a pinned butterfly under that look, being dissected and picked apart by glacial, stormy irises.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice coming out a little more shakily than intended. You tried not to hyperventilate. You really tried, but you could already feel your chest tightening, like just being in his presence was suffocating—

He stood up. Rooted in place, you didn’t dare move. If you tried to run, you knew he would catch you.

He moved towards you slowly, like he knew just as well as you did that you couldn’t escape.

He stopped a foot away from you, his height easily trumping yours, his figure casting a large, beastly shadow in the dim lighting.

You tilted your head back to look him in the eye. Even now, those icy eyes were beautiful. You thought it was unfair. Now that you knew what he was, what he was capable of, you thought, his eyes should come as warning. They were the eyes of a predator. And yet, still cold and steely, clear like cryo vision that hung from his hip, which you had never even seen until now.

Still beautiful, reminding you of clear water and arctic oceans and quiet. It was so quiet.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you dared to break the careful silence.

He reached up, curled fingers gently caressing your cheek, dragging down along the side of your neck, as if a simple touch with too much force behind it would shatter you.

His eyes flickered to the place where your shirt had lifted to expose your collarbone, coat hanging off your shoulders and pulling the fabric down.

He ran his fingers over the exposed skin, making you shiver as you felt rough, calloused pads run across you gingerly, lightly. A delicate touch from a hardened man. He looked back at you, his eyes soft. Intense. Adoring. He had moved closer in the last few seconds, you remarked. You only noticed because you had to crane your head up more to look at him. His chest touched yours. He leaned down, ghosting his lips over your forehead. His hand had moved. One had settled on your waist, holding and trapping you close to him.

You felt a prick in the side of your neck, vision going black as you collapsed into his arms.

—————————

The next time you woke up, you weren’t in your house anymore. There was gauzy, heavy fabric hanging above you. You had been placed in a canopy bed in a room that was expensively furnished, and yet somehow untouched. You were in a bed, which was in a prison, at the bottom of the ocean.

Wriothesley walked in only an hour after you woke. You had a feeling he had been routinely checking to see if you were awake.

He looked down at you, his eyes painfully tender in a way that you regretted not noticing before. There was a fondness, a suffocating fondness, which told you that all those things he now whispered to you at night—how he wanted to protect you, how he had longed to have you for so long, how he had been watching you from afar with his heart in his hands, just waiting for the right moment to give it to you—

His eyes told you that they were all true.

Somehow, you couldn’t hate him.

Wriothesley had been living as a lonely prisoner in his own kingdom—his underwater kingdom that he ruled, because he thrived on the depths of the cold, dark ocean and its inhabitants that yielded to his power.

And yet the king of the underworld yearned for just a little bit of life. Life that you were familiar with—life that you thrived off of, and that thrived in return under your guidance. Life that you loved.

Life that had attracted you to him.

You didn’t know if anyone still talked about you on the surface; if they talked about your existence, or more so your disappearance, in hushed whispers with shifty eyes. No one talked about you down here—no one knew you existed, except for the head nurse and your husband.

You had been stolen away, under the ocean, that little shop off main street missing its owner forevermore.

You, who had always been surrounded by the life of the surface, had been transported to the underworld, a land of misery and lost souls, away from all life, surrounded and trapped by the love you once longed for—and mourning the life you once had.

—————————

Reader: *lets go of Wriothesley’s hand bc they got robbed*

Wriothesley: oh this jerk is gonna pay *sends the guy who robbed you to the bottom of the sea*

he’s been waiting to hold that hand for so long )):< wtf dude

[tavs-adventures]

Raphael Liking You Includes . . .

The son of Archdevil Mephistopheles in love? Absolutely Impossible. After all Fiends, Devils, and Cambions don't have souls. They don't feel. And yet...

You're one of Raphaels favorite Patrons. He couldn't tell you how it happened, he's not sure he really wants to know. All he understands is one day you went from being someone under a contract to actually being someone he cares about and is careful with.

In truth he knows when it happened. He knows exactly how and why but for now he can pretend because that's easier. That's easier than admitting his real feelings and facing rejection. He's the Prince of Hell he doesn't feel emotions like Love. Only Lust.

Raphael enjoys your Magic Lessons together. Your spareing sessions. Apart of your Contract was a piece of his power for a family artifact you had that he wanted for his collection. As a Warlock, your power in part comes from him. But unlike most of his pacts you knew what you were doing. The artifact you had was the real deal and it was worth something to Raphael which means you were worth something to him. So you didn't sell your soul and you carefully worded your contract to work in your favor. Your cunning, your occasional cruelty, and your creativity are what drew him to you. You were not like the others and Raphael did love a good chase.

He doesn't remember the details on your original contract. It's changed so many times now with him adding things that don't benefit him but do benefit you. Raphael whether he wants to admit it or not is now at your beck and call. Not that you ever over use your abilities to summon him or ask to be summoned despite having that power. And even if you did he likley wouldn't complain. He likes the pull he has on you, the influence you hold over him. He finds it exhilarating.

You spend a lot of time in the House of Hope in-between the Jobs Raphael gives you and the Adventures you go on in your free time. Infernal has long been a second tongue you're comfortable speaking. And bartering with the Prince is just your version of flirting, a Cambions love languae really.

As a Mortal and Morally Gray but not Outright Evil person, some of the practices you've observed in Raphaels' home do bother you. You've definitely felt sick in some of the rooms, but after a year or so, you now know which hallways to avoid and what spaces you like to occupy when Raph is busy or gone. (If anything truly made your skin crawl or your stomach upset Raphael would erase your memory of it and hide that part of his House from you. He doesn't like when you flinch from him or when you seem to focus on his more Infernal Nature)

Raphael inspires too instill fear in all his pacts. But with you, he finds it far more amusing to see your passion, taste your fire, and feel your fury. Your relationship is unconventional but also unconditional despite stemming from a contract. You have far more privileges than any of his other pacts. He hasn't said it outloud yet but it's obvious he likes having you around.

The Prince of Hell is a Walking Furnace. Cambions run warm in general, but he is especially hot. His touch does not burn unless he wants it to and in your contract it clearly states he can't burn you. Whenever your cold (when hell freezes over appretally isn't just an expression) he takes your hands in his and carefully warms them. The act is surprisingly intimate and you have to fight a blush every time he does it.

He likes touching you. Something about your presense, your touch soothes him. Hes never felt this way before and he doesn't want to admit it so he finds casual ways to touch you outside of Sex. Adjusting your stance during sparring. Grabbing your arms during magic lessons. Holding your hands in the Hallway. Kissing your face, your neck, any exposed skin. Biting. His more gentle acts of affection and wanting your attention somehow always make you end up in the Bedroom.

Haarlep is your only friend in the House of Hope. While Raphael has many servants he trusts none of them around you. When his Master is away the Incubus is a rather funny Infernal being and does his best to keep you entertained. He keeps you from the more unsavory pieces of his Masters House wanting to shield you from them (He was Ordered too by Raphael but the Incubus doesn't find your suffering enjoyable as he does with others). The Incubus follows you around the House of Hope, keeping you company as he tells stories about his Master to make you laugh. The sound is a soothing balm to those in the Home as when you're in a Good Mood Master is as well.

You enjoy gossiping with the Incubus. Hearing his stories of the Hells and how he came in service of Raphael. Spending hours pillow talking and giggling as he holds you waiting for his Master to come back and join. You help Haarlep with his shape shifting, picking and chosing appearences and creating characters for him to seduce others with. He likes using his Incubus magic around you, loving how your eyes widen in awe when he changes shape. Or how you learn to copy some of his magic to change clothes and makeup at your command. He's more than happy to teach you spells and even a few surprises for Raphael.

Haarlep gives you tips about things Raphael likes in bed and when you need something from the Cambion you have more than a few tricks up your sleeve because of your helpful Incubus. Raphael knows you playfully plot against him with his favorite Servant but he finds the antics amusing if a bit ambushing at times. You're a very convincing minx

With Haarlep often taking his Masters form Raphael has ordered that the Incubus is not allowed to touch you in a Romantic way unless Raphael is there. Sometimes the two of you will follow The Princes wishes for something new and exciting in bed but you have a mostly platonic friendship with playful teasing and occasional light flirting. Haarlep genuinely enjoys your presence and finds your visits both amusing and entertaining. He asks you about your Adventures and is much more interested in your personality than your body.

Everyone in the House of Hope is aware of you, even if you aren't aware of them. From the newest members of his service to his eldest you are a talked about point in the House of Hope.

Raphaels favorite is something often whispered in the Haunted Halls of the House of Hope. At first you were just another pact. But then the Master began touching you outside the Bedroom. He began giving you things outside your contract. With you dressed in Rich Fabrics, showered in Expensive Jewelry, Freely given powerful Relics and weapons, and Dined and Wined with only the most luxurious of Foods. It's easy to see why you'd be called that.

There is jealously and resentment, it is Hell. But Raphael has it written in all his contracts you are not to be harmed and every Debtor in his collection knows better than to do or say anything remotley insulting in your presence. You are unaware of this, Raphael never mentions it and his Staff is to afraid to ask. If it ever is brought up he simply says you are his to torture. Though he only ever brings you bliss.

With free Reign of the House of Hope you often wander in and out of the Rooms you know are safe. Raphaels domain is practically your second home. You walk through the Ballrooms which always seem to have Music, Explore his endless libraries to gain forbiden knowledge, Paint in his Art Room, Play instruments in his Music Room, Spar in his Training Room, Peak into his private offices to see what he's working on, and Slip in and out of his Entertainment rooms. You tend to stray from his bedroom unless you're in the mood as once you pass that threshold it becomes a long night of passion. The guest room you claim in his Home always mysteriously disappears whenever Raphael wants to be intimate with you.

As a Cambion he enjoys scratching and marking what is his. Leaving his presence on your skin through various means. Your neck is often covered in hickies and love bites showing his ownership of you. At the beginning of the relationship he never wanted your mark on him but as time went on he began to like being marked as well. Haarlep often teases him about this.

Raphael enjoys whispering Infernal poetry in your ears. He lusts after you, but he is also a Romantic. A passionate lover he calls it. Dramatic you tease back. The Hellish language burns hot like flames licking your skin and always leaves your chest warm. Speaking it back feels like magma rolling off your tongue but when he shivers you know its worth it. When he kisses you he often whispers words of affection between each kiss, his lips pressing to your skin with a sort of reverence a Cambion shouldn't possess.

He enjoys Dancing far more than he should. And serenading you. Taking your hand and spinning you around the marbel floor of one of his Ballrooms while singing of your passion and unconventional union. You tease him about being a Bard in another life. He teases you about being a Devil with the way you tempt him so.

Every kiss no matter how soft and tender feels like he's trying to steal your breath away. The longer the relationship lasts the more heartfelt and meaningful every kiss feels like. The less possessive and more protective he becomes.

He's protective of his Relic Collection as it's something he often admires and shows off. Raphael realizes how in love he truly is when you break something on accident and his first thought is, are you okay and not is the Relic alright?

It scares him one night while your in his arms, his true form holding you when he realizes how deeply he's fallen for you. He thinks of his precious Relics and how he would give every single one of them up for you. The Prince of Hell can't deny it any longer. As his wings wrap around you and his lips kiss your temple he realizes how in love he is and how you hold his heart.

Raphael begins carrying a ring in his pocket the next Day with your favorite gems.

When you get hurt it's not an exaggeration to say all Hell breaks loose. He can handle a papercut or something similar but anything close to a battle wound? He stopped sending you on Missions ages ago for that reason. If it happened on the surface your never leaving Hell again. He's dragging you to the House of Hope to heal you and he's changing your contract and having you sign it. He's hoping you don't look at the new clause about Marriage but if you do the Cambions always been one for contracts and dramatics anyways.

[waitineedaname]

putting aside being sad about binghe for now, I was looking for the first time sqq directly compares binghe to a maiden, and as far as I can tell, the first time he calls him a maiden is this part:

To push him away during this moment would be like giving a young maiden -- one who'd finally worked up the courage to call and brokenheartedly weep to an older sister for comfort and encouragement -- a face-turning slap. It was really a bit cruel. (Chapter 11 in vol. 2 of the English translation)

this stands out to me because this is shortly after he finally realized binghe is attracted to him, while he's still grappling with the fact that he's "turned binghe gay." it's yet another example of sqq equating being gay with femininity -- he knows binghe is into men now, and thus begins him repeatedly referring to binghe's behavior as that of a maiden's

but the other thing that stands out to me about this quote is that sqq is also making himself a girl in this metaphor. I know the translation is probably lacking here and he's probably using jiejie to mean generic older female friend as opposed to jiejie meaning older sister, but still. shen qingqiu, why are both of you girls in this mental metaphor. hello. shen qingqiu are you aware that making both of you girls does not make it any less gay. shen qingqiu are you listening to me. shen qingqiu yes it's still gay when you're both girls

[celtrist]

RADIOMOTH BAD END ROUTE

In these endings, it's more or less assumed Alastor has gotten out of his deal (if the route doesn't involve his owner)

TW: Gender Dysphoria, Forced feminization, Physical Abuse, Slight Non-con elements, Conditioning, Stockholm Syndrome

In this ending, Vaggie successfully catches Alastor and marries him, much like Charlie's bad end (and this one, like her, can have the option of Charlie also being married to them or not). Depending on whether you want to go the force transitioning route: Alastor either gives up once Vaggie successfully forces a transition surgery onto him or (if you don't want to go that route) he just gives up, too tired to fight Vaggie and her traps.

Transition or not, Vaggie dresses him as a woman, forces him to grow his hair out, and just generally takes on a more feminine appearance. She goes as far as to rename him "Alison" and only refers to him as female in public. In private, she will at times refer to him as a male, but in the past tense and in a degrading way. She makes it a point to make sure he doesn't have his antlers. Whenever they start growing back, Alastor panics and hurries to rip them off before Vaggie sees them. It's painful, but always less painful than when Vaggie does it, as she's very violent with her approach. She will sometimes hit him for having antlers or even for seeing signs that they've regrown.

Anytime Alastor remarks discomfort with himself, Vaggie gets frustrated and berates him about it. When she notices him turning to accidental self-harm to deal with his discomfort (hair pulling, claw scratches, etc.), she admonishes and at times hit him as well (like if he pulls his hair, she'll pull his hair, yelling at him "isn't this what you like?").

Vaggie hides this poor behavior from Charlie (whether or not she's still in a relationship with Charlie or not in this route) and forces Alastor to keep quiet about it as well. If he gives any indication otherwise, she will punish him in private.

While I'm not sure if Alastor would or would not have all his bells and whistles (I feel like it would make sense in this route if Vaggie would find a way to "depower" him to make him easier to handle, but not sure how she'd do that. Maybe have him drinking diluted holy water over time? Alastor, more or less, has just given up on this route. He doesn't feel like he can do much else and is unmotivated to attack back.

It's not uncommon in the private sensual moments for her to get violent and belittle Alastor, and how she's the only one who would love a woman like him. In the case of a transitioning route, Vaggie will taunt him about having used to be a man. And if Alastor gives an indication that he wishes he had never transitioned, she will taunt him more and abuse him further until he says he's happy to be a woman. These more violent times occur when Alastor begins to show distress, typically for either the sex or his forced gender, but not exclusive to those. She will lightly degrade him when she's not angry, too, but it's mixed with sweet words as well. Giving him a whiplash of treatment. Most sensual times Vaggie does genuinely try to be nice and try to find what Alastor likes (whether he likes it or not). It's when Vaggie is already angry or frustrated with Alastor that she gets more abusive in these moments.

Vaggie isn't really abusing Alastor 24/7 (well, other than enforcing an unwanted gender identity and relationship, I suppose). Anything nice she would do for Charlie, she'd do for Alastor. Surprising him with things that he doesn't expect (like sinner meat or masculine clothing) is one of her favorite ways to show affection to see the brief light in his eyes from the gift.

Vaggie is as protective of Alastor as she is of Charlie, and she is also as very loving of him as she is of her. Vaggie will shower Alastor with genuine compliments, even in private sometimes she just wants to shower Alastor with love rather than any sort of abuse. Whenever Alastor does something particularly good (like introducing himself as Alison the first couple of times and holding her hand out of his own volition), she'll praise him and reward him for it. Vaggie takes more into consideration of attire for Alastor rather than what she just wants to see. While she still puts Alastor in "less than Alastor-styled" outfits from time to time, those clothes are mainly for private or special occasions. For the most part, Vaggie gives (and allows) Alastor clothes more up his alley, even suits as long as he still looks feminine enough.

While Vaggie will get violent with Alastor for showing discomfort with his forced gender, she normally first tries to comfort and praise Alastor about his body and self. It's when Alastor begins getting more upset that she'll get more abusive. She will always follow up her actions with comfort for Alastor. This would, I can imagine, grow into a Stockholm syndrome situation, especially if Alastor wanted to deny the situation he's in.

EDIT: I just wanted to note that I have toned down elements to this ending! It's not revamped, but I just thought I'd mention it as the more perverse elements for this ending didn't really add too much and felt needed to be added. But I did want to acknowledge this ending was a tad darker than it is described here!

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[loreleiloon]

Twisted Worship

Whumper obsessed with Whumpee to the point of marveling at everything they do, whether Whumpee likes it or not.

Whumpee's scrambled eggs are always delicious, even when Whumpee purposely burns them.

Whumpee's body is always too beautiful not to love, even when Whumpee's hair starts falling out from the stress.

Whumpee's always so clever, even when they don't know the answer.

They just don't see themselves the way Whumper does.

Not yet.

[iwrite0]

Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada x PLATONIC KID!!

I crave comfort so here

Tw : Ed /sh

Not many people were aware of your relationship with your homeroom teacher and English teacher known as Mr. Aizawa and his loud husband Mic but they were your dad's. In the beginning of the year they both made it clear no special treatment would be given and you appreciated it a lot.

This also came with its ups and downs trying to fight the urge to hug you dad in front of class after villain attacks ect, as much as they'd both fight it they also struggled to accessively check on you when you all moved to dorms.

Having grown up always close to him after they adopted you from a abusive home. had its drags on you all You weren't entirely sure when this overwhelming feeling of despair started but it felt so shitty, you had no reason to feel this way you had a good life. Loving dads, a nice school and a few friends you hold dear to you. It was so long ago why was this still bothering you.

You remembered a conversation you had with your dad, Mic recalling how Aizawa was struggling with mental health and how it wasn't an effect of things around him but rather his brain chemistry. You looked at your phone debating on calling your family group chat to ask them for help but managed to talk yourself out of it resorting to crying on your closet floor.

After a few minutes of crying you managed to pull yourself together grabbing some clothes and deciding this was all in your head and you had no reason to feel so shitty. Heading out your room you feel a tap on your shoulder "it's past curfew kid" you turn around to see you father Hizashi looking around you you look back at him eyes still puffy "Sorry dad, just needed a shower" you say attempting to walk away when you feel a hand in you wrist "were you crying little listener?" You flinch at the childhood nickname your dad had given you "No, sorry just tired" you say pulling away "either your high or you were crying which one is it kid" He says pointing to your eyes "its nothing dad please just let me shower"

You pull away walking away leaving your dad in the hall alone. You took a long shower, trying to scrub off the memories of your past home. You get out the shower and go back to your dorm laying down on the floor ignoring the fact your bed was no more than 3 feet away. You look at your phone to see Aizawa texted you

You okay kiddo?

Yeah sorry for worrying y'all just a bad day

Are you sure

Yeah

If you say so, me and Hizashi are here if you need us. Now go to bed it's late

The conversation was short and to the point but you still felt the need to want to call him and tell him these awful feelings you were having.

A few days passed when you got an email from an all too familiar name, it was your biological mom. The very same woman who had given you physical and mental problems along with nonstop nightmares for 2 years. You had changed everything phone number, social media accounts anything that she could you to find you. Yet her name is in your inbox with a paragraph calling you names and threatening you. Everything felt so out of control like nothing you did to get away from her was enough. But she knew now, she knew what school you went to. 1-A had been on TV after all, you should have known it was only a matter of time. You looked at your phone blankly feeling your body shake and tears fall from your face. You reached for your pocket knife making a cut on your thigh it felt good like you finally had control over how you felt like you had control over something when everything around you was so chaotic. This was bad you knew that but it felt too good to want to care.

Overtime the threatening emails from your mother piled up only feeding the fear she'd find you and harm you, in turn causing more scars to be formed on your legs. You dads had quickly talked notice to you change in dimanar and talked it over amongst themselves and tried to reach out to you but it was all brushed off as a bad week or a bad day.

This began to escalate more than your lack of interest in food came about you seemed so tired too tired to even eat. This is where they drew the line. No kid of theirs would be passing out in training. They just couldn't figure out how to talk to you about this without you shutting down and shutting them out.

Monday morning training came about and you felt exhausted like your whole body was about to give out. This was only further proven when you passed out before training with Todoroki without him even activating either of his quirks. Both Hizashi and Aizawa rushed to your side as another student ran to get recovery girl. You woke up in the nurses office with both your dad's next to you looking worried out their minds.

"Recovery girl said you'd be fine.. as long as you ate and drank probably." There was a silence filled with worry and a bit of anger

"I'm sorry dad-" you were cut off by Hizashi hugging you, "please don't scare me like that kid" he said holding you as if you were gonna disappear. "Talk to us if you need to kiddo. You know we'll listen. "

You hugged him back going back to your dorm early as you were excused from all classes for the day, sitting on your floor you checked your phone to see another email this time from your biological father. Your mom texting you was one thing you knew in some way she didn't have the gut to actually hurt you but your dad, he'd hunt you down and kill you, metaphorically and literally. You felt a wave of fear washing over you and you sobbed standing up hands on your head pacing around your room crying and shaking. You reach for your knife once more sliding down the wall making a cut in an almost fully healed scar feeling that feeling of control comes back. You made a few more before stopping, taking a deep breath grabbing your first aid kit sitting in the same spot on the floor. Yeah, you felt stupid but not stupid enough to not clean this kind of thing. As you were cleaning up you heard a knock at your door

"Kid? It's us can we talk?"

Aizawa says still waiting at the door "Y-yeah give me a minute please!!" You shout rushing to put the first aid kit away and some sweatpants and throw your knife under the bed you wipe your face, and open the door

"Kid are you okay you look a little.. worse than earlier "

"yeah I'm fine just not in a great mood," you said looking at your phone placed in the far end of the bed. They both came Into your room sat on your bed and attempted to talk to you about what had been bothering you. The conversation went in circles before you placed your head in Aizawa's lap. Your dad Hizashi, was standing at the foot of your bed about to leave when he was stopped by a blood stain on the floor.

"Shouta, I think we should stay till she wakes up"

"hm. I mean I'm not against it but why ?"

He points at the blood spot on the floor and Shoutas eyes widen.

"they are knocked out right now so can you look for whatever is being used ?"

He nods looking around your room eyes landing on a pocked knife shining under your bed.

"here, I'll put it in our room," he says showing Shouta before closing it and placing it in his pocket, as he was above to leave he stopped by the light of your phone along with a name he recognized followed by a scowl.

"Shouta I'm gonna check their phone for something"

He gives Hizashi a confused look but unable to move because of your sleeping form he allows him to do so, you trusted them enough to let them know your passwords but they had never not trusted you enough to go through your phone. He opens the email, reading it and seeing ll the others. He made a face of pure disgust and walked toward Shouta showing him the inbox along with one of the emails it had.

Both had decided to stay in your room till morning, planning to talk to you about this night of unfortunate events. But this was cut short by the feeling of you hyperventilating in Shoutas lap. Hizashi gently shakes him awake and they both attempt to comfort you ultimately failing as you wake you shaking tears forming in your eyes. An all too familiar scene for your dad's to witness.

"it's okay kid, your okay" Hizashi whispered patting your head as Aizawa rubbed your shoulder.

"sorry i-"

"No apologies. We know everything so there's no need to hide anything from us anymore"

Shouta says looking up at his husband

"you could have really hurt yourself kid"

"i know I just - "You were cut off by a knot in your throat as you scrambled to find the words "Everything feels so out of control and I can control this you know?" Shouta nodded in agreement.

"Why did you come to us kiddo?

"i- I didn't want you to worry you. You guys had enough going on.."

You said your voice is still shaking between sobs.

"you'd never be a bother to us. It's our job as you parents to check on you and worry for you"

You all had a long talk about possible coping strategies and ways to communicate if you wanted to talk about something without feeling bothersome. A few relapses were bound to happen and they both knew this but did everything they could to ensure it didn't. Even if it meant letting the whole class know you were their kid so you could go in the teacher's wing of the dorms. You began slowly getting better with setbacks here and there, but by setting up a new email and talking more about what your depression episodes felt like, both your dads were able to help you through it

Yes it's messy I wrote 75% of this in one go and the other half after my shower. And it's like 12:58am

Requests are open but slow

Please reach out if you need to to!!

[softlypossessive]

♡･ﾟ𓏸 Ordinary 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Reader ♡ Warnings: Yandere themes, obsession, possessive behavior, intense internal conflict, mentions of gore (?),  intimidation, psychological tension, cursed domain imagery, emotional whiplash, unhealthy attachment, power imbalance ♡ WC: ~1k ♡ Notes: Just me spiraling at 3am about Sukuna being violently obsessed and absolutely not okay with it. This is unhinged yandere energy with a side of “why the hell do I care about this soft little human???” and I’m not sorry. Part 2 coming soon?

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

You are ordinary.

That’s the part that makes it worse.

If you were some grand sorcerer, veins pulsing with cursed energy, he could chalk this up to respect—or at least a worthy rivalry. If you were a scheming little shit, all sharp edges and venom, he could tell himself you’d sunk claws into him through sheer cunning. 

But you’re not. You’re nothing like that. 

You’re soft—too soft—skin unscarred, voice quiet, a fragile little mortal who smiles like the world isn’t a cesspit of blood and rot. You laugh at Yuji’s stupid jokes, look at that pink-haired idiot like he’s some kind of hero, and it makes Sukuna’s gut twist in ways he can’t stand.

He’s Ryomen Sukuna—king of curses, a walking slaughterhouse, a god among worms—and yet here he is, clawing at his own insides, trying to figure out why your existence gnaws at him like a starving dog.

He should crush it.

Crush you.

Rip that warmth out of his chest and grind it into the dirt where it belongs. He’s done worse for less.

But then you glance his way—just once, quick and unthinking, your eyes catching his through Yuji’s borrowed face—and the fury boiling in his bones goes quiet. Not gone, no, never gone—but warm, sickeningly so, like blood pooling under a fresh kill.

Shameful.

Unacceptable.

He wants to tear his own ribs out just to stop it.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

The air shifts, heavy and wrong, like the world’s holding its breath. You blink, and the dim hum of your room melts away. The floor beneath your feet turns cold, slick, like polished stone kissed by damp rot.

Shadows stretch, curling up the walls, and the light twists into something red and bruised, pulsing like a heartbeat.

You’re not where you were.

You’re somewhere else.

A low chuckle rumbles through the space, deep enough to rattle your teeth.

Ahead, the darkness splits, and there he is—Sukuna, not Yuji’s watered-down shell, but the real thing. Four arms flexing, claws gleaming like obsidian, his true form sprawls across a throne of bones, all jagged edges and marrow-stained ivory. His eyes—four of them, crimson and unblinking—lock onto you, and the grin splitting his face is a slash of teeth, too wide, too sharp. The air stinks of iron and ash, thick with the weight of his presence, and your pulse kicks hard despite yourself.

This is his domain. A cursed pocket of reality carved out just for this—just for you. He leans forward, two hands braced on his knees, the other two crossed lazily over his chest, and tilts his head, pink hair spilling like liquid over his shoulders. 

“Well, well,” he drawls, voice a blade dragging across stone, “look what stumbled into my cage. Didn’t think you’d be this bold, little mortal.”

You don’t flinch. Don’t scream. Don’t even step back.

You just stand there, chin up, and ask—calm as if you’re ordering coffee—“What do you want?”

The question hits him like a slap. 

His grin falters, just for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing as if you’ve thrown something sharp at him. 

What does he want? 

He summoned you here to watch you squirm, to see that soft shell of yours shatter under the weight of his malice. He wanted you trembling, wide-eyed, begging for mercy he’d never give. But you’re not. You’re steady, voice even, looking at him like he’s not a nightmare made flesh. And it pisses him off more than he can stomach.

“Want?” he echoes, rising from the throne, each step a slow, deliberate thud that shakes the ground. 

He towers over you, close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him, the faint tang of blood and smoke clinging to his skin. 

“I want to rip that tongue out of your mouth for asking something so fucking stupid.” His claws flex, one hand lifting like he might just do it, but it hovers there, inches from your throat.

 He doesn’t move. Can’t.

You tilt your head, just slightly, and meet his gaze—four burning eyes against your two ordinary ones. 

“Then why don’t you?”

The silence that follows is deafening. 

His hand freezes, claws glinting in the red light, and something flickers in his face—confusion, rage, something uglier he can’t name. Inside, he’s screaming, a howling storm of violence and disgust tearing through him. 

Why doesn’t he? 

He’s gutted men for less, torn women apart for daring to breathe in his direction. You’re nothing—nobody—a speck of dust under his heel. So why is his chest tight, his blood thrumming with something that isn’t hate?

“You’re a disease,” he snarls, voice dropping low, venomous, but his hand falls back to his side, claws curling into a fist. “A weak, pathetic little plague I should’ve stamped out the second I saw you.” 

He steps closer, so close his breath brushes your face, hot and bitter. 

“But you keep looking at me like that—like I won’t—” He cuts off, teeth grinding, and you swear you see his jaw tremble, just for a second.

“Like you won’t what?” you press, soft but steady, and it’s the final crack. 

His control splinters. 

He doesn’t answer—just stares, eyes boring into you, a war raging behind them. He wants to kill you. He wants to touch you. He wants to claw that warmth out of you and keep it for himself, and the contradiction is eating him alive.

The domain trembles, a faint ripple, and then it’s gone. 

You’re back in your room, alone, the bulb flickering overhead like nothing happened. But you feel it—the weight of his gaze lingering, the ghost of his breath on your skin. 

He’s not done with you. 

Not even close.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[pseudospectre]

I thought Tumblr would love to know that the Ronald Reagan monument in Branson is basically just an empty lot now except for the bust up on a pallet, and is currently being used to advertise the Slime Factory next door.

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Obsession Headcanons with Wade Wilson

A/N: Apparently I love pre-relationship headcanons because here we are again. They can totally be read as in-relationship too; just ignore a few of the points

As always, do not read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable!!

Written for this request

CW: possessiveness, obsession, clinginess, touching, stalking, lying, Reader is called babycakes once, stealing, plotting deaths, emotional manipulation, I think elements of this can be considered gaslighting?, dubcon relationship, yandere behavior, creepy behavior

Wade being possessive and obsessive would include…

Clinginess

From the moment he met you, Wade was clingy

But once he realizes just how much you mean to him?

It gets so much worse

Every time you two hang out, he’s touching you in some way

Arm around the shoulders or playing with your hair or laying on your lap

He has to be touching you

Stalking

He’s following you around

Not even when you’re with people

Though it gets much worse when you are

But just… casually

He’s following you to your favorite hangouts. To your work. To where you get your hair cut

He’s following you everywhere

And when you’re with people?

That’s when he starts to show himself

Just little glimpses here and there

Enough to make you doubt yourself without giving anything away

Lying

Of course, he lies about it

“A stalker? Me? Come on, babycakes, you know me better than that”

But he also starts lying about other things

About his job. His life. Making it seem like he’s cleaning up his act

Anything to get your attention and warmth

Stealing

He would absolutely steal your stuff

He does it little by little

Just clothes you never wear or things you wouldn’t miss

Then he gets bolder

Stealing underwear and shirts you love

Pretending you left them over at his place

All so he can bury his face against them and pretend for a moment that it’s you

Plotting

If you even think about someone else while he’s with you, Wade’s plotting to get rid of them

New friend at work? ‘Mysteriously’ goes missing

Old friend from school? Oops, turns out he’s now a super spy working for evil and must be stopped

Family member stopping by? Car accident

He’s slowly but surely pulling you away from others, bringing you closer to him and only him

Emotional manipulation

And the cherry on top?

It’s when he starts ‘opening up’ to you

Trusting you with secrets about him

About his past

About what he went through

Making you sympathize and relate and understand him

Emotional nights leading to moments together

Stolen kisses after a crying session

Sleeping together after a particularly vulnerable night

One thing after another until you’re in a relationship before you can say no

And once you’re in it, he’s doing everything in his power to keep you there

[hollowtakami]

TOGETHER WITH ME, FOREVER

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

CONTENT: obsessive/unhealthy relationship, yandere themes + tropes, clingy gojo, inspired by this! (korehan is such a good va he has me in a chokehold) (pls release me i have a family)

WORD COUNT: 298

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was really fun to write, i’ve been having a lot of yan!gojo brainrot recently so i needed to get this out of my system hehe. just as a small disclaimer, i don’t intend to romanticise these kinds of relationships, this is more of a character study(?)

Yandere!Gojo, who’s clingy to the point where he feels his heart ripped to shreds when you stop meeting his gaze for a second. Why would you need to look at anyone else, when you have him? Don’t you know what you’re doing to him?

Yandere!Gojo, getting jealous at the mere thought of you interacting with others, leaving his side. Letting others hear your voice, be around your presence? It makes him sick, he’ll do anything he can to have you near him, always.

Yandere!Gojo, who’d be so soft and sweet until you do something he sees as wrong. You’ve betrayed his love, broken his heart. He’s going to need to keep you by his side, any means necessary. Constantly holding you close, beckoning you to him forever with handcuffs, he doesn’t care. So long as you’re his, nothing else matters.

Yandere!Gojo, feeling himself break when you look at him with fear glazed over your eyes. He loves you so much, he’d never want to hurt you! He just wants to protect you, keep you safe from harm and from anyone else that dares to come close to you. Tokyo’s missing persons reports seem to have increased at an alarming frequency.

Yandere!Gojo, who reassures you that he’s all you need, forever. If you ever thought otherwise, he’d get rid of any obstacles. He’s the strongest, after all! No need to worry about being hurt or misled by others, not with your darling Satoru around. Forever.

[affectionaddiction]

　　DESIRDARLING 　& 　DESIRYANDERE 　　 two terms in one post

　　TRIGGER WARNING ! 　　mentions of stalking , the "yandere" trope 　　and obsessive behavior.

　　DESIRDARLING

　　⸻ a desirdae identity where one desires 　　for any reason to be a darling, or the object 　　of affection / obsession of a yandere. this 　　could be because of trauma, mental illness, 　　enjoyment of the trope in fictional media, 　　or just because the identifier feels happy 　　using the label. 　　⸻ this label can be transitioned to 　　non-harmfully, but should not be pursued 　　if the identifier is under 18 or if it is not 　　mutually consensual on both sides. this 　　label supports self-inserts and fictional 　　others that align with the "yandere" trope 　　as part of a non-harmful transition.

　　DESIRYANDERE 　　⸻ a desirdae identity where one desires 　　for any reason to be a yandere. this could 　　be due to reclaiming the term yandere as a 　　caricature of bpd symptoms, trauma, 　　enjoyment of the trope in fictional media, 　　or just because the identifier feels happy 　　using the label.

　　⸻ this label can be transitioned to 　　non-harmfully, but should not be pursued 　　if the identifier is under 18 or if it is not 　　mutually consensual on both sides. this 　　label supports self-inserts and fictional 　　others that align with the "yandere" trope 　　as part of a non-harmful transition.

　　EXTRA 　　⸻ misc: 　　if these terms already exist, consider 　　it a recoining or an alternate flag! 　　⸻ tags: 　　@desirdae-archive 　　@radiomogai

[a-998h]

I would love a Yandere!Black Pearl x Reader please!

TRIGGER WARNING: OBSESSION, TOXIC BEHAVIOR, OBJECTIFICATION, AND IMPLICATION OF DEATHS!

You were a cookie who loved the sea, perhaps that's why you became a sailor for the Rebulic. It was a regular day for you, waking up and helping make sure the ship runs smoothly. Though, you and your fellow cremated were unaware of the forming malestorm beneath the sea.

Black Pearl Cookie had been watching your ship since it's planks touched the sea. She wanted to sink it and drown every cookie on board. But doing it so soon wouldn't be much fun. She watched, waited, and calculated for the perfect moment. It was fun, watching you and the other go about your duties, unaware of the dare just beneath the ship.

She often found her gaze drawn to you, and that infuriated her. You're a mere land cookie, so why was she so drawn to you? Maybe... maybe it was a part of her deep, deep inside that still felt compassionate towards land cookies. She watched as you added the wildlife and made sure your dlcrew respected the sea.

"What an interesting land cookice," she would often mutter aloud to the sea.

She would watch for weeks realizing that those feeling she felt to someone long ago, were now aimed at you. But she's knows you won't betray her. She watches as you thank the calm sea ever morning and night.

Her feelings for you push her deeper into the depths of madness. She prepares a spot for you in her groto, treating this as more of welcoming a new pet than an unwilling lover. She planned everything perfectly, now all she had to do was put it into action.

The sea was calm the night before and the day was warm and bright. You were doing your duty, when someone screamed. You turned towards the sound and you all felt a crash and the crunching and snapping of wood. The ship starts to sink as a whirlpool suddenly appeared beneath the ship. You all desperately try to cling onto any form of salvation.

Black Pearl Cookie cackles as the other struggle to stay alfoat. She watches, waiting for when you fall in so she can bring you back to her home. But you hold out longer than anyone though you would. This annoys her as the longer you hold out the longer she has to wait when taking you with her. Using her massive tail she hits the side of the ship you're clinging to. This knocks other lose but you hold from. She is both annoyed and amused by this. Her tail hits the side of the ship like a twisted piñata with her desperate for the prize.

"Come on! Come to me, my precious little pes- I mean pet," she coos from beneath the waves.

You counting to panic and the remaining crew, in a fit of madness and desperation, throw you into the sea. She cackles, grabbing your sinking form and swimming to her domain, not before knocking the remaining cookies into the sea.

That was years ago. You're still trapped in her groto, unable to escape her grasp and influence over the sea. Though, she does take care of you. She feeds you, gives you clothing she steals finds from other cookies, and makes sure you have enough air to breath. Though, she never treated you like an independent cookie, more like a pet dog who needs to listen to whatever she says.