#mary goore being himself

[frankenfaandom]

Mary fluff. Give it.

You ask, I deliver my friend!

Mary Fluff. That's it. I realized I technically did finish it, but I wanted to make it longer so it's still a wip shhh

You had finally gotten him to shower. You forced Mary Goore into the bathroom, shoving him into the tub before turning on the water. The cold water started first, and Mary is /still/ angry about it, an hour later.

He's also angry about another thing. The power outtage.

Of course, the power and water decided to vacate the premises as soon as he had lathered his hair with soap.

"This is your fault." Mary gestures towards his greasy looking hair, the soap suds slipping down his shoulder. It somehow looked greasker than before he got in the shower. You snort, throwing a small towel over his head and shaking it, attempting to dry him off like a wet dog.

"You're fine. The water will come back soon, so will the power. The news said this snow storm wouldn't be terrible like last year's." He shrugged and continued drying his soapy, dripping head with low growl. Once be was somewhat comfortably dry, he laid down in bed and put on netflix. Most likely a slasher, you didn't look as you climbed into his lap and layed on his torso.

Mary smiles, almost shyly, wrapping his arms around you to hold you closer. "Warm." He says, voice slightly scratchy and gruff. You blush, shifting to lay more comfortably with his arms resting above your butt. "It's getting cold without the heat." He shifts slightly, pulling a large blanket up above the both of you. You hadn't even known it was there.

He brings his hands above the blanket, rubbing your back before slyly bringing you up closer to his face. Mary grins before pressing a kiss to your temple, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

You hum, satisfied. "Love you, mare."

"'Love you too." He mutters back, pressing a kiss to your temple again.' "Love you lots. Now pass out or you're gonna get a bunch more kisses that you cant stop commin." You grin, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"As tempting as that is, very much so, I'm tired. Goodnight mare."

"Goodnight doll."

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 6]

Summary: It was only a matter of time before you asked to see Mary's band, but he can't help the rising anxiety that you might just hate what he does… Still, he concedes, and you head to their show with him. If you thought Mary was hot before, oh boy… Now he's irresistible.

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Teasing, sexual tension, cum play, sexual harassment, unwanted physical contact, use of a homophobic slur, violence, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, masturbation (f), cum swallowing, cum play 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Well, look who's back... Mary's here. 😈 Thank you to all those who've waited to patiently for this next chapter. I hope you won't be disappointed... As always, thank you to me besties @her-satanic-wiles and @angellayercake for their encouragement and beta reading services - I adore you both.

AND, this one's dedicated to @kissingghouls, who had a birthday during the week and tested a little snippet of this chapter out for me 👀 I hope you love the rest of it 💕

You could have lay there all night. Truthfully, you couldn’t think of anywhere else in the world you’d rather be right now besides buried in blankets and pillows in Mary’s arms, looking out at the moon rippling across the water of the lake. The radio still played from the cab of his van, and you were content to listen to Mary singing along to his favourite songs under his breath.  

You could feel him vibrating beneath you as he sang, your back pressed to his chest and laying against him between his legs. Every so often, he’d press a kiss to the side of your head, or readjust the way his hands lay across your stomach with his fingers intertwined with yours. You were just so comfortable, never having felt so safe and wanted before.  

“Do you sing in your band, too?” you asked him, fiddling with the rings on his fingers absentmindedly. 

“Hm? Oh, uh... Yeah I guess I do.” You turned your head to look at him, suspicion creasing your brow. 

“You guess?” 

“Well, it’s kinda more... growling? Some screaming. Bit of singing,” he shrugged, a little sheepish. 

“Aw, and here’s me thinking I was the only one you growled for,” you teased, which earned you a laugh.  

“Well you’re the only one who can drag it outta me like that,” he flirted, bouncing his eyebrows and planting a lingering kiss to the top of your cheek.  

You got comfortable again, settling into his chest and wrapping his arms tighter around you. A few moments of blissful quiet passed as you thought about him on stage; what would he sound like? Look like? Was he good? You wanted to know. 

“I wanna see you play,” you said earnestly. “when are you playing next?” 

Mary clammed up a little behind you, suddenly wracked with insecurity and anxiety at the thought of you coming to one of his gigs. It’d feel pretty shitty if you didn’t like his music, and he was very aware that it wasn’t for everyone. While you never complained at the heavier stations on his van radio, you also didn’t strike him as the type to enjoy death metal. You were merely being polite, he was sure of it...  

But then, this was him stereotyping again. Consciously now, he could see it and call himself out before the words left his mouth.  

“Uh... We actually have one on Saturday.” You noticed the nervousness in his tone, the hesitation. You understood why; it must be a little scary to show someone you care about the passion that drives you as fiercely as music drove Mary. 

“I don’t have to come if that’s too soon, I get it,” you tried to reassure him, turning around and smiling sweetly at him. But even that was enough to quell some of his anxiety, just your consideration.  

“You know what?” he sat upright then, angling you a little better while the blankets wrapped around you fell to your waist, exposing you both to the colder night air. “I want you there. Even if you hate us, be nice to see a pretty face out there for me.” 

You rolled your eyes at him playfully, “You just want a groupie, huh?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” he hummed, grinning cheekily and leaning into you to press his lips to yours. You giggled against his lips, letting him curl around you as you melted into each other. It felt so easy to you now, so unbelievably natural. You had to ask yourself why you had taken so long to get here. You could have had this all long, if the pair of you weren’t so stuck in those stereotypical little bubbles of yours.  

But you were here now, and that’s what mattered. Not without its future flaws, you were sure, but it was a start.  

Mary finished off the last song of practise without issue. By now, the band knew every song inside and out, so band practise was only ever a formality, or an excuse to get together and jam. But Davey always called one just before a show, in case there were any issues to iron out and to put together a running order for the setlist. He had a unit where they practised often, all their stage equipment stored in there save for their guitars. 

“So where you been, Goore? Dropped off the face of the earth lately. Last time I saw you was days ago at the garage...” Forrest smirked with an accusation brewing behind his eyes – Mary could tell. He continued winding up the cable in his hands to avoid his eye contact, shaking his head with a smile he could barely hide no matter how hard he tried. That’s what thinking of you did to him. 

“Ah y’know, about,” he avoided. 

“Bullshit, you got a call and bolted. I remember.” 

Mary’s arms slumped by his sides in exasperation, the curled up cable flapping against his thigh.  

“Yeah, and before that last time we saw you was the bicentennial... Fuck’s up with you?” Jed was interested now, shoving his drumsticks into his beat up old backpack that had seen better days. Even Davey who was slotting his bass into its case very carefully – that thing was his baby, often reminding everyone it cost more than their rents combined – was suddenly very interested in where the elusive Mary Goore had been the last couple of weeks. 

“You can’t even hide the smile. It’s a girl, ain’t it?” he chimed in, teasing him like a kid in a playground. “You gone soft?” 

“Nah just had a lot of guitars to work on at the shop lately,” Mary shrugged, tucking the cable away into his own guitar case. 

“Your pants are scorching right now, Mare...” Jed grinned, hopping up to sit on an amp stack.  

Mary finally stood up straight and sighed, looking around at the guys who all had expectant looks on their faces. He knew he’d have to tell them eventually – they were only going to meet you in a few days anyway. He can’t hide you forever, especially when he’d been so sensitive about being hidden himself in your world... He was many things, but a hypocrite he was not. 

“Alright, fine... Yeah, there’s a girl.” The nerves were evident in his voice, quieter and a little stuttery. Of course, the guys all jumped down his throat with “ooh”s and “wheeey”s, Jed even shoving his shoulder in a weird masculine display of celebration.  

“Been holed up somewhere with some broad, ey?” he waggled his eyebrows at him. “Come on then, who is she?” 

Mary was clamming up, having no idea how they were going to react to this. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shuffled on his feet. Forrest noticed his change, and squinted at him as he observed.  

This wasn’t like him. Forrest was the most mature of the guys, had known Mary the longest – since they were kids – and he was very aware there were multiple versions of him. The front he showed the world, and the sensitive and broken guy underneath. Seeing him get nervous about a girl though... that had never happened before. 

“You wouldn’t really know her, she’s not really... from our circle...” Mary dodged the truth as long as he could, but it was inevitable.  

“Yeah no shit, between us we’ve exhausted our “circle”,” Davey laughed, making air quotes with his fingers. Mary winced at the thought of his promiscuous reputation; not a past he was all that proud of... 

“You remember back at the bar, a few weeks ago...?” he started, and Jed jumped in immediately. 

“That girl you stormed right past? You went back?” He leaned forward where he sat on the amp, excited to hear the gory details he definitely was not getting.  

“No-” 

“No fucking way,” Davey jumped in, recalling the night in question. “You’re still fucking her majesty?”  

“She’s not-” Mary tried to get a word in, but Davey and Jed were having too much fun with this, interrupting him. 

“The Mayor’s daughter? Fuckin’ hell, Mare,” he laughed with uncontained glee at the prospect. “I know she’s a hot piece of ass, but seriously? Girls like her ain’t into guys like us.” 

Mary’s fists clenched at his sides. It was becoming clear the stereotypes were not contained to just you and him, but you’d both grown up in a world perpetuated by them. Forrest watched the scene unfold quietly, observing Mary’s reactions that were so out of pocket for him. 

“Well she did fuck him in a public bathroom that night, Jed,” Davey joined Jed’s delight. “Daddy’s girl’s got a kinky side.”  

“Shut the fuck up, Davey,” Forrest interjected on Mary’s behalf. Everyone’s heads whipped toward him, including Mary’s. “Fucking neanderthals, man...” The smiles from their faces were wiped clean, their proverbial tails hanging between their legs.  

Forrest walked to stand beside Mary, folding his arms across his chest. “This could be a dangerous game to play, Mare. If her dad finds out...” 

“He already kicked her out. For... other reasons...” Mary didn’t want to divulge too much of your shit to them, that wasn’t his place. He feared he’d already said too much when he saw the looks of shock and confusion on their faces. “She’s been staying with me the last few days.”  

“Move pretty quick, don’t you?” laughed Jed, who was thrown a look of caution by Forrest and immediately shut up again with a mumbled, “sorry”.  

“So you like her then, huh?” Forrest enquired with a smug smile. Mary nodded, biting his thumb nail. “She coming to the show?” 

Jed snickered at the thought, effectively saying “yeah, as if she’d be into our music” without having to say the actual words. Mary shot him a warning glare. 

“Yeah, she is actually,” he didn’t take his eyes off Jed, just begging him to say one more shitty thing. He didn’t.  

“Nice, well I’ll train the apes up and have ‘em civilised for the lady. Don’t worry about it.” Forrest slapped a hand on Mary’s back in support, heading back over to pack up and clicking his fingers in the other’s direction to get them moving too.  

Mary was grateful for Forrest stepping in like that. There was a deeper bond with him than the others, not just on account of the longevity of their friendship, but he’d been there through all of Mary’s shit. For a long time, Forrest was the only friend he had and if anybody understood him, it was him.  

Forrest had his own shit too – neglectful parents, like Mary, but in different ways. High-powered, career driven types. They’d leave him with a nanny and swan off on business trips and fancy vacations, so he knew loneliness in his own way too.  

While his friends were always a good laugh, Davey and Jed just weren’t on quite the same wavelength. Where Forrest and Mary had matured a little, grown up with a smidge of respect, they were trailing behind. They were still young men, trapped in rebellion, angst and male bravado. They needed reigning in from time to time, usually by Mary’s or Forrest’s hand but on more than one occasion they’d had their asses kicked outside a bar for their mouth. The point is, they were learning. Slowly, but they were learning...  

Once the guys packed up their stuff – largely in silence – Davey and Jed muttered a ‘see ya later’ as they filtered out of the unit, but Forrest hung back as Mary rolled down the shutters and padlocked them shut. 

“Hey Mare, does uh... Does she know?” Forrest asked, his voice low as the others walked down the alley of other units just ahead of them. 

“Know what?” he asked, a little confused. “That you guys made a bet with me the first night? Yeah she knew that then, we laughed about it,” he shrugged.  

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Forrest scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He hated bringing this up, it was such a sore subject for Mary... “Does she know... what her dad did?” 

Mary’s eyes widened as it hit him – no, you didn’t know that. Mary hadn’t divulged that much to you, and he didn’t exactly intend to...  

“No. She doesn’t need to,” he shrugged nonchalantly, avoiding the subject. Forrest didn’t press the matter, not wanting to drag Mary down that road any more than he already had. Instead, they took a few steps in silence.  

“So go on then, tell me what she’s like...” Forrest nudged his shoulder as the two of them walked out to the parking lot. Mary smiled at the ground, babbling and singing your praises for as long as Forrest would allow him.  

Watching Mary apply his make-up was becoming one of your favourite past times. He was so particular about it, specifically tonight as he applied it in the dingy little mirror in the corner of their dressing room. Day to day, he cared a little less but tonight was important – every gig was, to him.  

It became very apparent to you very quickly that he took his shows very seriously. As much as he was there to have fun, this was more than just a hobby to him. He wanted this to go somewhere, to make something of himself. This was a dream that he’d worked his skinny little ass off for, and so everything had to be just right, his before-show rituals performed the same as always.  

But there you sat, watching him from the battered two-seater couch in the room as he added the final touches to his skull paint. He pulled back from the mirror, looking at his reflection and smirking with a nod of satisfaction. But then he caught you in that mirror behind him, watching him without an attempt to look away.  

“Lookin’ good, Goore,” you told him, leaning forward on your elbows, chin resting in your palm.  

“I guess, but it’s missing something...” He seemed unbothered, making no move to add any more paints.  

“The blood, right?” you asked, but he shrugged.  

“Wanna try something new. Get over here, doll,” he instructed, beckoning you over. You rose from your seat, closing the distance between you both. He leaned back onto the sink, folding his arms over his chest as you got a little closer than necessary, stood between his feet and leaning your hands on the edges of the sink. Mere inches separated you, and you waited for him to continue. 

“That’s a pretty shade of lipstick you got on tonight,” he flirted, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb and inspecting the red residue that lingered on it when he pulled back.  

“You should recognise it, not the first time I’ve worn it for you.” If he remembered right, he’d know you wore it the first time he’d snuck in through your bedroom window; the same pretty shade of blood red. “You asked me back then if I thought it would look good on you, and then you kissed me.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused, feigning thoughtfulness. “And it did look good on me...” You giggled at that, and it damn near sent Mary to his knees right there and then. He would never get fucking tired of that giggle. “Have you got it on you?” he asked, before he could get too distracted by that pretty little sound. 

“Of course,” you said, patting the little purse hanging from your shoulder and down by your hip. 

“Good, you might need a touch up when I’m done with you,” he smirked. “Think you can make some pretty little lipstick marks for me?” You nodded, moving in to kiss him immediately but he stopped you, his finger on your lip. You pouted, sagging your shoulders.  

He pulled his finger from your lips and pointed it to his cheek bone, where the black met the white of his thin and chalky paints. You took the initiative, and stood up on your toes to reach, planting a very deliberate kiss to the area. When you pulled back, you marvelled at your work; the prettiest lip stain sat where you’d pressed your lips against him. Mary turned his head to look sideways into the mirror behind him, smirking at the transfer.  

“Perfect, need more though,” he said, turning back to you and pointing now at his jawline on the other side of his face. You obliged eagerly, lingering just a little longer this time and pressing your body against his where he leaned on the sink. You could feel his body tense under you, like he was trying to act cool and aloof but fighting an urge rising inside him... 

“Can I choose a spot?” you teased by his ear, letting your breasts press into his chest just a little...  

“Choose wisely, doll...” he warned, with no real warning behind it whatsoever. But you already had a spot in mind...  

You tucked your head just under his chin, letting your warm breath fan over the expanse of skin around his neck before gently placing your lips directly over his Adam’s apple. You felt it bob as he swallowed with anxiety, the tension of holding back his urges to devour you becoming almost unbearable. You loved that you had this effect on him... He was supposed to be this cocky, self-assured little badass; so how come you could have him tensing and straining with just a few simple, light kisses? Because you drove him wild. 

You lifted your hands from the edges of the sink, instead settling them on his waist while you parted your lips against his neck, letting your tongue lap at the skin briefly before pulling back with a smirk just as he let out a hum of satisfaction. You saw his head thrown back, his eyes shut just before he realised you’d disappeared and snapped his gaze back to you. The look on his face was priceless, silently asking you why the hell you’d stopped.  

“Didn’t wanna smudge it,” you shrugged, smirking. 

“You fucking minx,” he chuckled.  

“One more,” you told him, digging through your purse to add another layer of red to your lips so you could leave the most definitive print this time. Then you leaned in one more time, as if you were going to kiss him on the lips – which frankly, by now, he was desperate for. But you dodged his advance and pressed your lips just to the corner of his mouth, planting a firm, red lip stain so prettily for him.  

“There,” you leaned back, still crowding his space and holding his waist, “looks good.” 

“Not fair of you to tease me like that when the guys are gonna be here any minute, and I can’t bend you over this sink and fuck you dumb,” he growled, knowing full well the effect only his words had on you. His brash vulgarity was such a turn on to you, especially now that you’d experienced Mary’s sweeter side, his tenderness and gentility. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, and knowing what a softie he could be when feelings were involved, it was all the more exciting when Hyde came out to play... 

He pinched your chin between his thumb and knuckle, angling your head to tilt up to him a little more. “I seem to remember you wanted to see how pretty this shade looked smothered all over my cock, hm?” 

Damn him. You had said that... Back in your bedroom that night, but he’d denied you in favour of being the one to taste you instead. If you had the time right now, you’d have dropped to your knees in a heartbeat, but that door would swing open at any moment, his friends and bandmates arriving to get set up and head out on stage. You hadn’t tasted Mary since the very first time you’d slept together, and frankly, your mouth watered at the thought.  

“Shame I’ll have to wait a little longer,” you whined, pouting like a spoilt brat who didn’t get her way, but it only made Mary’s grin wider as he looked down at you.  

As if Satan himself had planned the timing, the door handle to the dressing room rattled, alerting you to the presence of his bandmates arriving and startling you both to stand upright, Mary tucking you into his side with an arm around your shoulder almost protectively.  

“Goore!” Jed strolled into the dressing room with his arms wide open, followed by Davey and Forrest lugging equipment in and glaring at the back of his head for not pulling his damn weight and carrying some of this shit himself. Jed walked straight up to Mary, ignoring your presence at first and forcing Mary into a typical ‘bro hug’ with heavy slaps to each other’s backs in greeting. But then he finally turned to you, a cheeky and mischievous look in his eye. “And this must be the Dutchess...”  

Mary froze, desperately trying to think of something to say in your defence, anything to turn the attention away from Jed’s comment that he could only imagine stung so much worse with everything you’d been through lately. But he couldn’t think of anything... He’d told them to be good. To welcome you, to be fucking decent and immediately, Jed waltzed in and had to poke at an open wound.  

Davey and Forrest stopped dead too, waiting in silence, everyone aware of the tension that lay heavy in the room just from one snide little dig at your family history...  

You looked to Mary next to you and smirked, before turning back to Jed and folding your arms over your chest. You took a step towards him, looking him up and down as if inspecting him before putting on your best snooty impression, and saying, “I think you’re supposed to kneel before a Dutchess, are you not?”  

Another moment of silence passed, Jed’s face twisting from one of slight shock, to mild amusement. “Nah, I’m sure Goore kneels at your feet often enough for everyone,” he teased, winking at you. “I’m Jed,” he introduced, holding a hand out to you which you gladly took, watching as he lifted the back of your hand to kiss the back of it briefly and bow his head in mock respect.  

“I remember,” you laughed, looking back at Mary who was looking at you with concern, but also pride... You had handled that better than he could have expected, cleverly inserting yourself into the humour rather than allowing yourself to be offended by it. You took the power away from Jed, and instead, earned his respect. You didn’t miss his exhale of relief.  

“What’s with the lipstick, Mare?” Jed asked, pointing generally at his face. The others looked over too, now registering it wasn’t fake blood on his face, but lipstick – suspiciously the same colour as you were wearing. 

“Trying something new,” Mary shrugged with a smirk. 

“That your way of telling the ladies you’re taken now, eh?” Davey laughed, waggling his eyebrows. “Goore is off the market!” 

“Better be, I don’t wanna have to get the claws out,” you warned, stepping back into Mary’s side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You dropped your voice a little lower so only Mary could hear, “at least, not for anyone but you.”  

Mary just smirked down at you, biting his lip at the thought of your nails dragging across his flesh in the heat of passion later on tonight. You were being very distracting this evening... 

Forrest and Davey reintroduced themselves to you once they’d set the equipment they carried down, the room settling into a far less tense environment. You sat yourself back down on the small couch and let the preparation for their gig unfold before you, chiming into conversation every now and then where you saw fit. Jed would throw you a few more jabs, but you managed to bat them right back at him like it was child’s play. And with each comeback, you earned just a tad bit more respect out of not only him, but Davey and Forrest too.  

The guys went to soundcheck before the venue opened, while you hung back in the dressing room citing that you wanted to see the real show first. You’d rather see Mary in all his glory and performing than playing to an empty club for the first time. When they came back in, you could see the excitement had grown within the band, the buzz starting to build for the show now that they’d set up and were ready to go.  

The beers had started to flow, just a few to keep them coherent enough to play of course, but the atmosphere was changing, building right up until the moment the stage manager came to collect them. The guys all downed the remainder of their beers, gathering whatever little bits they needed before heading out on stage. The guys wandered out of the door without Mary, leaving the two of you alone. 

Mary pulled you to your feet from the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Keep yourself safe in the crowd, yeah? Can get a bit rowdy...” he warned, a hint of anxiety present in his features. Not just at the thought of you alone in a crowd of metalheads moshing without a care in the world, but at the thought that you might just hate his music. That thought had been niggling away at him for days, ever since he first invited you.  

“I’ll be fine, gonna stick by the bar so you know where to find me when you get off stage,” you assured, pulling gently on the spike of hair he’d now styled in front of his face to sharpen the point for him. “Oh, wait!” 

You rushed out of his hold and towards his backpack, digging through it until you found his make-up kit and rushed back to him. You picked out the little vial of fake blood you knew he kept in there, dropping the kit down on the couch behind you.  

“Can’t go out there and be ‘Mary Goore’ without the ‘Goore’, hm?” you winked, uncapping the bottle and resting the nozzle on his hairline, letting it drip and dribble down his face just enough that it wouldn’t interfere with the pretty lip stains you made earlier. You screwed the cap back on and threw it back into the bag behind you. 

“Part of me is starting to think the blood turns you on a little...” he taunted, that stupid little smirk on his face again. You wanted to one-up him, to have the last damn word... And so, with a quick check to make sure the two of you were in fact alone, you grabbed his wrist and directed his hand down to hem of the short denim skirt you were wearing, pushing it up your inner thigh until you could manoeuvre his fingertips to push the edge of your panties to one side and slide over the little mess that all this damn teasing had caused, coating his fingers in it... 

You pulled his hand from under your skirt and lifted it to between the two of you, giggling in a way that had him stirring beneath his jeans. 

“I think maybe it does...” you tormented, letting go of his wrist and making your way to the doorway, leaning against it as if you were about to leave. Mary stood in awe of you, his hand still hovering in front of him as he looked between you and the shine on his fingertips a few times before snapping back to reality and realising he had a damn show to put on.  

He did the only rational thing he could think to, shoving his slick fingers into his mouth to clean them off while he held eye contact with you. You felt yourself flutter at the sight, gripping onto the doorframe a little tighter. This mother fucker really knew how to rile you up... 

“I’ll need more of that later, doll,” he told you sternly, stepping towards you. You took it as your cue to run, heading down the hall towards the club laughing almost maniacally as Mary stomped after you, his anxiety over performing for you replaced with a simmering need to get it over with so he could just fucking have you.  

It had only been ten minutes since you’d left the dressing room, but you were getting a little antsy waiting... This wasn’t your usual scene, and you’d hoped that maybe your first time in a goth club you’d have Mary at your side to make the experience a little less intimidating. The majority of the crowd were men, all metalheads, and while you were more comfortable here than at any political event or frat party you’d ever been to, you were sure you stuck out like a sore thumb.  

This club was in the city, and so you weren’t worried about anybody really knowing who you were save for Mary and his bandmates. But you were still finding yourself, figuring out your style and the wonderful thing about goth clubs is that everybody here went all out for the aesthetic. You felt boring, mundane even in the outfit you’d chosen. Sure, it was all black, but you’d thought the fishnet top over a black cami was daring... But in this scene, it wasn’t.  

You felt out of place, and without Mary at your side, you were sure you didn’t blend in nearly as much as you were hoping to. So, keeping to the edge of the club by the bar felt like a safe option. While everyone’s eyes were up front on the stage, you could stand back and watch as your boyfriend – well, you hadn’t exactly talked about a label, but you figured – owned the stage. And watch, you did. 

From the second Mary got up on that stage, you couldn’t look away. You hadn’t seen him play much, just a little here and there on that battered old acoustic of his, but never like this... He had such a command to him, this enigmatic energy that captivated you. Clearly, he was in his element. He’d told you it was his dream to perform, to be successful with his music and watching him now, you could see he put every fucking ounce of his soul into it.  

His music was heavy; you expected that. The lyrics were dark, screamed and growled into the microphone like he was possessed. You could understand why he was nervous for you to hear it, to see this dark side of Mary. Music like this wouldn’t appeal to the masses, sure, but it certainly did to you. He was starting to learn there was a dark side to you too, buried and covered up with pretty pink bows and glitter but it was in there. No wonder you were attracted to Mary like a moth to a flame...  

There was something about him on stage that just sparked something... Perhaps the way he handled his guitar, his fingers moving so deftly through the manic riffs he shredded. Perhaps it was the way he growled into the microphone; a deep, gravelly noise that made your breath catch in your lungs. Perhaps it was the way the crowd responded to him, adoring him and screaming for him and yet you knew that he was yours. 

The combination of it all was driving you wild. Riling each other up before the show certainly hadn’t helped, but you found yourself forgetting you were ever anxious to step foot in a club like this alone and focussing solely on him. With each song, you fell deeper into this almost obsessive need for him. 

Your demise finally came when a few songs into the set, his eyes landed on you. And the fucker smirked. 

With his eyes trained on you, he spoke into the mic. 

“Are you morbid?” he growled. The crowd screamed back at him, but he wasn’t talking to them. Not really.  

You bit your lip, unable to look away from him or even blink as he stared at you, as if he was waiting for you and you only to respond.  

“I said, are you morbid?” he insisted, the crowd screaming back again, louder this time. All you could do was nod pathetically, squeezing your thighs together and squirming just from the way he sounded, his stare... His smirk spread into a menacingly dark grin, his make-up and the lighting acting to enhance his devilish persona. He was turning you on, and he could see it.  

“Fuck yeah, you are,” he snarled, immediately running his fingers along the strings of his guitar to make it screech and diving into the next song. You could have sworn you felt the ghost of his touch as he did, as if his fingers were running their way up your inner thigh and not the neck of his guitar – the thought had your cheeks flushing, hidden under the dim lighting of the club.  

Watching his set was like torture. You tried to focus on the songs, to get into the music and as much as you were enjoying it you just couldn’t tear your eyes from him. When you’d first met Mary at the dive bar, he’d had this arrogance, this cocky self-confidence to him that lured you in but the more you got to know Mary, the more you knew that was a front a lot of the time. He had that softer side, that insecurity that he masked. But this version of Mary? This was where his true confidence lay, and it might just be the sexiest thing you had ever seen.  

As all good things must come to an end, so did their set. The crowd cheered and roared for them, and you found yourself fidgeting while you waited for them to come off stage, pack up their gear and for Mary to come and find you. Impatience had you leaning on the bar, beer in hand and tapping your foot to the metal playing through the club now that the show was over. When you finally felt two strong hands sliding around your waist from behind you, you let out a sigh of relief, smiling to yourself as you span in their grasp. 

“And what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in this dive, huh?” 

It wasn’t Mary.  

A strange faced smirked down at you, a thick and heavy beard to match the blonde hair that fell in untamed waved past his shoulders. His lip was pierced, straining from where he bit it while his eyes drank you in from head to toe as if you were some kind of prize. He reeked of cheap spirits and sweat, his forehead shining under the club lights as if he’d been in the mosh pit for the duration of the set.  

Beside him was someone you’d mistake for his twin, if it weren’t for the black hair and obvious difference in size and stature. The man holding you was tall, but solid. His friend was shorter, his body unhealthily thick. But still, he matched the description of your metalhead stereotype, and he too was dragging his eyes all over your body. 

Immediately your smile dropped and you shoved both hands into the guy’s chest. He stayed put, his solid frame too strong to waver but your push forced you back against the bar far enough to get out of his hold.  

“Waiting for my boyfriend, actually,” you snapped, laced with disgust. The blonde guy just laughed incredulously, as if he didn’t believe you.  

“I don’t see no boyfriend,” he said, looking from side to side as if that proved his point. He stepped further towards you, trapping you against the bar and holding onto your waist again. “Can pretend I am for the night if you want?” 

He leaned into you as if he were going to kiss your neck, but you leaned further back and out of the way, trying to push him away from you. All you could do was stop him just short, rather than rid your body of his hold completely. 

“Yeah, no thanks. Get off me!” you yelled.  

“Don’t play hard to get, darlin’. He’s just bein’ friendly!” his buddy chimed in, laughing as he took a swig of a drink he clutched with his sweaty little sausage fingers.  

“Said I’m waiting for my fucking boyfriend, piss off!” You gave him one final shove, and while he took a step back, he didn’t let go of you.  

“I got a better offer, baby. You could have us both if you wanted...” he smirked, glancing back at his friend who laughed with him.  

“Don’t think she wants either of you, Corbin.” Relief set in when you heard his voice materialising next to you, a hand with rings you recognised planting itself on this guy’s chest and pushing him back with enough force that he finally let go of you.  

Mary stepped between you both, squaring up to the blonde without a second thought.  

“The fuck would you know about it, Goore?” The blonde – who you now understood to be named Corbin – sneered, clearly irritated by the arrival of Mary instantly. 

“Well, ya see, that’s my girlfriend you had your grubby little paws all over. And I don’t really like it when people touch my things,” he shrugged, but his tone was far from indifferent.  

Corbin and his greasy little friend roared with laughter, as if the idea of Mary and you was the funniest joke they’d ever heard. That pissed you off... 

“As if a hot piece of ass like that’s gonna fuck you,” he roared, shoving Mary’s shoulder. You could see Mary take a deep, slow breath to collect himself. This guy was testing his damn patience. And you’d never seen Mary handle a situation like this before. But what you did know, was he was fiercely protective of the people he lo- well, people he cared for... You weren’t sure what was about to happen, but you just wanted these pricks to fuck off. 

“Watch your mouth, man,” he warned, his fists curling up at his sides until his knuckles turned white. Corbin and his buddy were still laughing.  

“Hey, hey darlin’... blink twice if you wanna ditch this fag and come hang out with some real fuckin’ men,” Corbin snorted, shoving Mary’s shoulder again. “A girl like you deserves a real dickin’ down!” 

You didn’t hesitate, hocking back a decent glob of spit and launching it in his direction. The laughter ceased immediately as it smacked him on his cheek with a wet splat, dripping into his beard as he jolted in surprise. He wiped it with his hand, flicking it to the floor and while his gaze darkened on you.  

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he sneered, stepping towards you threateningly as if he were going to grab you but Mary got in the way without hesitation, shoving him and landing a solid punch to Corbin’s cheek with a sickening crack that had everyone within radius turning to look at the commotion.  

Within seconds Corbin retaliated, grabbing Mary’s shirt with two fists and headbutting him, shoving him back against you and in turn, the bar. Bottles knocked to the floor, smashing as Mary took a punch to the nose before getting his footing and throwing one back.  

It all happened too quickly, a brawl breaking out so fast as you got shoved to the side and landed on shards of glass cutting into your palm. You ignored the pain and the wet feeling on your hands in favour of trying to grab the collar of Corbin to drag him off, but his black-haired friend grabbed you instead, pulling your arms behind your back and holding you against him as you watched Mary trying to overpower this solid piece of shit.  

“Mary!” you shrieked at him, turning to the asshole holding you back. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking inbred bastard!” 

From the crowd, Forrest appeared next to you and dove into the fray, grabbing Corbin’s collar like you had failed to and dragging him backwards to the floor, straddling him and landing a punch or two himself to his gut. Mary leaned over the bar, catching his breath while two men in black polos and cargos charged in, one pulling Forrest from Corbin, the other pulling him up and restraining him with his arms behind his back.  

Forrest immediately backed down, holding his hands up in the air while the bouncer who’d intervened let him go, focussing his attention on the asshole still trying to claw his way to Mary. In a last ditch attempt, you kicked your heel between your captor’s legs and tucked it behind his ankle, pulling it until he fell to the floor and freed you. You ran to Mary without hesitation, pulling him to stand upright and holding his head in your bleeding hands to inspect the damage. You couldn’t tell if all this blood was yours or his. 

“You gotta keep that bitch on a fucking leash, Goore!” Corbin screamed, still struggling against the bouncer to get a few more swings in. Mary lurched towards him, but you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back to you.  

“You’re done, man!” the bouncer yelled at him, starting to drag him through the crowd of onlookers than had gathered. Corbin’s face projected a vile expression of pure hatred, smeared in blood that matted his hair and beard. 

“I’m nowhere fucking near done, you watch,” he threatened, “you’re an easy guy to track down, Goore! I’ll fuckin’ find you!” 

Mary glared at him as the bouncers dragged Corbin and his friend out of the club, kicking them to the curb. You diverted his attention back to you, gently pulling on his jawline and cupping his face to take a good look at him and remind him that you were right here and you were okay, in the hope it might dissipate the fury in him.  

Forrest stepped up to Mary, concern creasing his brow. He’d managed to avoid injury, no fresh blood on him anywhere but his knuckles. 

“You good, man? I can’t tell what’s fake and what’s real...” He waved his finger at Mary’s face. Mary smeared the back of his hand against his bust lip, scoffing at the sight of real blood on his hand. “Corbin’s a dick, you know he’s always lookin’ for trouble, man,” Forrest scolded, “You can’t rise to it!” 

“He needs to learn not to run his fuckin’ mouth,” Mary growled.  

“Hey, enough, tough guy...” you told him, lightly smacking his chest. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up.” You took his hand in yours, weaving your fingers in his despite the blood and pulling him through the crowd towards the door you’d come through earlier that lead to the green room backstage.  

The heavy music of the club quietened to a dull roar behind you as the backstage door shut, and you lead Mary down the hall to the dressing room. He was silent, stewing in his head over the things Corbin had said to him, mulling over his anger. When you got him inside, you locked the door behind you, wanting a moment of quiet to patch him up. You let go of his hand and grabbed his make-up kit that you’d chucked on the couch, heading over to the sink you’d pressed him against earlier to wash your own cut up hands and dampen some cotton pads from his bag.  

He lingered by the door, awkwardly stood in silence while you filled the sink. You hadn’t said a word to him, and frankly, Mary was terrified he’d gone too far, that you were pissed at him – or worse, disappointed. He never wanted you to see him like that, he wanted to be better, but he’d stooped to the level of a mindless thug because he couldn’t control how he reacted when it came to you. He’d have let it slide at the comments about him, but the second Corbin spoke down to you? He may as well have waved a red flag to a bull. 

“Come here,” you told him softly, holding your hand out to him. Without a word he did as he was told, standing next to you by the sink while you ran the cotton pads under the warm water. Lightly, you began to dab at a wound by his eyebrow.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled quietly. “Didn’t wanna fly off the handle like that.” You smiled as you dabbed at his face, replacing the bloodied pad for another fresh one.  

“Always rushing to save me,” you cooed, “my hero.” Mary chuckled at that, because of course he rushed in to save you – as if he ever wouldn’t... 

“You’re okay though, right?” he asked, tilting your chin you guide your eyes to his for a moment. He was so gentle, searching with genuine concern. You just smiled at him and nodded. “Did you at least enjoy the show?” he asked, changing the subject now he knew you were okay, and figured you weren’t mad at him. If you were, he’d know it by now.  

“I think you know that I did,” you joked, coyly. “You were incredible up there.” 

Mary smirked down at you, battling between his sense of relief that you hadn’t despised the heavy music and his smugness at the blush that was no longer hidden in the dim lights of the club. Frankly though, you had started this. You turned him on before he went on stage, and where else was he supposed to channel that energy?  

“Oh yeah? What did you like about it?” He feigned innocence, letting the smugness win. Of course he did, this was Mary after all... You thought for a moment, avoiding his watching eyes and continuing to dab at the blood that had dribbled down his face and collected around his nose and lip.  

“Well, y’know... Just the control you had of the crowd, like they were eating out of the palm of your hand for most of it.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought, “You do like it when I take control, huh?” This fucking guy. The blush on your cheeks returned hotter than ever, radiating across your face.  

“Shut up, I’m cleaning you up,” you told him, desperately trying to hide the smile fighting to curl your lips.  

“What for? Thought the blood turned you on...”  

Only Mary could go from being involved in a bar fight that left him covered in blood with contusions on his face, to doing his very best to rile you up. But perhaps you were just the right amount of fucked up for him, because it was working.  

Your arms sagged to your sides and you finally made eye contact with Mary. He was staring down at you intensely, waiting in silence with that conceited little twinkle in his eye that was already starting to turn a shade of purple under the smeared remains of his make up. He leaned against the sink again, parting his knees and pulling you towards him by grabbing the belt loops on your skirt and tugging gently. You followed him too easily for your liking, only needing the gentlest of coaxing.  

“I thought... you were morbid,” he tormented, just like he had from the stage. Your chest seemed to flutter, heart stumbling over its own rhythm just as the words in your brain you thought you might use to respond did. But you were rendered speechless, hypnotised even.  

Even partially cleaned up, Mary looked rough. What you couldn’t understand, is why it seemed to excite you the way it did. Was it knowing that he’d suffered his injuries while fighting for you? Was it the thought that he’d fought a guy twice his size just to defend you? Or did the split lip and bruising just give him an even more menacing look that flooded your body with uncontrolled heat? 

You found yourself leaning into him, hesitating as your lips barely brushed his when you remembered they were injured, and a kiss would surely hurt him – especially the kind you were looking for.  

He raised his hand to pinch your bottom lip again, just as he had earlier, inspecting the colour of them once again. 

“That really is a pretty shade, doll...” His voice rumbled in his chest; you felt it, now that you were so close to him.  

“Blood red,” you whispered, slightly garbled thanks to his grip on your lip. He grinned at that, the most beautifully sadistic little grin, before he let go and pushed his battered lips against yours in a deliberate and heated kiss.  

He grunted on impact, pain shooting through his lip but it only spurred him on. Mary was no stranger to mixing pain with pleasure and for you he’d take it all. He didn’t hold back and didn’t expect you to either, your lips clashing together as you found a rhythm. Your hands – now barely bleeding, but still tender – planted themselves on his chest when he pulled you closer by your belt loops again, having you lean so far into him your hips crashed into his.  

His hands held you in place like that as he forced his tongue past your lips, lapping at yours almost grotesquely. It had been a while since you’d seen Mary’s feral side, but here he was under the dressing room’s harsh luminescent lights trying to devour you as if you were his last meal on death row. Your hands grabbed at his chest, nails scratched at him to try and grip onto him but falling short thanks to the barrier of his shirt.  

Hands grabbed at everything they could, both of you seeking the other out and feeling as if close just wasn’t close enough no matter how harshly you pressed against each other. You could feel his jeans growing solid, taught under you and just the mere thought of him hardening at this alone had you pressing your thighs together and pushing your hips into his as much as possible.  

Mary pulled his lips from yours just for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as he groaned at the intoxicating mix of the pain that pulsed through them and the pleasure that pulsed through his growing erection. 

“Now’s your chance, doll,” he panted. You looked him in the eye, glaring intensely back and forth at one another. “Show me how pretty it looks, hm?” 

It took you a second, but then the penny dropped...  

“I seem to remember you wanted to see how pretty this shade looked smothered all over my cock, hm?” 

When that penny dropped, so did you, immediately falling to your knees between his feet and reaching for the studded belt that held his jeans up. He watched through hooded eyes, gripping the sink behind him to lean his body weight on it while you undid his jeans and pulled them down just enough to expose the trimmed hair that tapered from his stomach down past that delicious ‘v’ line of his hips.  

You reached past the hem of his boxers and fished your prize from its confines, laying heavy and thick in your palm. It was almost shameful, the way your mouth watered at just the sight of him, the feel of him in your hand but there wasn’t even the tiniest part of you that cared. 

You looked up at him through your lashes, gently stroking his length and taking in the view from below him. The lust in his eyes had your body setting itself alight from the inside out. He looked dangerous, waiting for you to do as he wanted. He had full control of you with just his stare and without a single word... What he wanted was very clear, and you were more than happy to oblige knowing that obedience would earn you a reward.  

Truthfully though, you wanted to do this for him just as much as he wanted it. Even when he was on stage, all you could think of was bending to his will, doing whatever the hell he wanted you to in order to derive his pleasure from him. You wanted him to take control of you, to channel that same darkness you saw in his eyes as he played and growled into the mic and use it on you.  

And so, as you stared up at him through those pretty lashes of yours, you opened your mouth and lay your tongue flat on your bottom lip, never breaking eye contact as you leaned in and lay the reddened tip of his cock on it. It was your turn to put on a show for him now, to prove yourself worthy of reward and worship him like you were kneeling at an altar rather than his feet. 

He inhaled sharply, hissing through clenched teeth when your tongue made contact with his head. You kept your eyes on him still, circling your lips around him and relishing in the purr that sounded from above you. How had you failed to do this for him since that very first night in the dive bar? How had you resisted? The way he’d reacted to your mouth last time should have been enough incentive – it certainly was now. 

Frankly, you were appalled by how long it had been since you’d taken him in your mouth like this... You’d more than make up for it now, slowly leaning further into him to take as much of his length into your mouth and throat as possible while still holding your gaze on him.  

The eye contact was driving Mary insane, seeing right through you and knowing you wanted him to watch, to see how good you were being for him. You were freakier than anyone would give you credit for, and only he knew that. Only he got to see it.  

“That’s my girl, huh? Fuck...” he praised, one of his hands letting go of its death grip on the sink and running through your hair as you bobbed slowly. You whimpered a little at the approval, particularly when his fingertips grazed over your scalp, nails scratching and massaging. The pleasure was nothing like what you wanted, what your body craved but you’d take any bit of praise, any kind of encouragement he was willing to give.  

When he wrapped his fingers in your hair, tugging at it gently to encourage your movements you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping his thighs, grounding yourself while he groaned above you. You relaxed your throat, swallowing more of him until your nose nuzzled against his skin and his grip on your hair tightened, holding you there.  

Mary was losing his mind, his head rolling back and eyes squeezing shut when he felt your throat constricting around him. He pulled on your hair to lift your head off him, giving you an opportunity to breathe but all you did was hollow your cheeks and breathe through your nose, using your fist to pump the half of his cock that was now exposed.  

You suckled at the tip for a moment before pulling off him completely, holding eye contact again and stroking him where you knelt. You made sure he was watching you when you began to press deliberate kisses to his shaft, leaving slightly dull lipstick stains against his pale skin. Mary grinned wildly, stroking your hair and allowing you to mark his cock in red stains like you’d promised him.  

“Dirty girl,” he keened, “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” You didn’t answer with words, only nodding as you started leaving open mouthed kisses, tongue laving wetly at the ridges of his cock where veins protruded. “Such a pretty colour...” he chuckled, starting to lose control of his hips as they rolled towards you, chasing the feeling. He so badly wanted to be buried in your mouth again, surrounded by that delicious wet warmth... 

You didn’t tease him for much longer, taking the tip past your lips again and sinking down on his length. The moan he released had arousal pooling between your legs, and your own need was becoming hard to ignore. But you would, knowing that Mary would pay you back for your patience – if not now, when he got you home... 

“So tempting to use this pretty mouth of yours, doll... See how much you can take.” That was an invitation, an open hint to ask for your consent to do just that. The thought of pulling back to give verbal consent was just not sitting right with you – a second of neglect to his now weeping cock was a second too long, and you weren’t about to neglect him at all. Instead, you gripped the hem of his jeans and pulled his hips towards you, indicating you wanted him to use his hips, to move and use you just as he’d said.  

“Oh, you want that, huh?” You nodded, pulling again. “Shit...”  he hissed, pushing himself up from leaning on the sink to stand in front of you, all the while you never let him slip from your mouth.  

With his feet firmly planted to the floor either side of you, he wrapped his hand in your hair again and began to rock his hips; slowly at first, savouring the feeling and watching intently as you sat so prettily for him, obediently taking everything he gave you. But he couldn’t help himself – the sight at his feet completely maddening – and he found himself thrusting a little faster, testing how much you could take. When you didn’t struggle at all, he amped his thrusts up again, grunting and moaning above you. It took all your willpower not to let go of his jeans and dive between your own legs for some friction, some kind of relief from the arousal overtaking your body. 

As if he read your mind, Mary used his free hand to rip yours from his jeans. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, “Until I can feel your fucking moans on my cock.” 

You had no willpower to deny him, immediately diving your hand beneath your skirt and pushing your panties to one side to circle your clit with the juices that had gathered there. You whined in satisfaction, the sound vibrating along Mary’s shaft and spurring him on to bury himself to the hilt in your throat.  

“Don’t hold back, make yourself cum.” And you didn’t, wasting no time building up to pleasure and doing everything you could do get yourself to the edge. It never took long with your own fingers, not when you knew the goal was just to cum as quickly as possible. There was nothing to savour, you were rushing not for yourself but to give Mary exactly what he wanted.  

“You fuckin’ wait, doll... I’ve been too sweet on you, hm?” he warned. Truthfully, the sex recently had taken more of a sensual turn now that feelings were involved but there was still a filthy side to Mary, and he knew you had it too. There was no harm in mixing it up a little here and there... “Wait ‘til I get you home. I’ll have you fucking screaming for me...”  

You believed him. You knew what he was capable of, and you had no problem letting him do whatever he deemed necessary to elicit those screams that you couldn’t create here. But his promise had your hips bucking against your hand, chasing the high that fast approached. Your moans echoed around his head, vibrating down his cock over and over as he used your throat.  

“Come on, doll, cum for me. I’m not letting go ‘til you do,” he groaned, tightening his grip in your hair until your roots burned but all it did was spur you on... You hollowed your cheeks for him, using your tongue to please him as he fucked your throat. Your fingers sped up, furiously circling your clit and pushing you closer and closer to the brink until you snapped... 

Your hips jolted and thrashed where you knelt, the floor harshly bruising your knees. Moans ended up as choked garbles as you came harder than you’d expected for such little build up. The only thing keeping you remotely in place was Mary’s grip on your hair, holding your head for him to continue fucking your throat with reckless abandon now, too turned on to hold off as soon as you fell over the edge of euphoria.  

“That’s it, doll... Fucking hell...” he growled, biting into his already injured lip and trying desperately to hold onto his own control. He waited, watching you as he used your mouth, getting closer and closer until you stopped squirming beneath him.  

“Where?” he panted, desperate now, “where can I finish?” He sounded frantic, panicked. Truthfully he was, because if he didn’t get some kind of answer soon, he’d be unable to hold off, and the thought of ruining his orgasm was too devastating after all the work you’d put in for him... You just pointed at your full mouth and sucked at him harder, earning you a roar of “Fucking SHIT” as he threw is head back one final time and lost all control. 

You took every drop of his spend you could like a champ, holding what you could on your tongue as his hips slowed to a shallow splutter and he whimpered and grunted above you like an animal. He looked ethereal, despite the injuries to his face as he found his pleasure in you. 

You waited patiently as he caught his breath, the last dribbles of his spend finding their way onto your tongue as you lapped at his now over-sensitive head. He leaned back against the sink again to steady himself, looking down at you sat prettily waiting for him like a puppy dog waiting on a treat. Your lipstick had smeared across your face, messed up by your kisses and his borderline brutal motions. And yet, you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. 

Even prettier when you opened your mouth for him, and showed him what you’d collected on your tongue.  

“You waitin’ for permission, or something?” he laughed, pinching your chin to tilt your head side to side and inspect you. You just waited in silence, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Lipstick’s ruined, baby. Gonna need a fresh coat...” he bent down until he was eye level with you, “Or maybe a gloss?” 

With a wink, he dipped his finger into your mouth, coating his finger in his cum and spreading it over your lips gently as if it were lip gloss. It sparkled under the lights of the room, matching that playful twinkle in your eye. 

“So pretty...” he complimented, watching as you now closed your mouth and swallowed what was left. Mary watched in awe, almost pissed off that his cock had softened and for now, he was spent. Just that act alone had him wanting to worship you like the goddess you were. But he’d have to wait until he got you home...  

But Mary being the nasty little shit he was, wanted nothing more than to do whatever he could to keep the fire going, to fan the embers and turn you on as much as you did him. And so, he took your hand in his, helping you up off the floor. Then with one hand, he wrapped his fingers around your neck and held you still, moving in to kiss his gloss from your lips. 

You knew from the first night you spent with him he had no problem with the taste of his own release, but as long as he kept finding new and ridiculously sexy ways to show you that, you’d always find it one of the hottest damn kinks of his... You melted into his kiss immediately, adoring the taste of him on your tongue mixed with the fresh blood of his split lip he’d bitten into. Was it a nice flavour? No. But it was the very essence of Mary, and it had you drifting into a world of your own as you made out with him. 

Suddenly, the doorhandle rattled, followed in quick succession by a heavy thump on the door and an “ow!” being yelped through the wood. It sounded like Jed, trying to get in without knowing you’d locked the door when you came in to clean Mary up. He’d tried shoving the door open with his shoulder, only to collide with it instead.  

“Hey, what the fuck?” he yelled through the door. Quickly Mary parted from you, tucking himself back into his jeans and doing them up. He stepped to the side and made his way slowly to the door, giving you enough time to take another cotton pad from his kit and run it under some fresh warm water, wiping away the red smears from your face to look somewhat presentable. Your hair was still wild from Mary’s grip, but you didn’t quite have time to get it back to normal before Mary let Jed into the dressing room, followed by Forrest and Davey on his heels. 

They looked around the room, flitting between the two of you who in your effort to look nonchalant looked more guilty than if they’d caught you mid-blowjob.  

“You fuckin’ animals...” Jed laughed, slapping Mary’s chest as he walked further into the room to gather up their kit. “Glad we got here in time, don’t need your ass print on our shit Mare.” 

They thought they’d caught you before anything happened... Good, you’d let them believe that. 

“You good, man?” Forrest asked, “I know he landed a few punches. You look rough.” 

“Thanks,” Mary scoffed. “Did he look worse at least?” 

“Oh yeah, think you broke his nose. Blood everywhere, looked crooked. Nice,” Davey laughed, “Bouncers shoved him out on the street while I was having a smoke, he was pissed.” 

“Bastard deserved it, has done for a while,” Mary shrugged.  

“We’re gonna load the van and head out, you two alright to get yourselves home?” Forrest asked, picking up some of the kit they’d brought in the dressing room after their set. 

“Yeah we’re good, not over the limit,” Mary turned to you then, “you ready to get outta here, doll?” You just nodded, turning to pack up Mary’s kit and drain the sink of the pink-tinted water.  

It didn’t take long to shift the gear into Forrest’s van with you and Mary helping out. Surprisingly, all the guys gave you a hug as they were leaving, citing it was nice to meet you and hopping into the van – not before Jed got in a jab about ‘going easy on Mary’ despite his new ‘bad boy look’ when you got him home. You just promised him you wouldn’t with a wink, to which he laughed.  

As they drove out of the parking lot, Mary turned back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.  

“Shall we?” he asked with a suggestive tone, swaying you in his arms and smirking down at you.  

“We shall...” you sang, leaning up onto your toes to plant your lips to his in a slow and delicious kiss. He hummed against your lips, his hands grabbing at your waist as you introduced your tongue to the mix – but he soon cut you off. 

“Get in that van, right now,” he ordered, earning a giggle from you. You span in his arms and felt a playful smack to your ass as you began to walk towards the passenger side of his van, Mary making his way into the driver’s side. 

The tension in the front seat was thick and heavy, anticipation for the moment he finally got you home building with each passing second. At some point, Mary reached over and placed his hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb over the bare skin and letting it slide inwards. You twisted in your seat, allowing him the room to slide a little higher, just to tease...  

Once out of the city and back on home turf, you threw caution to the wind and leaned over the centre console to kiss at Mary’s neck, nibble at his ear, anything and everything you could do while he drove – very carefully – through the streets he knew like the back of his hand.  

“You want me to total this thing, doll?” he growled. You just giggled, sucking a hickey into his neck.  

Eventually, he pulled into his apartment complex, parking up in his designated spot. As soon as he took his seatbelt off he was shoving you back over to your side and climbing over the console himself, his hands everywhere all at once as his lips engulfed you. You fucking loved riling him up like this...  

“Do you know how tempting it is just to fuck you right here?” he growled as his lips made the descent down your neck.  

“I’d let you,” you laughed, “but I gotta stop by the 7/11...”  

“Huh?” he pulled back from you, confused. “You didn’t fancy mentioning that before I dived over here?” he teased. You giggled again – and of course, had no idea what that did to him, inevitably making the unfolding situation in his jeans worse. 

“What? I’m out of birth control...” you whined. “And as much as I love the idea of you railing me until the sun rises, I really don’t fancy motherhood any time soon. Pharmacy isn’t open this late, so condoms it is. Just for tonight.” You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the end of his nose.  

“Fine by me, condoms make me last longer anyway,” he smirked. “I’ll come with.” He started to retreat back to open his door, but you stopped him.  

“No no, it’s fine. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be like five minutes. You take your stuff upstairs, get a little rest – you're gonna need it...” Mary sighed in defeat.  

“Alright fine, you got your phone on you, yeah?” he checked, a little concern on his face.  

“Yeah yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you up there,” you leaned in to press another kiss to his lips, jumping out of the van and heading down the street in the direction of the local convenience store.  

Mary watched you walk away – absolutely nothing to do with the way your ass looked in that skirt, of course – and gave in, knowing there was no arguing with you on this. So instead, he got out and fished his guitar case from the back, along with his backpack of make-up and guitar picks and headed upstairs. He hummed to himself as he climbed the two flights of stairs up to his floor, content and happy despite the bar fight that had broken out.  

Truthfully, Mary couldn’t believe his damn luck. He’d landed a girl like you, worked at the differences and insecurities and whilst it was still a work in progress, you were his. He’d won the biggest battle, let his walls down just enough to let you in so you could take care of the rest together, brick by brick.  

Mary rounded the corner to his apartment, shoving his hand into his pocket for the keys to unlock the front door when he stopped, frozen and staring straight ahead... Something wasn’t right. 

The door to his apartment was slightly ajar, the wooden frame splintered by the lock as if it had been forced open with a crowbar. He couldn’t hear anything, only silence spilling from the crack in the door, but Mary knew better than to go charging in...  

“I’m nowhere fucking near done, you watch!” Corbin’s threat echoed around his head. “You’re an easy guy to track down, Goore! I’ll fuckin’ find you!” 

Corbin had made good on his promise. And for all Mary knew, he was still inside, waiting for him. Waiting for you.  

Quietly, Mary set his things down in the hallway, rifling through his bag for his cell phone, typing a quick message and hitting send before he fished into the hidden pocket inside and pull out a Swiss army knife. Handy little thing to own, when you own a guitar workshop and play in a band. Never know when you might need it to screw something together, or cut or saw something. He’d never needed to use it for self-defence before, and frankly, he felt sick at the thought of it. But he wasn’t going into that apartment without something. 

Slowly, and quietly, Mary stepped towards his front door. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beginning to form on his brow as fight or flight began to kick in.  

He took a deep breath, flicked the knife attachment out of its hiding place, and slowly pushed open his front door...  

You sifted through the aisles of the 7/11, humming to yourself one of Mary’s songs that you particularly liked from the show tonight. With condoms in hand, as well as some assorted snacks, some beers and a few toiletries, you headed over to the register ready for the sluggish teen employee to ring you up.  

They took their sweet time, and you tried your best not to look impatient. It was late, after all, and this poor kid had the graveyard shift. You wouldn’t wanna be here either, in their shoes. Not that you’d worked a solid day’s work in your life, mind you... 

As the poor kid moved at the pace of a turtle scanning each of your items, your phone buzzed in your purse. Figuring Mary was asking you to pick something up for him, you checked it, only to have your heart jump into your mouth, and your stomach fall out of your ass... 

Don’t come home. Not safe. Call Forrest +1 (618) 107-1423 

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

[emeritus-fuckers]

The yandere Mary Goore got me thinking about yandere Sodo...

Yandere Sodo headcanons

CW: slight, very brief gore. very vague implication of necrophilia if you read too much into it. yandere typical bullshit.

He/him pronouns used for Sodo.

Sodo is a very calm person. Usually.

Until something ends up triggering him and leading him to snap into the angry version of himself that most know him for.

Keep that in mind. It could save your life.

He doesn't really care if you're pretending to love him back.

He's happy as long as you're in his arms. As long as you don't run away or fight back and just pretend to love him, he's fine.

He's a gentleman, really! He'll be sweet to you, he'll bring you flowers and he'll be there for you. He'll be the best boyfriend you could've ever asked for.

He'll even allow your first few attempts to get away from him. He knows it can be weird or scary to have him mate you all of a sudden, but it's okay, you'll be fine. It's just a little bite on your neck, you can take it, can't you?

It's just a bitemark. You'll be okay. He loves you so much.

However, as much as he loves you, he can and will eventually lose patience with you.

He's given you time and you're still being difficult? Have you learned nothing?

Sodo can be really angry. Furious, even.

You don't want him to get annoyed and snap at you, right?

Especially since he doesn't really control himself if he's really angry.

You can't blame him if he finally snaps and bites your pretty neck again...

Ripping your throat out with his teeth.

After all, you can't get out of his embrace if you're dead, now can you?

~

Written by Nosferatu.

Taglist: @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @callmeicaro @thecuriouss @dio-niisio @ethereal-maniac @mybotanicaldemise @igodownjustlikeholymary @natoncesaid @greenbirdtrash @bloodmoon-bites

[cowboyemeritus]

Day 17

Prompt: Knife Play

Pairing: Mary Goore/Reader

Tags: knife play, fear play, blood, brief mention of necrophilia (not serious, just Mary being an edgelord)

Notes: I have a low pain tolerance so this is actually kinda scary to me lol. could not resist using this day for Mary tho. the opportunity was too good.

You know it’s coming. Still, the feeling of cold steel against your neck sends a jolt down your spine. It’s a small blade, but you know that any sharp object is a deadly weapon in his hands. Instinctively, your wrists jerk against the coarse rope binding you to bed frame, the fibers digging into your skin. Mary tuts, pressing his prized pocketknife just a smidge harder into your throat.

“What’d I say about trying to get away, baby?” In a quick motion, so fast it doesn’t register, they flip the knife over, dragging the blunt end across your windpipe. The point catches your skin towards the end of the stroke, just enough to leave a scratch. You gasp, only then realizing it’s a trick. The small prick of pain and the flash of fear has you fluttering around his cock, and he groans, looking rather pleased with himself. “‘M just teasing.” Mary snaps their hips, drawing their fingers in a tight circle around your clit. The stimulation rips a long, airy moan out of you. “I’d never let you go.” He leans down, pressing an oddly gentle kiss to your lips.

“I’d kill you first.”

You whine, thighs squeezing their bony hips. His words are entirely for show, you know this, but the sincerity with which he says them makes it all feel so terrifyingly, erotically real. Mary cackles, relishing in the anguish written across your face.

“Bet you’d make a pretty stiff,” he says, nipping at your earlobe. “Real fuckin’ pretty.”His breath is hot against your skin, smelling faintly of tobacco. You feel the blade drag against your chest, trailing from your collarbone to the swell of your breast. “Can hardly resist you as is. But like that? They had better lock me up.” With a flick of their wrist, the knife slices into your skin. You cry out, your entire body convulsing. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It’s not a deep cut, but ruby beads of blood well up immediately, much to Mary’s delight. A tremor runs through them as they watch you bleed, all the while rutting into you like an animal in heat.

“Mary,” you beg, hips bucking up to met his. “Again.” Already, you can feel your climax drawing near. They laugh once more, rising back up to get a good look at you.

“I always knew you were a little freak, babygirl. First time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one for me.” He considers your body like an artist would a blank canvas, plotting his next move. The blade migrates to your other side, resting just below your breast. “Love you.” Mary drags the sharp edge diagonally across your ribcage, producing a longer, deeper cut. You scream, hot blood pouring out of the wound, running down your side to pool on the plastic sheet below.

“I- Oh, fuck!” Your eyes roll back in your head as your orgasm takes over, the pain and pleasure working in harmony to drag you down. Feeling your pussy spasm around them, Mary moans, fucking you through as much of your climax as they can. Eventually throwing the knife down — dangerously close to your face — they pull out. All it takes is a few quick jerks and he’s shooting all over your stomach and chest, groaning through a bitten lip. A particularly forceful spurt streaks across the cut over your ribs, the fluid stinging as it soaks into the wound. Mary shudders, watching his seed mix with your blood.

“Love you, too,” you pant, feeling wonderfully lightheaded.

[bittybat28]

Valentine’s Day with the Papa’s!

(I think I’m going to do one for the ghouls too!)

Warnings: a little NSFW and bit of blood mentioned

PRIMO

1. Primo is very old fashioned and he will present you with the biggest bouquet of flowers from his garden and your favorite chocolates!

2. He will spend forever making you a nice dinner and setting everything up with pretty candles and rose petals on the table.

3. He will want to dance with you so he finds the most romantic record he has and offer his hand to you to dance the night away!

NSFW

4. Will tell you about the whipping tradition of the old pagan holiday Lupercalia with the most suggestive look, his hand sliding along your thigh.

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘦𝘩 𝘧𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘦?“

Secondo

1. He will take you on a romantic get away, probably renting one of those old castles!

2. Has a custom, one of a kind jewelry set made just for you!

3. Takes you to a very nice restaurant, pays for the most expensive wine and the two of you just drink, talk and enjoy each others company!

NSFW

4. You two are already making out before getting back, clothes are being thrown the moment you get inside and Secondo is in complete worship mode, his hands all over you!

“𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘰. 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶“

Terzo

1. Gives you flowers and a very sweet card to start the day off!

2. Hints to you all day about a secret surprise and takes you out to your favorite place for lunch!

3. Leads you into his room after work with flower petals and little boxes of chocolates that have things he loves about you written on them!

NSFW

4. He is laying in bed wearing nothing but a pair of tight pink underwear with a rose and pretty gift box sticking out of the front

“𝘥𝘰𝘯‘𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘊𝘶𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘰?“

Copia

1. Copia has never really gotten to experience this holiday so he’s going to make it as special as he can! He’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed, giving you a hand written card about how much he loves you.

2. Copia is very sentimental when it comes to gifts and he will make something for you like one of those bracelets that has a lock of his hair intertwined or matching lockets where he has your picture and you have his!

3. Sets up a romantic movie date complete with your favorite movie and snacks. He will surprise you with matching pajamas and the comfiest blankets for you two to snuggle in!

NSFW

4. He just can’t help himself during the movie, smoothing his hand over your side as he holds you and pressing sweet kisses to your neck.

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘮𝘢‘𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘰“

(BONUS) MARY GOORE

1. Has never celebrated this holiday but he loves you and wants to try and make it good!

2. His gifts are on the abnormal side of course. He will gift you a mummified heart and make a joke about you stealing his! (Don’t ask where it came from!) tries to make you a stuffed animal with his poor sewing skills. It’s ragged and missing an eye but he hopes you like it anyway!

3. Takes you on a cemetery picnic and proudly presents you with cookies that he actually made himself!

NSFW

He’s going to want to fuck in the cemetery and it will get bloody because it’s Mary and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for a taste of your blood!

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦“

[the-vex-archives]

The Band Ghost Masterlist (2023)

General

Fics

"The Manager" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

@titlemewickedwonderland

The Ministry announces an outsider coming to be part of the congregation to help with the Ghost project as a tour manager; little did the Ghoul know; she is nothing like they pictured her or how she'd affect them all.

"The Witch is Back" Part 2 Part 3

@delta-is-here

Ever since Sister Imperator left the church for good, the Clergy has been at an all time low, mass wasn't it's usual greatness, and rituals weren't going as well as planned. When luck seems to run out, Papa Nihil remembers an old friend and sends out a letter asking them to take Sister's place.

Headcanons

"Arrangement" ( Regency AU)

@earthry

Papas and Arranged Marriage

"Did You Know You Were dead?"

@aestheticpearl

you’re a ghost who wanders the halls of the cathedral just trying to do your duties before you’re interrupted

Secondo

Oneshots

"Opposites Attract"

@earthry

Secondo with a s/o who is very sweet and bubbly and who is in their own band

"Bedtime Greenery"

@mitchmatch24

Secondo with a young reader (like 18 or 19) who got stoned for the very first time. they haven't been able to sleep well in days so they go to Papa for help and this is their solution.

Terzo

Fics

"Where Angels Fear to Tread" Part 2

@bonelessghoul

Everyone knows the story of how the Devil himself was once an angel who was banished from Heaven. But he wasn’t the only one and the poor angel he fell for suffered the same fate, cursed with lifetimes of never being brought back to the man she loved…until now. When Ada is brought to a Ritual by her friend after a year riddled with tragedy, she meets Papa Emeritus and his Ghouls. But something strange happens when she gets a closer look at them and can see that there’s more to this group that no one else can see but her.

Mary Goore

Oneshots

"You Wish"

@lady-jane3

You guys are always picking on each other, mean jokes, sex jokes the whole nine yards. Mary won't stop teasing

"Red"

@onedaughterofman

No summary provided

Blurb

"I Knew it Would Work on You"

@bedeviledcowboy

Aether

Oneshots

"Rewrite The Stars"

@mirage-aera

Aether gets sent back to the Pits so he and his s/o spend their last day together.

"Don't Yell at Her"

@xxwhiskeyxx

reader and aether were married in a past life, they died tragically by one another's sides before being born again as ghouls in the pit

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Repugnant Fic: Supervision (vol. 1)

Summary: Tom Bones applies for a job at a daycare centre. What could possibly go wrong?

Characters: Tom Bones, OC: Barbara, Sid E. Burns, and Mary Goore.

Rating: Teen and up audience.

Word Count: 2,124

Warnings: Strong language, children indulging in shenanigans, and mild cult indoctrination.

Tom Bones could never keep a job. Ever. It didn't matter what kind of job he had, whether it be part of the movie theatre crew, a car dealership seller, clerk, janitor, etc., customer service wasn't his forte. He was reckless when performing his duties and he was careless with the customers. If an angry customer snapped at him, he would snap back, and get into a fistfight. Sometimes his ass would land in jail, causing Mary or Sid to bail him out the next day.

Since Tom applied to one or two jobs per year he wasn't draining the band's money by getting into trouble. Repugnant was already gaining more recognition by the masses. Tom didn't need the extra cash. Whenever the band wasn't touring or recording albums Tom would take a side job out of pure boredom.

After Repugnant's last concert ended, it was the same old situation for Tom and his big break, yet, this time, he believed he found the perfect job, not only to avoid trouble, but to cure his apathy: a daycare centre.

Tom's job interviews were usually mediocre. It was no different when he was being interviewed by one of the supervisors at the daycare centre, Barbara. He tried to put on his best impression, saying, 'yes, ma'am,' "no, ma'am,' lying about his past and boasting about what a great influence he'd be for the kids.

Barbara observed his appearance and detected how grungy he looked as if he were in some kind of grunge band similar to Pearl Jam. He did good answering each question, she noted. How bad could he be?

While examining his résumé, she also noticed he listed no prior job experience. She wasn't necessarily looking for someone with experience. Anybody could handle a kid. She just hoped he wouldn't allow them to misbehave. She brushed the thought aside and decided to give him a chance. After all, the people who haven't had a job yet needed one more than those who did. Little did she know... Tom had plenty.

"You're hired." She gave him a yellow slip which had both her number, her email, the address the daycare was located (in case he forgot), and what time he needed to arrive. “See you at noon tomorrow."

Back at the Repugnant hideout, Tom bragged to Sid and Mary about his new job, deeming himself less lazy than them.

"You won't last a fuckin' day, man," Sid retorted.

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

Sid scoffed. "Dude. I've won all your bets." He has, in fact, won 20 of Tom's bets. What started out as a $5 bet steadily grew to $10, $15, $20, and now $50. Tom often wondered where his money went until being reminded about it when Sid flaunted the cash in his face.

"I'm telling you, this job is a keeper."

Sid rolled his eyes. He heard that phrase many times before. "Whatever."

Mary listened to their conversation and drank his beer. He couldn't care less.

The next day Tom arrived on time but wasn't dressed to impress. He walked over and greeted Barbara by the entrance.

"Welcome, Tom. So glad you're here." She would later regret saying that. "The little ones are waiting for you. I'll be back soon with their parents ready to pick them up."

“Yeah. No problem.”

She led him inside into the classroom. All the children were sitting criss cross, staring blankly at nothing. Barbara had taught them well. "Kids, this is your new sitter, Tom. Be nice to him and don't make a mess," she scolded playfully, wagging her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” they all said in unison.

She turned to Tom and smiled. "They're all yours. Good luck." She patted his shoulder. “See you in a few hours." With that she left Tom to his duties.

He grabbed a chair, plopping himself down in front. "Hey, guys and gals. I'm in charge here. So I say, do whatever the fuck you want."

Shit. He said a bad word. A forbidden word! The girls plugged their ears, and the boys gasped while some giggled in the back, finding the word amusing.

After a moment of silence, one boy, who mustered up all his courage, raised his hand. “Where did you get your nose ring...?"

"This?" Tom pointed to his piercing. "At a shop." He was casual about it. Kids shouldn't have nose piercings. Maybe when they were older, but definitely not now.

“Can I touch it?” The same boy asked.

Tom chuckled. “Go right ahead.”

The kid walked forward and touched the piece of silver. Other kids followed suit and soon enough everybody was touching his piercing. Tom didn't mind being the main attraction. He enjoyed it.

"Did it hurt?" A girl queried.

He gave her a wink. “Only a little.”

"Hey, Tom!" A boy cut in. "Can me and Ethan play ball?"

“Do whatever you want. I’m easy.”

The kids got into groups and did their own thing. Tom watched, occasionally dodging a ball or catching it, before throwing it back.

A girl came up and started running her fingers through his blonde strands. "Your hair is so long." She muttered, almost in awe. In her early comprehension years, guys are supposed to have short hair, not long hair. "Can I braid it?"

Tom didn't hesitate. He allowed her and a few other friends to take each strand of hair and braid it. They chatted amongst themselves until they were finished. Tom thought the hairstyle looked cool and wanted to don it at a future Repugnant concert. Mary, of course, denied his wishes.

“Hair done! Next is makeup." The girls sifted through loads of paperwork on Barbara's desk, hoping to find a makeup kit. They looked inside the drawers and attempted to pull on the locked drawer with no luck.

“Tom, we can't find any." A little girl protested.

“Wait, I have an idea!" Another girl chimed in, holding up a box of markers.

The girls agreed and each grabbed a different color. Bethany used the red marker for lipstick; Charmaynae used the blue marker for eyeshadow; Hailey used an orange marker for blush, Dakota used the green marker for defining Tom's jawline and cheekbones; and the rest had yellow to press tiny dots all over his face. By the end of his makeup session Tom looked like a disaster and a scary clown.

The girls handed him a mirror. He inspected himself, praising the girls for all their hard work while impersonating Barbara, making the girls squeal with laughter.

Although his “makeup" was childish, Tom would later see this as inspiration to use makeup for his Kiki Bones appearance in Subvision.

Meanwhile, the boys were separated into three groups: one group situated themselves at the desks, making paper airplanes and flying them across the room. The second group continued to play ball and the third group wrestled, knocking down a few chairs in the process. Tom didn't care about the mess. He wasn't gonna take charge and clean up or force the kids to do it.

In the midst of all the chaos, one boy walked over to Tom, analyzing his black metal band t-shirt. "Um...excuse me? You like Mayhem?"

“I do,” confirmed Tom.

"My dad does too."

"Really? What's his favorite song?"

The kid shrugged. "I don't remember the exact name, but there's this one particular song he plays everyday." The boy paused and raked his eyes over Tom's tattoos, looking flabbergasted. “Whoa! That's a lot."

Tom chuckled. "Thanks." Suddenly, an idea struck. "Why don't you gather everyone around and I'll tell you guys about each tattoo?" The boy nodded and started herding the rest of his classmates like cattle onto the floor where they all sat, cross cross, staring at Tom...or a second cousin of Pennywise?

"Who wants story time?"

Everybody raised their hand.

"Excellent." Tom rolled up his shirt cuff, further exposing his tattoos. A few tiny mouths went agape at the sight. Tom’s right arm was a full tattoo sleeve while his left arm was half a sleeve. He pointed to the first tattoo he ever received at the ripe age of 17 then started sharing stories for the rest of his tattoos. It took an hour and a half to talk about all the ink but he eventually finished, concluding, "That is how I got my tattoos."

The kids cheered and clapped.

"Are you in a band?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah. I play drums."

"Can you spin your sticks like Nikki Sixx?" Ethan demanded.

"That's Tommy Lee!" Corrected Dylan.

"Guys." Tom caught their attention again. He looked at both boys, smirking. "Yes and yes."

"Well, what band are you in?" Questioned Sophia.

Poor, sweet child, thought Tom. He didn't want to corrupt her innocent facade by revealing he was in a death metal band. However, if she was curious....he didn't want to deny her an answer.

"Anyone heard of Repugnant?"

The kids fell silent. Tom could've swore he heard crickets in the background until a random girl, Jocelyn, spoke, "What does that mean?"

Ah, children and their vocabulary. "It means..." Tom tried to figure out a way to word the definition without scarring the kids too much. "All the bad stuff in the world, things that are inhumane, disgusting, revolting - that's Repugnant."

"So... the worst of the worst?"

"Correct. The worst of the worst."

"I wanna hear what your band sounds like. You think we can attend a concert?" Ethan asked, his eyes widening like saucers. He was getting excited.

Tom didn't want to deject Ethan's dreams by saying he was too young to watch them play live. So, instead, he offered: "Would you like to have a concert here, in this very room?"

All the boys looked at each other, nodding eagerly. Tom dimmed the lights and went over to Barbara's computer, finding a few Repugnant concert videos on YouTube. “Prepare to rock out," Tom warned. "This song is called Premature Burial." He clicked play and the thrashing music echoed off the speakers. "There's me." Tom pointed himself out, smashing the drums. The kids watched. The girls didn't find this type of music enjoyable or catchy. It was unlike Taylor Swift.

Through the grainy film of the video, Mary Goore appeared on stage, banging his head forth and back, while fingering the strings on his guitar. He flipped his head up as his long brown hair fell down near the length of his shoulders, revealing his face and darkened eye paint, as he sang in a deep, growly voice, “Decrepit as you've fallen in disease. Joints are withering as they slowly freeze. Decomposition eating through your head. Mistakenly you're confirmed as dead." The words were incoherent but the boys didn't seem to mind it. Some started to bang their heads and mimic Mary's guitar playing. The girls locked eyes at the screen in horror before scampering out of the room in fright.

Tom didn't pay attention, he was busy using his index fingers to hit the desk, pretending he was back on tour.

The boys started to feel the groove of the music take control of their bodies as the song continued. The indoctrination process was beginning to happen. The boys would become future death metal heads and society had no source of stopping it. These young rebels would continue the legacy of wrecking havoc on ordinary life. Tom couldn't have been more proud.

Next the boys stood up on desks, chanting, “Repugnant! Repugnant! Repugnant!"

Not long after, Barbara barged in, shocked at what was unfolding in front of her own eyes.

Tom quickly paused the video while the boys scrambled off the desk.

"What is going on?!" Barbara shrieked.

Tom stood up, confronting her. "I can explain-"

Barbara gasped at Tom's new makeover. What the fuck happened to him?? His hair was braided and his face was covered in different colors. How did this happen? Why did any of this happen? "The k-kids d-did that to y-you?" She looked around the room, inspecting the strewn items that scattered the floor. "And y-you allowed them to d-do this?" Barbara was in a pure state of shock, she could hardly speak without trampling over her own words.

Tom cleared his throat. It was the only moment in which he was honest with her. He nodded his head, not looking a bit shameful, but rather smug, amused.

"Get out! You're fired." No explanation could ever change her mind about Tom. She pointed to the exit where he left, not saying goodbye to his miniature comrades. "Did he hurt you?" Barbara interrogated, worried about the children’s well-being. The boys shook their heads, however, the girls provided a different response, concerning their mental state after witnessing the shock value that was contained in the concert video.

The daycare centre was the first and only job in which Tom Bones was fired from after a day.

Taglist: @copias-juicebox

Side-note: if anybody else wants to be added on my taglist for certain eras/characters, let me know!

[bluravenite]

So i hadn't seen the original post since I try not to be too active here but... Im going to list off references just as a reminder 🫶 !!

A tumblr user in the ghost fandom posted about their opinion that people shouldn't write or draw dewdrop and copia as trans or emotionally complex characters. Their reasoning being:

Here's the link to the og post as well as a great reply from media nocte, which i think VERY well sums up the general argument here. "Get fucked OP."

Also this wonderful response by leafy, my love...

As well as syringe's post which even lists Tobias Forge's opinions, which OP said the papas were 'his super secret fight club level identity' which if it were true, he wouldn't be accepting Ghost band awards as himself nor with his family, nor openly interviewing about it... If it was so secret...

Tobias has even been open about other characters of his (such as Mary Goore, as mentioned per an interview) used they/them pronouns even if not INHERENTLY trans or non-binary.

He's always been openly accepting of people regardless of their gender or sexuality (this isn't to idolize him, just stating my knowledge of his values.)

My last point to op?? Here's what those "trans" people think about mine and other works.

I know i have more personal conversations with people where we have discussed how validating it can be for trans and non-binary people to write, read, explore these characters.

A reminder. Tags exist. Read the fucking tags on a fic, chances are the author wrote trans!dewdrop or "usage of cunt" in the tags or notes, and if they didn't?? It takes 3 seconds to comment "could you please add a trans character content tag please?"

As an artist myself, who originally stuck to the "stage representations of the characters" i the slowly started exploring the way i perceive their stories, how i can make MY OWN ART out of these characters that relates TO ME and MY FEELINGS and likes and opinions and such because THAT is what creativity is about. Taking what the world gives you and making it your own.

I am not trans, i am barely even nonbinary... Labels are scary, half the time i don't know who i am okay? I don't always feel like a girl, i don't always hate my body, sometimes i feel like if i live in this body for just a second longer I'll have to scratch all the skin off and crawl out of it myself... Sometimes i wish i could bind, be flat, have a deeper voice, be more masculine, sometimes i want to wear skirts that are way too short and the pretty corset from renfaire that makes my chest look so puffy and pretty... Sometimes it's nobody's fucking business... And sometimes my characters reflect what i am, what i wanna be, what i am not, and what i may never be. And just like my gender and my body?? It's nobody's fucking business.

In all my niceness and honesty. (Which are starting to run lower every time people say stupid shit in this fandom...)

Get. Fucked. OP.

Now let me get a bit more personal for a moment op... I've the posts saying you "went to a Catholic school"

As someone who grew up going to an All-girls Catholic private school, as my whole family before me had done, here's a little bit of insight.

All the shit they told you?? Yeah it causes trauma, it causes resentment and repression. Feeling disgusted and surprised when this "male character" has "female" genitals? Please ask yourself how you feel about your body first. Your mind. Why do you want to read "gay/bi men doing those activities" but not a trans man enjoying himself just as much? Would it be different if if were a ghoulette? Would it be different if the ghoulettes were the ones doing it?

OP please evaluate yourself before you OPENLY SPEAK for a community that you are not a part of, and if you ever do decide to explore your own repression, sexuality, and gender? Know that you deserve a chance at fucking up and learning about yourself. I say this from personal experiences. Making catholic school your whole personality internalizes that "sinful" feeling. That's probably why you enjoy ghost too... Not to psychoanalyze a random person on the internet but...

Get help.

Thank you.

[riptide-kid]

Domestic December 2023 - Day 15 A Mare before Christmas

Pairing: none

Summary: Swiss introduces Aurora and Phantom to some of the abbey's folklore. Or is there maybe a little more to these stories?

Warnings:

Words: ~600 Notes: I took some liberty with the "Free Day!" spot on the prompt list, I hope you enjoy this little cameo! <3

You can also read this on Ao3!

“...so you better make sure that you put your boot out in front of your door tonight!” Swiss told wide-eyed Phantom and Aurora that were sitting on the floor in front of him.

Dew wheezed as he saw their starstruck faces, startling them with his laugh. “Stop lying to them! Mary Goore is a kit’s tale!”

They were lounging around in the common room, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and Mountain softly snoring on his place on the couch, Cumulus and Cirrus tightly cuddled up against him and fast asleep as well. Rain was busy playing on his Switch, leaning against Aether who was reading and had his arm curled around Rain.

“Oh yeah? Have you ever put your boot out at night in December?” Swiss crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“’Course not! Cause nothing will happen!” Dew said, completely sure of himself.

“I’m gonna try it!” Phantom chimed in. “I wanna see what they’ll bring me!” He jumped up, racing to his room.

“Me too!” Aurora quickly followed him.

Swiss grinned brightly as he looked after them.

“Good joke. You can deal with their disappointed faces tomorrow,” Dew said, as laid back on the sofa.

Swiss looked over at him. “I’m not joking, seriously!”

Dew cocked an eyebrow “Dude, honestly. You can stop.”

“No, Dew. I’m being serious. If you put your boot out in a December night, Mary Goore will come and bring you a present,” Swiss repeated himself, looking at Dew insistingly and in a way that almost made him believe the multi ghoul.

“Whatever.” Dew got up. “I’m going to bed.” And with that he vanished to his room, scoffing at the boots that Aurora and Phantom had placed in front of their doors.

---

Dew startled awake when he heard something in the hallway. It took him a second to blink the sleep out of his eyes, but when he heard footsteps outside of his room, he was wide awake. It would surely be Swiss, putting a little something in Phantom and Aurora’s boot, so he could continue his little story and piss Dew off even further. But Dew wouldn’t let him have that.

Silently, he slid out from his bed and tiptoed to his door. He’d give the multi ghoul a good fright, he wouldn’t even see it coming. Dew carefully opened his door an inch, peeking out towards Phantom’s room a few doors down. There was definitely someone walking down the hallway, but it didn’t look like Swiss. Dew had to open his door further to see. As careful as he was, the old hinges betrayed him and squeaked lightly, making Dew freeze in his spot. He looked like a deer in the headlights, as the person turned around towards him, shaggy black hair and a distressed crop top immediately making Dew believe in kit’s tales again. There was no way he didn’t recognize that face, covered in blood. Mary Goore put a finger to his lips, as if he was telling Dew to keep quiet, before they vanished into the shadows.

---

Dew sat at the breakfast table, grumpily gnawing on some toast, as Phantom ran into the room, a little package in his hands.

“GUYS, LOOK! LOOK! MARY GOORE BROUGHT ME SOME NEW GUITARSTRINGS!” he beamed, as he held up the new pack of strings he had found in his boot.

The other ghouls immediately gathered around their packmate, admiring the gifts.

“I WANT TO SEE WHAT RORY GOT!” the others followed Phantom out of the kitchen, to see what Aurora had found in her boot.

Swiss sat across from Dew, grinning at him. “Soo... you’re gonna admit that I was right?”

Dew didn’t look up, taking another bite of his toast.

“Shut up.”

[playwiththesire]

still thinking about ryuzato’s gerardsonaverse. rat king my beloved. rat king x mary butch girlfriends im crying. dirty butch girlfriends fucking copia while rat king has their period dONT LOOK AT ME

anyway. explicit, 2527 words. ao3 link

Copia was exhausted from giving sermons and hearing confessions, sitting in meetings, running errands for Sister Imperator, and artfully dodging Papa Nihil to avoid being scolded for whatever he was doing wrong in the old man's ghostly white eyes. Closing his doors, he was more than relieved to unbutton his cassock and wrap himself up in a simple robe, because it was moreso laziness that kept him from bending over to put on pajama pants than the tiredness. Ruffling his hair free from the gelled combed-back style, he sat down at his mirror to wipe the black off his upper lip first.

Surprisingly, when he saw movement in the window behind him, he didn't flinch. When he first moved into his new suite, it would often take him by surprise, only to learn that there were Ghouls walking around the courtyard at night. He knew better than to stick his little nose into their business. So once his lips were clean, he dampened his rag again. Before it even touched the dark circle under his eye, it dropped from his hand.

Copia finally screamed when a loud bang tapped against the glass hard. He stumbled to his feet and knocked the stool over, and. of course, he had to trip over it. His cheekbone collided with his floor, and though his vision blurred, his hands pushed him up as much as he could. "What-" He tried to blink his vision back to normal, but relying on his hearing came more in clutch when the lock on the window jiggled.

The culprit jimmying the lock open with a coat hanger was none other than Mary fucking Goore. Again. Only this time, they weren't alone. And it seemed like they didn't have a care in Earth or Hell whether or not Copia saw them.

Scrambling back to his feet, Copia stumbled to the window and pressed his hands against it. "You may not enter!"

Mary pouted. "But I missed you!" he whined through the glass, and gave his best puppy-mutt eyes. A mutt that had rolled through a butcher's shop, no doubt. Their friend hung back with their greasy arms crossed. "C'mon, Cardi. I'll tuck you in."

Copia should say no. He couldn't count the number of times Mary had committed B&E, and he knew that they were just gonna find some crack in the wall to squeeze through somehow. It would have been amusing to watch them get caught, but...that friend. The grime that drenched their body made the surprisingly soft features of their face stand out more. The eyes. The sweet little pout, the grumpy pose as they nudged the tip of their shoe into the grass. Shit, the Cardinal was entranced. When their gazes finally met, the friend wiggled their fingers on one hand in greeting, and cracked a half-assed smile.

Mary didn't need a verbal confirmation when they read his face, and finally pushed the window up. "I knew you'd say yes!" Eagerly, Mary hopped up with their legs swinging and held Copia's face to smack a kiss on his lips. "Hey, dollface."

"You smell like low tide." Copia stared them up and down with disdain, even if the bats in his belly fluttered at the sight of them. But he pushed Mary aside to offer a hand to the friend, helping them through. "Scusi, bella. Is this creature bothering you?" Their hand was slippery and difficult to pull, and admittedly, the slimy feeling made him wince. But their touch was still warm, and by the time they were in the room and on their feet, they were practically pressed up against his chest. Their face was at the same level as his, and his whole face flushed red.

"I like your eye," they murmured, and pressed the pad of their index finger against his left cheek.

Mary lightly tugged Copia's earlobe to snap him out of his trance. "Copes-" He shuddered at the bad pet name. "This is Ratty. I thought they'd like you."

"R-Ratty?" Copia blinked. "Oh. Yes, well- eh, yes. I have been known to...well, it's a whole thing. I'm working on this-s story, no, a song. About plague and a metaphor of-"

Ratty just nodded along, humming every few moments to remind him that they were listening.

"Ah, widespread religion is infectious, see, and some followers are like the rats that carried diseases...but I'm not saying you're diseased!" He eyed their oily arms and dirty shirt; he could see why Mary was drawn to them.

Ratty shook their head. "I'm not," they confirmed. "I'm just feelin' a little unwell."

"What?" Copia glanced back at Mary.

Mary took Ratty's hand and glided them over to sit on the edge of Copia's bed. "Calm down, your unholy eminence, it's just cramps. I wanted them to have a safe place to sleep tonight."

Copia brushed the wrinkles out of his robe, but ended up smearing some grease stains over the cotton. His lips pressed together tightly, and tucked it away in his mind as a later problem. "As  man of faith, I do have a duty to aid those in need."

"Widespread faith?" Ratty's shoulders shimmied a little, teasing him.

It was a contradiction, he knew, with his luxurious rooms in a luxurious palace of a church. "I...I suppose so."

Mary guided Copia to sit down as well, and Copia's instinct was always to tilt his head up to await a little kiss from Mary. Mary obliged, and Copia rested a gentle hand on Ratty's back. He rubbed in slow circles, pleased to see that their face relaxed. But he felt a little wrong when something in his pelvis sparked listening to them hum in relief.

"That's nice," Ratty assured him, and shamelessly took his hand to press against the front of their hip. "Right there, please."

Mary shuffled in behind them and rested their chin on their shoulder. "Copia's gonna take good care of you," they whispered, smiling. "He's so attentive."

Yes. Yes, he was. He hadn't planned on taking any lovers to bed tonight, but he couldn't turn them away. He couldn't stop touching them, he didn't mind them leaving traces all over his sheets. The deep, earthy, salty tang of them drew him in closer. He didn't mind Mary's blood-crusty fingers suddenly combing through his hair, and he leaned in as Ratty turned their head and let him kiss them gently. "I'll ease your pain," he whispered, half in his professionally dulcet tone. "Unburden your troubles with me."

"Should I call you Cardinal?" they whispered against his lips.

"If you'd like." A sharp hiss quickly filled his lungs when Ratty guided his hand lower, between their legs. He quickly got the message and attempted to lay them down, only to find that Mary wouldn't budge.

Mary brushed a thumb over his cheek affectionately. "Just let 'em lean on me." They smiled when Ratty's neck craned back, and their head rested on their shoulder. "They're aching real bad, Cardinal."

Copia picked up what the trouble was quickly enough. And by the looks of Mary's mouth, they already tried to ease the cramps before they got here. Figures that he'd get sloppy seconds, but he didn't mind. He was more than happy to treat this fallen angel.

"Wanna feel how good you are." Once Mary got Ratty's pants down past their knees, their legs spread open and revealed a surprisingly clean-shaven pussy, still dripping blood. "Please, help me, Cardinal?"

Now, usually Copia avoided letting church-goers use his title as a kink, but he had exceptions. One bat of their lashes and he was two fingers deep inside them. Moving slow at first, he pumped them in and out of her until they were red-slick, and he buried them as deep as they could go, scissoring them wider.

Ratty keened and bucked their hips up, nodding. They kept a steady hand on his wrist and parted their lips, inviting Mary to slip their tongue in their mouth. Their whines pitched high in the top of their throat, wordlessly begging for more.

Copia couldn't get a good enough angle sitting. He stood up again to hover over the both of them and get three fingers in, now, to curl them better inside their cavern. He was humming softly from his chest, and very aware of the flame burning in his thighs. It almost felt wrong to get so hard from this, but Mary's impure smirk assured him that it was so right.

"Cardinal, could you help a little more?" Ratty bit their lip and arched their chest forward. Copia got a good look at the muscle tank now: All Hail The Rat King. How apt. The knotted tails would have skeeved him out more if all of his blood wasn't in his dick.

With his fingers still moving, though, his thumb pressed against their clit in quick motions. His eyes turned downward to watch himself fingerfuck them, and his l'appele du vide was making sense of why Mary ate them out before they both got here. His mouth watered, and shame itched in his stomach. No, he couldn't. Besides, his room was filled with their shaky panting and whining, so he must have been doing well enough of a job. That didn't mean that it was easy to ignore the cock eagerly pulsing between his legs, however. "My dearest-" His voice cracked. He tried to ignore it. "May I fuck you?"

Ratty didn't hesitate on nodding. "Pull me back." They slid down to the center of the bed, and Copia crawled with them. He peeled their shirt off their body, and nodded at Mary in silent demand that they undress as well. He shed his robe and finally took the plunge to press Ratty's and his chest together, getting himself deliciously dirty. He kissed them like his sanity was slipping away and their arms slipped all over their waist.

"Turn over." Mary leaned back and helped Ratty on their knees, legs spread and hips bucked like an animal. Mary pet their head and neck, grinning down at them. It seemed like Ratty knew just what to do when they took Mary's cock in their mouth. Mary winked at Copia. "You can have some next."

Copia huffed at them and leaned over Ratty, kissing their shoulder before he mounted them and plunged his cock in deep. Their walls were so soft and hot, he shuddered in pleasure and couldn't help but thrust into them again.

Ratty's voice vibrated hard around Mary's head, making them grunt in return. Ratty only freed their mouth to look over their shoulder and nod eagerly, and let Copia's thrusts help set the pace as they took as much of Mary into their mouth as they could. Mary's hips just worked a gentler rhythm, not wanting to choke them.

Copia reached around to keep rubbing soothing motions between their hips as he fucked them carnally, but as they cried out in desperation, he returned to circling their clit until they were practically screaming, tightening around his cock and absolutely shaking. For a moment, Copia felt panic rise as he feared that he pushed them too far, but they let Mary's dick go again and wiggled their hips again eagerly, touching themself in satisfaction. "He is good, Mare."

"I know. Get him on his back." Mary laughed softly and tipped Ratty's chin up to kiss them just as sloppily as before.

Ratty didn't even need to move for Copia to obey and slide forward, laying down next to them. His cock was a deep, glistening red, with only a rivulet of precum cutting through the blood. He could only stare for a few seconds before Mary was sitting on it, grinning down at him.

"You missed this, didn't you?" Mary moaned, arching their back with their legs spread wide open for Copia to get a good look. Apparently, Copia was slick enough for him, since there was no resistance going into his ass. "You missed me riding you, unholy eminence. You missed the way I look when you stuff me fucking silly."

"M-Mary..." Copia's eyes rolled back, but his hand scrambled to grip at Ratty's arm. "Bellisima, how do you feel? Are...are you alright?" He felt a little stupid with the way the mattress bounced from their weight, with Mary's rough motions.

Ratty's fingers brushed over the forming bruise on Copia's face from falling on the floor earlier. "I think you're the pretty one," they purred, and their fingertips dragged along their lips. Bloody fingertips from overstimulating themself.

When in Rome, right? Copia closed his eyes, like that would make succumbing to his any better, and let their fingers press against his tongue. It was filthy, it was sort of humiliating, and Copia wanted more. A squeak escaped him, and he grabbed for their thigh instead. "I need you, Rat. I need...por favore. Use my mouth."

"I knew it." Mary threw his head back with a smug moan, and gripped Copia's ribs. "Drink up, Cardi. Trust me, it's delicious."

Copia didn't have much time to respond with Ratty throwing a leg without a care over on the other side of Copia's face. Their thighs stretched out more in a lazy spread-eagle, and they leaned forward to kiss Mary again. Their cunt pressed hard against his lips, his nose brushing their taint as he sucked on their folds. His own cum was dripping back onto his face, making their taste more sour, but he couldn't stop anymore. It was too good, he never knew he loved being used like this so much. Without a second thought, he spanked their ass hard, just once, and reveled in the yelp they let out.

Ratty bit down on Mary's lip and jerked them off; it didn't take much longer until they were cumming all over Copia's happy trail with that guttural growl that he so famously used instead of singing. But it was a pleasing noise, a feral signal of a well-fucked out gutter rat.

Ratty arched their back as they shared Mary's cum together, and though Copia couldn't see, his other senses were so amplified between taste and smell and Mary still clenching tight around him that he couldn't stop himself from cumming deep inside them. He spanked Ratty one more time before begging for air, and as Ratty pulled up, the blood left  his chin and cheeks cooler. Licking his lips, his cheeks burned in glorious shame.

"Lay with me," Copia begged. "Stay."

Mary patted his stomach and wiggled off his dick to flop down on top of him, earning an annoyed oof from the cardinal. "As you wish."

"You bum," he grumbled, but was easily pacified when Ratty cuddled up against his shoulder. They kissed all over the side of his face, from his jaw up to his temple sweetly. It was apparent that nobody was going to clean up, so he sighed and let his muscles ease. His hand wandered again to take Ratty's, and he found himself smiling again. "Can I keep your friend.

At once, Mary grunted "No", while Ratty giggled with a "Yes."

[onedaughterofman]

YET ANOTHER FUN FACTS POST

The title comes from Ghost's "Dance Macabre" song. This references not only the whole "Copia and his lover always danced with each other" but also how Nihil and Sister's relationship started in the lore (during the Dance Macabre video).

When Mary says "you can't rely on a man's loyalty" that's a wink to my "Mary Goore used to date young Papa Nihil" fic.

Primo's garden is based on Minerva's gardens in Salerno, Italy. I've been there once and it was beautiful!

The Codex Gigas is a real book, stored in Sweden's National Library (I'm not sure if it's open to the public eye now). And yes, ten whole pages are still missing. One of the biggest particularities of the book is a big portrait of Satan. Some people believe it is, indeed, cursed.

The Antichrist prophecy written here is based not only on the lyrics of "Prime Mover", but also on the song "Prophet's song" by Queen (probably one of my fav songs).

It is mentioned the crows were "incredibly loud" the night Goore was born. This is a small wink to @calitmediondell idea of Mary as Eric Draven and @ghestie93 The Crow! AU Mary Goore fanfic.

In the song "Under the Spell", Mary sings: "They kept me for ages in prison called earth, wearing the mark of the devil since my rebirth" and " The dark era's rising, you've been forewarned. I was born to this world to take it by storm. Unleashed from the pit, straight out of hell, behold my return". That's what gave me the idea of them being the original Antichrist.

The whole Copia vs Goore is an allegory of "natural born monsters" vs "man made monsters". Yes, a natural born Antichrist is scary, but one created by men actions seemed way scarier to me. Copia wasn't born to become the Antichrist, even if Imperator tried her best to make him the prophecy boy. Copia was given all the potential to become it, he only needed a little push.

The Goore vs Ghoulettes part is inspired on the short story "The Night Face-Up" by Julio Cortázar. He's one of my favorite writers and you should check his work if you can!

Mary getting buried under a cross is a "Mary on a Cross" word-play. It was fun in my head.

Copia's underground safe-place is based on the entrance of Hell written in the Divine Comedy. I thought it was fitting to make Copia feel "safe and at home" in a place like that. Specially since Prequelle's cover shows the Hellmouth (or jaws of Hell).

When Copia and Reader first met, it is mentioned he was staring a ta painting of an Ouroboros, a snake or dragon biting it's own tail. This creature reflects an eternal cycle, something that's the core of this story. Everything is cyclical. Copia's story starts with Nihil and Imperator dancing in "Dance Macabre" (which lead to Sister dating him and then getting pregnant), continues with Copia and Reader also meeting in a party and ends with them dancing their own "Dance Macabre".

Reader talking to Copia doesn't mean they have regained sentience. They are trapped on a memory loop, repeating past scenes like a broken record. Copia is the one who moves on, by accepting his destiny. He lost his religion, casted away all other deities to hail himself as God.

The rain finally falls this chapter. During all the previous parts, it was threatening to fall, but never did. In a way, symbolizes Copia's self discovery journey coming to an end.

The night I wrote the part where Copia is talking to the Ghoulette about wanting to become Satan, I dreamed was getting choked to death by a demon while someone was yelling at me in a very deep, booming voice. Woke up gasping for air and shaking. I think Satan didn't like that part too much.

You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it. 

 It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this. 

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror. 

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place. 

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth. 

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come. 

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now. 

 It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself. 

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time.  “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin. 

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords. 

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him. 

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else. 

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then. 

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end. 

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static. 

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you. 

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed." 

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails. 

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[emeritus-fuckers]

Mary Goore's pronouns

As some of you know, I refuse to even reply to asks where Mary Goore is regarded as a he. And I'm currently manic, so I'm gonna expand on that.

Mary Goore is canonically either a they/them or a he/they at most, based on what Tobias said. During one of the interviews (I'll put it at the end of this post) Tobias answered a question about Mary Goore using "he" and then adding "or they".

This can, of course, be interpreted as either Tobias correcting himself (from he to they) or showing that Mary is meant to use both of those pronouns. I personally choose to use they/them because I interpret it (especially due to the eyeroll) as him correcting himself on Mary's pronouns. If you choose he/they instead, that's fine, of course.

However, one thing that infuriates me to no end is using he/him pronouns for Mary. I realize that most of the time it's not too deep, but it feels like erasure, especially since sadly, as we might've witnessed online, if someone uses she or he and they, the last pronoun often gets erased. People using she/they or he/they (or just any "unusual" pronouns while also using he and she) often get called by she and/or he exclusively.

This is not meant as an accusation, but it's really annoying and somewhat sad to see Mary being written as a he/him and it's a reason I don't read any Mary Goore fanfiction, because I've been hit with he/him Mary Goore too many times.

You can view Mary as nonbinary or a man who uses he/they or they/them. That's fine. Whatever you want.

But for Satan's sake, stop erasing their pronouns. It's not that hard to at least mix it up.

- Nosferatu

The interview, as promised:

[frankenfaandom]

I WANNA REQUEST MORE IF UR WILLING! Could you do like, prom Mary Goore x gender neutral reader?

Prom Mary Goore? Fuck yes.

Mary Goore x gn!reader

Sorry this took so long, I wrote most of it during the hurricane and then forgot to finish it until this morning. Also, as most of my mary fics go, yall aren't exactly together-together? More of implied and not confirmed. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Desc: mary/reader are seniors in HS, both 18/19.

You and Mary were total opposites. You showed up to class, did the minimum work to get an alright grade--you liked school dances, as stupid as it was.

But Mary? No, Mary was at school perhaps once a week if he could get away with it. Eventually, he couldn't get away, and he got expelled. So, there goes your lunch buddy. Hello, bathroom sandwich.

You hadn't exactly been dating at the time. But April came around, and it was prom season. It was all over Instagram, prom-posals and dress shopping on stories. Adds popped up relentlessly on David's Bridal and Windsor. It was a brutal season for you cause, A) you had no one to go with, and B) the only one you wanted to go with had zero interest in school dances. Mary Goore.

One day he'd picked you up after school and you did homework at his house, every two minutes you'd sigh dramatically and wait for him to ask "shut the fuck up or tell me what's wrong."

And that he did!

"Dude, if you don't-"

"I'm sad!" He scans your face for sarcasm, but none is found, just pouty lips and puppy dog eyes.

"...Should I even ask why?" He retorts, slouching back in his recliner. The thing was old, and there were too many springs and things popping out of it. It wasnt a suprise when you found out he'd stolen it from the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Yes. You should. And then you can help me on not being sad." You say matter-of-factly, biting the clicker on your pen. You eye him, waiting.

"Okay. Fine. Why are you sad?" You pounce quickly, forgetting your homework as you sit down on the armrest of his seat.

"Have you ever heard of this little thing.. it's very lowkey, kind of underground..."

"I am not going to a school dance with you." He glares up at you, but your pouty face makes his expression soften.

"Pleaaasseeeeeeee..." You wrap your arms around his head, pulling him into your chest. "I want to experience it. I only get one prom, and everyone says it's awesome--so, obviously it's gonna be a shit show." Mary grimaces at your words. "And you know how much I love to invite you to shit shows." You grin.

"Oh yeah, like your AP art show--OW-" He winces as you slap his arm, hard.

"Fuck off with that. This is all I ask. I'll never ask for anything ever again. Ever!"

"Doll, we both know that's a big fat fuckin lie." He rolls his eyes, but brings his arms up to half-ass hug you. "But fine. You owe me... like, wear something skimpy underneath."

"Dirty dirty, Mary Goore." You giggle, kissing the top of his head messily. "Thankyou thank you thank you!" You know he's joking about the skimpybunderwear, but you're already mentally going through which panties to wear. Will you even wear a bra? Probably unnecessary-

Mary brings you out of your excited thoughts with a pinch to your thigh. "You're thinking too hard. You'll get wrinkles." He rubs the crinkle between your eyebrows, stifling a laugh.

"Hey, don't make fun of me. Those are hereditary." You grin.

A couple weeks pass, and, yeah. Yeah, prom's tonight.

"I feel fucking stupid." And he looks fucking stupid with that sexy devil's lock and the suit you'd picked out. You try not to laugh, giving him what you think to be a reassuing smile.

"You look fine. Weird, cause, duh. But I think you look handsome as fuck." You walk closer, fixing his.. absolutely terribly knotted tie. You'd be surprised at how many knots he tied before realizing it was all wrong. Like, 5 too many.

"You're talking out of your ass." He snorts, scowling toward the mirror. "Seriously though, this feels ridiculous. Feels like I'm trying to be someone I'm not, you know? I thought we were done with that." He gets serious for a moment, and you frown.

"...Then let's fuck it up." It was a cheap suit from some Catholic thrift shop down the street named "Holy Trinity" or something, so, Mary was more than pleased to tear the thing up. You can see it in his eyes.

"You mean it?" He grins, almost like a kid who was promised another bowl of icecream. You nod, of course you mean it.

"Fuck it up, Mare. Here, let me help you." You grab the sleeve, ripping it clean off. A gasp leaves your mouth, accompanied by a wide smile. Damn, didn't expect that to work so well.

Mary grins, making a little excited sound before grabbing the other sleeve and attempting to take it clean off like you did--failing miserably. He doesn't let it defeat him though, and he tries a second time, succeeding.

"I got an idea." You run to his room. You basically live at his house, so you know every nook and cranny in his closet. Finding what you wanted, you bring it back out to him excitedly.

"We can mix and match. Put those sexy skinny Jean's back on and I think we can make this work." Another hour of getting dressed, and you're both wearing completely different outfits.

Mary walked out of the house with a deep red button up, a black tie with Jason's mask on it, those sexy skinny jeans and some nice loafers. On top, he added his special sleeveless jacket. Yeah, that didn't add to it much, but he insisted, and he was hot regardless of being fashionable or not.

Soon you arrived, parked, and walked inside... a little late, but no matter. It was.. fucking lame, that's what it was. There were friend groups dancing together, girls grinding on guys and vice versa. It felt like middle school all over again, you grimaced ten minutes in when the two of you sat at a table stuffing your faces.

"The food isn't even that good." You whisper yell over the terrible taste in music. The DJ will play justin bieber every once in a while, like, 2012 JB which is acceptable. But by the time he plays Havana thrice? You're pulling Mary out the back door to the karaoke room.

Some girl is singing her heart out on stage while her friends are basically whispering into the microphones, but blonde chick in the middle's having the time of her life. You wait, watch until it's too cringy to bare, and then Mary pulls you back inside.

You feel terrible for dragging Mary with you... and spending like 50 bucks on his ticket. He looks almost miserable, awkwardly standing around because he absolutely doesnt belong. But neither do you, so, you tug at your sleeves before going up to apologize.

But Mary stops you, grabbing your hands. "Hey, the music's lame, the food's kinda shit. But let's dance. You're only 18 and a senior once. You said it yourself," He's shouting over the music, grinning ear to ear. "let's just say fuck it and fuck it!"

You couldn't have said it better yourself. "Fuck it!" You race him to the dance floor, grabbing him and flinging each other around. You hit quite a few fellow dancers as you jam, but nothing quite matters like Mary's smile. He's enjoying himself at a place he swore he'd never be, surrounded by people and teachers he swore he'd never see again.

The hours flew by faster than you thought, and soon you were among the last crowd of Prom-goers. The DJ relays a message on the intercom, letting everyone know that the last dance will start shortly and then everyone needs to go home. Happily, Mary takes your hand as half the people leave the dance floor to go find their respective dance partners.

He bows as the music stops momentarily. "Will you do me the honor and have this dance with me, doll?"

"Oh, but of course." You do a little curtsey before he kisses the back of your hand. "You flatter me, Mr. Goore.."

He drags you closer, wrapping his arms around your torso. "You look wonderful tonight. Like everynight." He compliments into your ear as you wrap your arms around his neck. You could feel your face turn a million shades of red.

"So do you, Mare. Silly, but quite adorable." You say, quietly as the music. Was this happening? Slow dancing with Mary at prom, this was real? It feels like a dream you'd wake up from in the morning and immediately laugh at how absurd it was.

But it isn't a dream.

"Thanks for forcing me out." He says after a long moment of swaying, heartbeat impossibly fast. "This place is lame, but you made it so much better." Your cheeks flush again at how close he is to your face, his lips in your ear and his cheek pressed to yours softly.

You pull away, heart beating. Mary looks down at you curiously, wondering what you're doing--and that's when you kiss him.

He kind of stiffens, before his arms tighten around your waist and he pulls you closer. It's a soft kiss, softer for one Mary Goore. He pulls away shortly, opening his eyes again.

"Did you-?"

"I did-"

"Well-" You both say in unison, before you both burst out in a fit of giggles and laughter.

"I.. meant it." You say quickly, hoping to get the first word in. "I like you. I like your lips, your smile. Your eyes. I like your "fuck it" attitude. Your voice, oh my~" You dramatically swoon in his arms.

Mary pinches your back, stopping you with a flustered grin. "Okay, okay, I get it, I get it."

"I like you, Mary Goore. Can I kiss you again?" Mary unmistakably turns pink again, pupils visibly widened.

"I would like that." He nods, but he's the one connecting your lips again. The kiss is sweet, longer than the last, but still somehow... chaste and gentle.

"I like your lips, too." Mary starts, bringing a hand to your cheek. "I like your smile. I like the way you laugh at the stupid things I say. I love that you brought me here--" He caresses your cheek. "--I love... everything about you. Now, can we get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

[physicallyherementallykissingmen]

SPECIAL/PHIL GHOUL HEADCANONS!

•Definitely takes care of the ministries hellhounds. Basically the vet for the ministry, he keeps treats on his person wherever he goes to bribe the hounds to let him pet them. HES JUST A DOG PERSON.

•He may or may not be (but definitely is) a shapeshifter. Only using it when completely necessary despite Sodo constantly begging him to shapeshift to pull pranks and jokes on the current era’s ghouls.

•There’s a a rumor around the abbey that he’s immortal, given that he’s been around since before Papa Nihil was born. The rumor is fueled by many blurted out comments by current era ghouls, senior siblings of sin and clergy members over the years who have seen his face that hasn’t aged in over a century.

•He brings gifts to the kids in the orphanage year round, going too many years long to count. The gifts range from little trinkets he got from Primo to gaming consoles. Copia still has some stuffed animals he got from the ghoul from his time as an orphan.

•Despite not being a Water Ghoul, he spends most of his time in the rain, whenever it rains you can find him outside in the surrounding woods or Primo’s garden.

•It’s rare that you’ll see him without his robes on but he’s covered head to toe in tattoos some are little jokes, some are memorials, others are just things that he liked enough to immortalize on himself.

•Other than being the only ghoul who can tolerate humans (not including the human siblings of sin of the ministry) enough to handle the press and do interviews he loves doing photography around the ministry and around the surrounding woods. He also has a folder on his laptop with photos of unflattering photos of clergy members and fellow ghouls. He will release them… one day. one day.👁️👁️

•Despite only being out of the abbey every few months he has a good handful of human friends. He brings them backstage to interviews because of how strict the ministry can be on how he spends his time out in the ‘real world’.

•Although he and the ghost haunting the east wing of the abbey, none other than Mary Goore, have very contrasting personalities they turned out to be good pals. Even when Mary’s apparition shows up in the middle of the night to share some gossip he overheard while in the grand library and Phil nearly shits himself they still have a strong relationship.

ill probably make more (probably not)

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

Just some headcanons about how I think Copia, Mary, and the ghouls would kiss you.

Copia kisses you like you're about to disappear and he doesn't know if he'll see you again. He cups your face, holds you close, takes it slow so the taste of one another may never leave your mouths again. He whispers against your lips, telling you how much he loves you and how he can't bear to leave you and that he would bring you on tour with him if he didn't think it would cause problems for Imperator.

Mary Goore's kisses come across as aggressive and bruising, but you know he's trying to show you with his actions rather than words how much he loves, wants, needs you. It's desperate hands pulling on each other, twisting into hair, Mary directing you to where he wants you. His teeth biting into your lip, a tongue pushing into your mouth. He's not comfortable with the vulnerability of saying "I love you", but his desperation for you is enough to tell you that he can't let you go.

Sodo is fiery passion and pushing one another up against walls. You make him feral, make him want to say fuck everything else, because in that moment you're all that he can see and smell and hear and feel and taste. He tries to engulf you, to swallow you whole, but in reality it's you who envelopes him with your heart, and you both feel it with the intensity of your kisses. There are times when you take it slower, savour one another, but it's when you devour each other that you feel that fire burn the brightest.

Aether kisses you slowly, gently, touches feather-light as if he worries he'll break you if he holds onto you too tightly. He's aware that he's the strongest out of the other ghouls physically, and so he's careful every time you kiss. His lips ghost over yours, they meld together so seamlessly, he caresses your face so gently it almost tickles. It's always you who has to deepen it, make it rougher, and he's okay with letting you have that control. Rather that than he hurt you. He couldn't live with himself if he harmed you trying to show you his love.

The kisses between you and Swiss are plentiful, the ghoul grabbing your face and placing kiss after kiss on your lips until you're giggling and pulling him in for a longer, deeper one. You press yourselves up against one another as much as you can, leaving little to no space between you both, and it's like you're in your own bubble. He has so much love, so much passion, to give to you and he'll shower it upon you as much as he can with each and every kiss.

A kiss from Rain is full of so much raw emotion, so much that he's too nervous to say to you in front of everyone else, because he's convinced - like Copia - that this kiss could be your last and he may never see you again. But the difference is that while Copia fears he'll never see you again because he knows there's a chance he'll suffer the same fate as the other Papas, Rain is terrified that you'll bore of him and go for one of the other ghouls. So he puts all his love, all his being, into all of your kisses, foreheads touching and noses brushing. And every time, you reassure him that you're not going anywhere. You love him, nobody else.

When Mountain kisses you, unless you're taller or the same height as him he always ducks his head to brush yours. Your kisses are always slow, leisurely, and it's like the two of you become one with each other and nature itself. You feel everything draw to a standstill as you cling to one another and allow yourselves to feel everything. Sometimes, when he takes you out to a secluded spot in nature, he'll sit and bring you into his lap as you both bask in one another's glorious love while you kiss. To the two of you, the rest of the world doesn't exist. There's just the two of you.

Sunshine is unadulterated joy and love. Kisses interspersed with smiles and laughter and pure adoration for one another. When your kisses sadly end, she looks at you as if you're the moon to her sun. Your fingers intertwine as you press your lips together, bodies as flush against one another as you can get, the bumping of noses that make you break apart and giggle. She radiates pure love and happiness and she channels that into the kisses you share, her tail gently stroking your cheek because she doesn't want to let your hands go.

Cumulus' kisses always taste of whatever she and Mountain have been baking in the kitchen. They're sweet, both in taste and in essence, as she holds onto your shoulders to keep you rooted where you are. She doesn't tell anyone else, but sometimes she worries that like the wind you'll blow away and she may never get to tell you again how much she cherishes and loves you. She tries her best not to make it so obvious with her kisses, but sometimes they're so filled with need that you have to reassure her that nothing could tear you both apart. You'd fight for her, do anything for her, and she is the same with you.

The way Cirrus kisses you is similar to Sodo in that they're full of heated passion, but not as aggressive. She's forceful, pushing a knee between your legs, tugging your clothes or your hair, but not to engulf you. She wants and needs to feel you, to know that you're just as real as she is, and that this isn't a dream. But when you fight back, trying to take control and dominate the kiss, it's your way of letting her know that you're very real and that she couldn't get rid of you even if she tried. There's biting, sucking of lips, squeezing of flesh, and both of your hearts rattling against your chests. In that moment, you both feel so electric and alive.