#this has never happened before and may never happen again

[randominchident]

the good luck charm

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max vertsappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you kiss max's forehead one race morning "for luck". he wins. it becomes a thing.

It started as a joke. As most things do.

You were both exhausted and half-dressed in a hotel room in Monza, Max trying to stretch out sore muscles while you searched (unsuccessfully) for your other shoe. Something about the early morning, the nerves, the jetlag, the weird sleepy love you always carry for him—it made you lean in, cup his face in both hands, and press a long kiss to his forehead.

"May your tires be warm, your brakes be cool, and your competitors forget how to drive," you said solemnly, eyes still half closed.

He gave you the flattest look imaginable, though the end of his ears blushed a faint pink from the kiss. As they always did. “What are you doing?”

“Blessing you,” you replied, as if it was obvious. As if it had happened a hundred times before. "So you win."

Max snorted, jokingly thanked you for your wise words, and then won the race.

The next weekend in Baku, just before he headed back into the garage, he stopped in front of you. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there with his helmet under one arm, brows raised. Waiting.

You blinked at him. “…Yes?”

Max looked around and then lowered his voice. “Aren’t you gonna do your weird blessing thing?”

You smiled. You were obnoxious about it. You made it a whole scene. Two hands to his cheeks, a huge dramatic smooch in the exact middle of his forehead, a made-up chant about tire degradation and curses upon the other drivers' decision making capabilities. He pretended to hate it.

He won again.

Now it’s a ritual. It practically part of his warm up routine.

He always finds you. Doesn’t matter if it’s Silverstone or Suzuka, if you're sitting quietly in hospitality or standing in the garage trying not to get run over by a mechanic on a scooter. He finds you. Every single race.

Helmet in hand. Suit half-zipped. That laser-focus look on his face until he sees you. Then it softens—just slightly. His jaw unclenches. His hands flex like they want to hold something. You.

You rise on your toes, brush your lips across his forehead, whisper the familiar words: “For luck.” Because sometimes he doesn't need the big speech, the dramatic show, the curses upon the other cars—he just needs you.

He never says much. Just nods, or gives you the tiniest smile. Once, after a win, he muttered “works better than pole” with a blush he tried to pass off as heat exhaustion.

You didn’t tease him for it. Much.

One day the camera's pick it up, and suddenly it becomes clear that your little tradition is not a secret and private as you once thought. Even the Sky Sports commentary team has something to say:

“And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend giving him—what’s clearly become—a bit of a pre-race tradition. Can’t argue with results.”

It's nice. You like being part of the flow of race day. Its nice to be relied upon, even for something as small as this.

And then… one weekend, you’re not there.

You tried. You really did. But your flight got cancelled, the backup was overbooked, and Red Bull’s private jet was full of engineers and people who don’t think “I give Max forehead kisses before lights out” qualifies as essential personnel.

You call him from the airport instead, bags at your feet, coffee in hand. Max offered to send his own jet back to pick you up, but it would never have arrived in time.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I really wanted to be there.”

Max is quiet on the other end. “You tried.”

“I’ll scream your blessing into the sky from here, okay?”

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds tight. “Might need it. Grid’s a mess.”

“You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You want to say more. Something sappy. But you can already hear noise in the backgorund of the call. He's being pulled away by Christian or Helmut or someone asking about tires. So you settle for, “I love you. Drive safe.”

His voice softens. “Love you too.”

Back at the track, people notice something’s… off.

He’s still fast—because of course he is—but there’s a tension in his shoulders. The calm, razor-sharp version of Max that usually shows up on race day feels thinner, more like a mask.

Christian corners him right before the anthem. “You good?”

“Fine,” Max says. Short. Clipped. Cold.

But his eyes keep scanning the garage, looking for something—or someone—he knows isn’t there.

The race goes okay. Not amazing. A few things go wrong. His start is messy. Pit stop’s a second too slow. He finishes second, which for anyone else would be great, but for Max it’s a shrug and a “whatever.” Second place always hurts. Always has for him.

After the cooldown room, after media, after debrief, he ducks away from everyone and finally calls you.

“You cursed me,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I had no forehead kiss. And now look. P2. Disaster.”

You smile, curling up in the airport lounge chair. “Guess you need me, huh?”

He exhales like he doesn’t want to say yes, but then, quietly: “Yeah. I do.”

And then impossibly quieter: "I always do."

The next weekend, you’re definitely there.

He doesn’t even say hello when he finds you sat in the garage. He just walks up, stands in front of you, and tilts his head down expectantly.

You blink. “Wow. No ‘how are you,’ no hug—just forehead service?”

He glares at the ground, but there is a small smile on his face that you can just barely see. “Do the thing.”

You grin, place your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him gently on the forehead.

“For luck,” you murmur.

He exhales. Content. “There it is.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one casting spells on my head.”

You lean in a little. “They work, don’t they?”

Max just smiles. The small, secret one. The one he saves for you. Then he nods.

After he wins that race, he dedicates it to the team. Then, on the radio, voice quieter:

“Tell her thanks. It worked again.”

You hear it. Of course you do. And when he lifts the trophy, champagne flying, there’s a tiny smile on your face that says yeah. you’re welcome.

[rexhya]

note — i accidentally posted the hcs before i was done! >~<, more anul content :>

✦ ✦

yandere!prince who drives himself mad over every interaction you have with another male, it's an unspoken rule that no one is allowed to look you in the eyes because the clingy bastard has a careful and constant eye watching over you

anul hardly ever lets you out of his sight, he goes, you go, you go, he goes. it's law.

so on the rare cases where he does have to leave your side, safe to say he's more than just a little grumpy. ( he slit the throat of his personal advisor because he was talking to loud )

your just doing you job, the job you were meant to do, cleaning and preparing for a party held for nobles in his upcoming inauguration. anul is obviously dreading this party, his father is being picky about evey little thing and said he'd banish you if he tries to bring you along. (he doesn't actually care he just is waiting patiently for the day he becomes king and his fathers word will mean nothing)

whats worse is theres this insect on his arm, buzzing nosily to him about nothing, the only good thing that actually came from it's mouth was when she asked about you.

"Oh you mean [Name], she's perfect isn't she?" He doesn't wait for a response, Anetha is dying listening to him go on and on and on about you, and she hardly gets it anyway! Your a maid, born from slum and you're hardly that pretty anyway, what did the Prince of Salttion see in you.

She makes a horrible mistake and tries to find out herself.

"Hello m'lady how may I he—" you don't get to finish your sentence before Anethea's gaurds are stomping you into the ground. It's not like you havent been in a situation like this before, but it's the fear of not knowing if you'd be able to escape let alone survive that makes you sob tears into your blood.

You're shoved into a closet before your found, Anul had tore every room apart looking for you ( literally, the door came flying off it's hinges as you fell to the ground unconscious. ) and sees pure, blood raging red when he cradleds your head in his lap. not even his father tries to reprimand him for his attentiveness to you, who ever had done this would pay in blood.

He can't control his breathing as they cart you away, he's right there with you of course, Anetha watching pleasantly, he catches the look and saves it for later.

When you finally wake up you feel sore, definitely brtter then when you were bloody and hurting in the dank closet but sore nonetheless. Anul is right besides you, his long violet hair wafting on your bed, his face planted into the cushions of the mattress breathing softly. How long had you been out? How long had the prince been here? He certainly didn't look like himself, hair messy, clothes rumpled.

You hesitated for a moment, reaching out to stroke his soft wavy hair, then without warning his jumped up and statched at your wrist. His eyes were bloodshot, (had he been crying, did something else happen while you were out?) and the hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

"A-Anul, you're hurting me." he lets go in an instant and immediately sits up to hold you in his arms.

"Oh god, I thought you—" he choked and let go to place a kiss on your lips. they were chapped, but warm.

you only blinked, he didn't care that you hadn't kissed him back. "I am going to gut that pig alive you hear me?" he said squeezing your cheeks.

"I am going to peel her insides till they look like confetti alright?" he said desperately, "I failed to protect you, and look what happened. Oh my baby, my poor baby." he cried, kissing your cheeks lettinf his tears fall freely on his face.

"And you [Name], are to never leave my side again, I've already made arrangements for you to sleep with me so it won't be a problem." you flinched at the finality in his words but Anul couldn't tell.

All he could see waa the bruising of your face and a lot of bodies he'd have to dispose of, because he wasn't just going after that noble who'd set you up.

For generations he declared then and there anyone involved (directly or indirectly) in the attempted murder of his wife, would die a shameful and slow death.

[bxnfire]

love island ft. suguru geto

loveisland!suguru who wouldn't truly be all up on you, but would conveniently be near you on games, and even if he wasn't always loud about it, everyone would just know he was into you

loveisland!suguru who is one to get you thinking, fireside heart to hearts wouldn't be something rare with him. he'd make you voice things you'd never said to anyone, and if anyone in the villa, or in your life, makes you feel seen, it's him

loveisland!suguru who is determined. first coupling? you. would he like to switch it up? no, but thank you for asking. boys village with new girls? they all know about you by the end of it all. if someone were to walk away from what you two have going, it'd have to be you

loveisland!suguru who progressively gets bolder. on the first dates he was just fun, flirty, casual. later on though? hands always on you. he would somehow find the way to give you little papers with compliments or poems on them, just to let you know you're always on his mind

loveisland!suguru who isn't outwardly jealous. no, he doesn't fight the others when they try to get your attention, and if he happens to see you enjoying yourself he won't mention it, but you best believe he's undermining them with his wit, making them seem stupid. they might get riled up, but please don't blame suguru, a gentleman just likes to keep what's his, no?

loveisland!suguru who loves cooking/baking dates, and dinner dates. as for the first, he likes messing around with you, but at the same time demonstrate that he could take care of you if you so desired. besides, if some chocolate syrup gets on your chest, well, who's he to let you walk around dirty? sure, maybe he didn't have to suck it right off you, but a gentleman is a gentleman, no? as for dinner dates, he'd like to learn your favorite foods in a nice, elegant place. of course he likes long table linens for the aesthetics! not because he gets to finger you under them without anyone noticing, curling his digits to that sweet spot that makes your eyes tear up, and testing how much it takes to break your composure, of course not! never that

loveisland!suguru who loves hideaway nights. he truly shows the extent he's willing to go to please you, and he does it rock fucking hard. dessert? no thanks, why stuff himself with cakes when he can get his dose of sugar between your thighs? movies? sure, so long as you're both covered by a blanket, and his dick covered by your soft, plush walls. shower? of course! he'll even let you choose if you'd like to get pounded into from the back where you can feel his breath on your lower neck and his swollen tip hit your g-spot, or if you'd rather he hold you up and thrust into you so hard you can't even make cohesive sentences, and it sure doesn't help when he chooses to suck on your nipples as he has his way with you. sleep? well, some people like to count sheep, but you soon learn that suguru prefers to count how many times you cum before you can't no more, or so you think, upping his count every night he gets the chance

loveisland!suguru who may have been skeptical about this all, but genuinely, the second he saw your smile, he knew he'd do anything to make it happen again, and again, and again, until you were as crazy about him as he had always been about you

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Nine

TW: themes of obsession and possessiveness, jealousy, sexual content - implied m!masturbation, implications of child torture and death, mentions of domestic abuse (not towards reader), murder, body horror

*I know many of you were expecting Sylus to lose control and go crazy and I did play into it but I never had any intentions of that happening. I was always going to make him try to right his hurtful actions to reader. One of the main things about Sylus is how integral consent is in his story and I did not want to ignore that. Despite them all being yanderes I don't want to take away from their personalities so I've done my best to find a balance.

WC: 5.1K

Masterlist

Forgive me, he begs.

The presence is always there.

Throughout all the constant sounds in this place.

Scribbling on paper. Clacking of the keys on the computer. Beeping from whatever machines they use.

Most of the words spoken and actions taken by the scientists around her are too complex for her child mind to understand. All she knows is that they hurt her.

They hurt her a lot.

That’s what 02 told her. 

Caleb, she informs herself, his name is Caleb. Remember it.

Her mind is too unreliable. She never remembers anything. She relies on 0-Caleb to let her know but as young as she is, she can still tell that he omits information from her. She’s too tired to care.

Her mind may not remember but her body does.

Phantom aches and pain that will pop up out of nowhere. The sensation of being cut open.

The sensation of feeling her heart stop.

Surrounded by bleak walls, lab equipment, being labelled as a test subject and she’s confident that whoever decorated this hell was simply told “White. Make it all white.”, it doesn’t take long for her to put it all together. 

What they’re doing to her.

She’s glad she doesn’t remember any of it.

Other than Caleb, there’s always someone with her. Or something.

A comforting presence. 

Invisible to everyone. Even Caleb.

Or maybe not.

It’s around her at all times but it only reaches out in her last moments, before she forgets everything and her personal hell starts all over again.

The presence only reaches out when she’s about to fade, a soothing sensation of a hand caressing her head, cool to the touch. 

Sometimes she swears she can hear a voice, a voice that’s sobbing,

It repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”, over and over again.

The next time she awakens, it’s in a nice house. She has a grandma and a brother(?) of sorts. He tells her to call him Caleb. 

She forgets all about the presence. She doesn’t feel it again.

Until the eyes of her new neighbour bore into her and she’s smitten.

Completely unaware that her presence has made its way back to her.

All she knows is her mind is screaming to never let her go.

Sylus knew he shouldn’t have let you go.

But he always finds himself caving in when you plead.

It wasn’t even like this was new to him, he’d always let you get away with things. The mercy he granted to you had yet to be given to anyone else. He should’ve ended your suffering all those years ago instead he fought against fate to keep you alive. He had thought of you as the most beautiful unpolished gem in his collection. His . 

Yet it had been that exact thinking that flowed into his attitude towards you that had driven you away. Something he shouldn’t care about yet it’s constantly present in the back of his mind.

His mind that has been struck by a disease, one named after you. Selfish desires ignite in him - thoughts of keeping you locked up, chained to him - something that should disgust him. 

It doesn’t. 

It’s unlike him. He’d walk away from Mara if she asked but Sylus can’t do it for you. It’s not fair, not to you. He’s aware of it, of how morally wrong his behaviour is. You deserve better, you deserve stability. 

It’s okay. He’s learnt now, he can give you that. After he personally delivers the heads of every single person involved in your suffering. After he builds you so strong that no one can hurt you again. Not even him.

His thoughts have become erratic in your absence. On day one alone, not a single person could escape his wrath. He checked his phone, there were no messages from you. He can’t even remember the last time he had lost control over himself like this.

On day two, he sent Mephisto after you.

No messages.

On day three, the crow returned.

No messages.

Red and black mist destroy everything in the room as he watches you cling to another man. You smile and look at the man so fondly. You give him your affection so freely when it took you two years to even touch Sylus.

The doctor had gotten further with you in two days than Sylus had in two years.

The revelation breaks him. The anger coursing through his veins is not directed at you but himself. He doesn’t blame you for seeking comfort you desperately needed, comfort Sylus had failed to give you.

He’ll fix it.

Please let him fix it. 

You feel your heart drop as you look at the latest message from Sylus. 

You look at the bedroom door in horror. He’s outside. Why the fuck is he outside!

No , you shake your head, he doesn’t deserve my fear . With a new found resolve, you grab your bag and leave but not before stopping to look at the figure sleeping on the bed. He looks so serene. So beautiful. 

You’ve already broken your promise to Zayne, you’re leaving him in the dead of the night. It’s cruel but that is what you’ve always been. You try to comfort yourself that it’s better this way, that he learns the girl from his childhood was a fake. Remember your place , you tell yourself, you’re nothing but a selfish bitch , but the trembling off your lips gives it all away.

With a heavy heart, you walk away from the man that had brought you peace even if it had been just for a little while.

Sylus clenches his hand as he takes in your approaching figure.

He’s parked right outside Zayne’s house, leaning against his car.

His jaw locks as he takes in your dishevelled state, the shirt that does nothing to hide the marks on your neck, your bruised lips and the way you’re walking with a slight limp.

He had not expected this. 

You still at his expression, watching him with a wary look. He sighs, taking in a deep breath, forcing himself to look nonchalant. Getting angry and losing control would deliver the opposite results he was looking for. He walks over to the passenger seat and opens it.

“Get in.”

You don’t move. After a little more silence, you bring your hands up.

[“You’re not mad?”]

He closes the door and walks towards you. His steps are at a normal pace to not spook you. You don’t do a thing as he comes into your space, fingers gently grazing at the marks that should’ve been from him.

“I’d rather we talk about this in a warm lit room than out here in the dead of the night,” the man smiles at you. It doesn’t match the look in his eyes. “It would be more ideal, don’t you think?”

The air around you suddenly becomes colder. Ice encases the hand Sylus was touching you with, an arm pushes you away from him and into someone else’s back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zayne asks him, an eyebrow raised.

“ Oh? What’s this?” Sylus smirks at the black-haired man. Not at all intimidated, he leans right into Zayne’s face. “A hero to the rescue, is that how you see yourself?” he finishes. 

Zayne doesn’t even flinch as he stares right back into Sylus’s gaze. “What gives you the right to touch her?”

You watch the exchange in slight amusement. 

Honestly it looks like they’re about to kiss. You take in the scene again, there’s a spark between them that they don’t realise. It’s chemistry if you’ve ever seen it. Ignited by mutual hatred. You try to bite down the smirk rising within you, this will be entertaining. 

“I’m her boss,” the man answers simply. “The one who’s been taking care of her this entire time. Where were you while she was suffering?” 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, goosebumps are all over your body and when you exhale you can see your breath in the air. All of it as a result as the temperature around you becomes even chillier as Zayne takes in Sylus’s jab. 

His lips curl into a snarl and unfortunately you have to ignore how it turns you on because these two idiots will kill each other if this keeps up. Luckily, you have just the weapon to disarm them both.

“Z-zayne.”

The two men freeze as they stare at you in awe. Your voice is scratchy, hoarse from years of unuse. Yet they drink it up like it’s nectar.

It had been a gamble but you figured after two years of resting, you could at least say one word. Thankfully, it worked.

Your hand wraps around his upper arm as you guide him away from Sylus. The man watches the two of you with steel eyes. At your touch, Zayne’s evol melts away.

[“He’s right. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here. I owe him my life.”] you explain.

“I can tell he’s not a normal man,” Zayne cups your cheek. “Just what have you involved yourself in,” there’s only worry in his eyes as he gazes at you. You smile as you lean into his touch.

[“Nothing I can’t handle.”] you reassure him. 

“You promised you weren’t going to leave,” he doesn’t say it like an accusation but it still stabs you like one. The two of you ignore the scoff from a certain man.

[“I wasn’t lying,”] you say as you lie. [“I have your number, remember? I’ll visit. We need to talk anyways.”] 

You take in his demeanour and just like that, he easily crumbles down your walls. It had been so easy for you to walk away from people once but despite your earlier bravado you don’t think you have it in you to do it again. Not as he looks so afraid you’ll disappear again. You can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a good change or not.

[“If I could stay I would,”] your eyes plead with him. Please let me go . 

[“And if memory serves correct, I still owe you three deserts.”]

He looks at you in confusion until you literally see the lightbulb in his head turn on. 

“But I lost the coupon,” he pouts. You can’t help the smile on your face. [“I’ll make an exception just this once, okay?”] 

Zayne sighs, looking away in contemplation. “Okay,” he says, letting go of you. He takes a step back and your insecurity wonders if it’s one from you.

Sylus has the sense not to say a word but it doesn’t stop him from putting his hand on your lower back as he guides you into your seat. 

Zayne watches as the car speeds down the road. He continues to watch as it escapes his sight.

Zayne is left alone. 

He walks mindlessly into his bedroom, collapsing on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a blank look on his face.

The house already feels so empty without you, how is he supposed to go back to normal?

You had told him that you were going to leave Linkon, he knew your visit wasn’t a permanent one but three days after over a decade without you wasn’t enough. He didn’t need more, he needed forever.

He repeats in his mind the way you had spoken his name. Your voice is deeper since you were no longer a child. His cheeks flush as he realises that the first word you had said after years of silence was his name. His breath becomes heavier as your voice repeats. His dick stands to attention.

Even after so many rounds he still wasn’t satiated.

He stares at the imprint around his wrist. He brings it closer to his mouth, his lips just ghosting over it.

It’ll have to do.

His other hand goes down to his pyjama pants.

It’s okay. He can play the long game. He waited this many years, he can wait even more for you. The company he had given you was priceless, he’ll remind you every step of the way why he’s the better choice. The only choice.

The silence has you on edge.

You were expecting more from Sylus. Threats or yelling maybe even both, anything over the silence. It feels like torture. 

You watch his body language. His grip is tight on the steering wheel. He hasn’t even looked at you once, gaze locked onto the road before him. It’s clear he’s angry but you don’t understand why he hasn’t done something about it. 

Sylus takes notice of the way you grip onto your pants, you’re trying to pretend otherwise but he can tell some part of you is afraid. Nothing out of his mouth will calm you down, he’s sure of it.

There are two cowards in the car and not a single one of them makes a move. 

The twins don’t ambush you when you return.

“They’re out,” Sylus walks into his office, he doesn’t have to say it for you to know to follow him. 

You close the door behind you as you enter his space making sure to give Mephisto a stink eye. The bird squawks at the action before cooing softly at you. 

Traitor , you narrow your eyes at him. 

You’ve already forgiven him, he has no choice to do what Sylus tells him to but where’s the fun in letting the bird know that?  

[“Okay out with it. What’s my punishment?”] you struggle to look him in the eyes. You don’t want to concede but in an unreliable world you’ve learnt to pick your battles. Truth is you need him more than he needs you. You thought you’d be okay being a pawn but reality had settled in and you want the freedom you’ve been desperately seeking in your lives.

His heart twists as he takes in the dejected look on your face. He had really screwed things up.

“I’m sorry.”

What?

Your head snaps up at him. Of all the things you had imagined in your head, those two words had never even made the list, no they had never even been considered. Sylus doesn’t do apologies. Right? 

He gives you a sad smile at your expression. What a hole he had dug himself into.

“You’re thinking that I’m lying right now.”

You don’t respond but your silence speaks.

He doesn’t let it deter him. “I don’t blame you,” he continues. “I kept you at a distance because I thought it would be best,” he chuckles. “What a fool I’ve been, hmm?”

Your nails dig into your skin, an attempt to ground yourself. His apology hadn’t moved you.

[“Why did you lie?”]

He looks at you in confusion. “You’re going to have to give me more details than that. After all, I lie for a living, little bird.” 

[“You said you’d give me information about my brother when you had it but you kept it from me. You only gave it when I proved myself useful again.”] you glare at the man before you. 

Sylus takes in your words as he realises his mistake. “Is that why you’ve been so distant?” his voice is quieter. He accepts he won’t get an answer when you raise an eyebrow at him. He walks towards you until he’s right in front.

“I have no excuse,” he admits.

Tears run down your face as you shake from anger. Fucking bastard , you scream in your head as you rush at him. He does nothing to stop the hits on his chest, only making a move when you wince in pain from a hit. His hands grab your wrists, halting them in the air. You try to struggle out of his grip but he’s much stronger.

He says nothing as you try to calm yourself, only watching. Then he brings one hand right over his heart, pressing his down on top so you can’t remove it. You hear the thumping of his chest.

“Take it.”

Huh? 

“If I give my heart to your brother, will it suffice? Will you forgive me then? Ask me for it and it’s yours,” he raises the same hand to his lips, kissing the middle of your palm.

You can only stare in astonishment at the man in front of you. One had to be a little insane to be head of a criminal organisation, you knew that, but wasn’t this too much?

He finally lets you yank your hands away.

[“Are you stupid?”]

“For you? Yes,” he smirks.

You scowl at him. [“I need you alive, remember?”] you poke his chest. [“You’re not allowed to die while I still need you.”]

“Noted.”

He tries to not let it show how elated he was to see you admit that you need him.

What an infuriating asshole. 

“Then what will it take for you to forgive me?” 

[“I can’t forgive you. Not yet or maybe never.”]

He nods. “Okay.”

[“No more lying. Tell me everything related to my brother and the people we’re hunting. Don’t keep things from me. I can’t forgive you but I can learn to trust you.”]

“No more lying. I promise.”

Suddenly exhausted from the conversation, you turn to leave but he’s still not done.

“You wanted your own space, right?”

You look back at him, nodding so he can continue.

“You don’t have to worry about asking for permission anymore. Just let me know in advance.”

The last thing Sylus wants is for you to make a home somewhere else but seeing some light return to your eye, he knows he’s made the right decision. He can’t be selfish anymore.

Not if he wants to lose you.

Hazel eyes gaze at you in wonder as you enter the café. His tablet he had previously been on is now turned off and forgotten. 

“You’re here,” the man says as you sit down in front of him.

[“Why wouldn’t I be?”] 

The tips of his ears turn red. “I didn’t think you would come back,” he admits. 

You feel surprisingly numb at his words. You owe him the truth. [“I was going to leave that night so you’re not wrong to feel that way.”]

Zayne gazes down at his lap. It’s uncharacteristic of him to be so hesitant and you hate yourself even more for reducing him to this. 

“Is it because you regret-”

You don’t let him finish, your hands reach for his and you squeeze the flesh as you vehemently shake your head no.

[“No. Not for one bit do I regret anything from those three days.”]

He meets your eyes. “Then why…” he trails off.

[“Because that girl you remember? She was a façade. I thought if I acted like a good person then I would become one. But my nature will never change. I’m selfish, that’s why I stayed. I’m also a coward, that’s why I tried to run.”] you feel your hands tremble as you explain.

Zayne keeps his eyes on them even when you bring them under the table as an attempt to hide it. “What made you change your mind? You didn’t have to respond to my text and meet me here.”

You take a while to answer, unsure how to respond. 

[“I don’t know.”]

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ve already ordered something for us, you’ll like it.”

[“Zayne about that night when we…”] you trail off.

“When we had sex?” he finishes for you.

You feel yourself fluster at his bold words, looking around to see if anyone overheard.

[“Be more quiet!”] 

“No,” he crosses his arms, looking away. “Consider it your punishment.” His childish act makes you smile. You don’t notice him slightly peeking at you, body relaxing at your happiness. He likes making you smile.

Heat rushes through him as he remembers that night, each detail ingrained in his mind. All of it perfect except for one thing. He really wants to hear your moans. 

A squeeze to his cheeks pulls him out his thoughts. It’s his fault, you reason with yourself, for being too cute. 

[“I don’t regret that it happened but I can’t give you anything more than that. Not right now at least,”] you eyes are downcast. What if he thinks you just used him?

Hands grab yours. “I know.”

You try to remove your hands to sign but he tightens his hold. “I know,” he repeats. “I’ll wait. Take however long you need, just don’t disappear again.”

You nod and the two of you smile at the other. You feel more at ease now that you’ve been honest with him.

And Zayne? He doesn’t care if you’re selfish. You can take and take from him, he’ll happily give you whatever you desire.

For now, he’ll settle on keeping these thoughts to himself.

He slides the tablet towards you. You look at the screen. It’s a listing of an apartment, one of the many on the list you had given him.

“It’s the only one I thought you’d like.”

You look through the photos of the place, ending on a map of where it is. The address has you grin at him mischievously.  

[“And it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s a five minute walk from your place?”]

His cheeks burn. “A mere coincidence.” 

You silently laugh. Throwing your hands up to let him know you won’t fight him on it.

[“Then let’s go see it now, there’s an inspection today,”] you get up to leave but a hand on your shirt stops you.

“Our food is still being prepared. It would be a shame to leave, no?”

You sit back down. [“A shame indeed.”] 

The apartment has everything you’re looking for.

It’s a two bedroom, containing all the necessities you need. But the number one thing you like is the open concept. The place feels spacious, the large windows add to it as well. Too many walls freak you out but it won’t be a problem here.

Zayne watches in satisfaction as you look around in awe. He can’t help but feel prideful that you approve of his choice.

The realtor is more than happy to give you the place when you agree to pay more than twice the original price. You give her your fake documents, ones Sylus had gotten made for you. 

You leave the building with a beaming smile. Zayne simply watches.

“And here I thought your name was [Name].” 

You look at him in slight confusion before you see the subtle smirk on his face. 

Ah, I see.

[“Forgive me, I’ve lied to you once again.”] you clasp your hands together.

He can’t keep the smile off his face as you play along. “Maybe if you make me a dessert, I could find it in my heart to forgive you.”

You waste no time in holding his hand and dragging him away. 

Sylus stares at the apartment door in front of him.

It had been a few days since you left to get settled into your new place. The agreement was for you to spend a week in N109 and the next in Linkon. He had stayed away because he didn’t want to intrude. He’s only here because he needs payment for his favour.

He rings the doorbell.

Sylus is very grateful to your parents for bringing you into his world. Your hair is wet, a small towel around your neck. He looks all over your body, what a delicious sight.

You tilt your head at him. Your week isn't over so why is he here?

He holds up the fruit basket in his hands. “Housewarming gift.”

You take it and let him in.

[“I bought this place with your money, you didn’t need to.”]

“But I did,” he looks all over the place, committing the floorplan to memory. “You could’ve chosen a nicer house, you know? I’m not poor,” he looks offended.

You roll your eyes at him. [“I don’t want to stand out.”]

“All you do is stand out, little bird,” he makes himself at home on your couch. Your annoyance shoots up when he smiles at you. It’s obvious he’s here for something else. [“What do you need?”] you sit in front of him. 

“Check your phone, you’ll find a photo of a man. He’s hiding here in Linkon. Kill him,” he says it like he’s not asking you to endl someone. But you suppose to him this is nothing.

He senses your thoughts. “You need to get used to taking lives if you want to exact revenge,” he’s not gentle about it and you’re thankful, it’s the reminder you need. 

[“Am I going alone?”]

“You can handle it, of that I have no doubt,” he gets up from the couch. “All the details you need have been sent. It shouldn’t take you long.” 

He leaves without another word.

For a man that’s supposed to be in hiding, your target sure loves leaving himself open.

You’ve been watching him for an entire day now and he still hasn’t realised. You mentally add ‘stupid’ into his list of attributes.

Thirty-four year old Finn Lewis had done a few odd jobs for Sylus and thought he could turn around and sell information about the boss. Of course, it had been intercepted before it could go through and Finn at least had the sense to run.

There’s not much more to say about him. Your ordinary drunk that beats his wife and daughter.

Unfortunately for him he had underestimated your boss, evident with the way he’s prancing about in the street with no care. You shiver thinking of being on the run from Sylus. If it had been you in Finn’s position, you would have dug your grave yourself and gotten in.

There’s an empty warehouse nearby where you’ve set up, you don’t know how but the report knew he would be in this area around this time. It’s the perfect spot to complete your job, there are no cameras around and not that many people either.

Which is what makes it easy to get him to spot you. You’ve seduced many people before, all it takes is a simple smile from you and he’s frothing at the mouth. You turn to the direction of your destination before making a gesture for him to follow. And the fool does.

You feel insulted at how easy this is. 

You wait for him to enter the warehouse, he doesn’t sense you sneak up on him and in no time, he’s collapsed on the floor in front of you.

When Finn awakens, his head hurts. His eyesight is blurry and he feels something drip down his face. He goes to touch it but finds he can’t, the rope around him constricting his every movement. Panic settles in and he screams.

They die in his throat as he realises he’s not alone. Someone is sitting right in front of him. As his eyes focus on the figure, he recognises her. It’s the girl who had lured him in here. She has her legs crossed, resting her hand on her palm as she watches him. Her gaze is scary, she looks at him like he’s worthless.

He doesn’t have control.

He hasn’t had it for a lot of his life. Finn has always been under the thumb of someone else, forced to humiliate himself on a daily basis for the entertainment of others. It’s easy for him to beg.

“P-please, I meant no harm,” the girl tilts her head at him.

“You work for Onychinus, r-right?”

She nods.

He licks his lips, his throat is parched. “T-then you know what it’s like! It’s all a misunderstanding! I’m just a weak nobody,” his voice picks up as he realises she’s listening intently, filled with hope that he might get out of this alive.

The girl instead smiles, like he had said something amusing.

He gets angry at how easily she brushes him off. “You fucking bitch! I’m gonna kill you with bare hands.”

You had been so wrong.

You’re filled with amusement, relishing in the fact that this pathetic excuse of a human was going to die by your hands. His rant goes ignored as you think of the numerous ways you could do this. What would be a befitting end for a man like this?

Let me.

A voice speaks in your head.

Let me teach you.

It wraps itself around you. It’s hand slowly traces up your back before landing on your shoulder. The other grasps your chin until you’re looking back at the man in front of you. The hand on your shoulder lets go and plunges into the deep depths of your mind, moulding it to do its bidding.

Ruin him , it whispers.

Change him , it screams.

But keep him alive , it cackles. 

You suddenly stand up, shocking the man who freezes when he notices your changed deamour. Your eyes are blank as you stare at him, your moves robotic - like you’re being controlled - as you step towards him. 

You have your orders.

“W-wait!”

Ruin him. Ruin him. Ruin him. 

Your hand reaches for him.

“No!”

Change him. Change him. Change him.

He lets out an excruciating scream when you touch him.

You wake up with a gasp on a cold stone floor. Your mind is a mess as you try to remember what happened. All you can remember is your mission.

Your head snaps to where the man should be. But he’s gone. The chair he was sitting on is toppled over, ropes on the floor. You don’t even feel panic, too busy gaping in shock at something else.

It stands proud in the same spot the man had been in. Its leaves are a vibrant green. How it managed to grow so strong without any sun or dirt you don’t know. You step forward.

It calls to you.

It’s hauntingly beautiful.

It’s your creation.

Your fingers trace over the bark, not rough to touch but soft and firm instead. When you remove your hand, red coats your fingertips. You step back, the ridges of the bark seem to make a picture.

Like a face in agony.

But keep him alive…

Zayne: I’m going to kill you. Sylus: Not if I kill you first. Reader: Kiss, kiss, fall in love~

On a more serious note, I'm expanding more on reader's lore. Any theories on who this mystery voice that can control her is?

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers @eolivy

[speaknowgirl3184]

omg can I pls request a fic where anakin does turn to the dark side but then sees the twins he has with the reader and tries to idk redeem himself? with like a shit ton of angst but then a little light of hope in the end

im really bad at explaining what exactly the request really Is but u get the gist of it😭

Ashes To Stars

Unburnt! Darth Vader x female reader

As the galaxy burns under the Empire’s shadow, a lost love and hidden children may be the only light strong enough to reach what remains of Anakin Skywalker.

Warning: ANGST, Major character death, killings, death, funeral, gore, kinda war. (Let me know if there is anything else).

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Before

The Jedi Temple burned behind you, its flames licking the Mustafar skyline like fingers of hell reaching toward the heavens. A grotesque parody of a funeral pyre, for hope, for peace, for everything the Jedi Order once stood for.

You had arrived too late.

Smoke thick as mourning shrouds coiled around the great stone pillars, charring once-pristine walls with soot and sorrow. You stumbled through the carnage, boots slipping in blood and ash, the stench of death clinging to your robes and searing itself into your lungs.

Tiny bodies, so many of them, scattered like broken dolls on the marble floor. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Faces frozen in fear. Lightsabers still gripped in small, trembling hands that would never grow strong enough to wield them again.

You dropped to your knees beside one of the younglings, brushing a strand of hair from their wide, glassy eyes. You bit down a sob.

“Anakin,” you gasped, your voice hoarse from smoke and disbelief. “Anakin, where are you?”

No answer came.

Only silence.

Then—

Snap-hiss.

The hum of a lightsaber igniting echoed in the ruined hall like a war drum.

A blade, red as spilled blood, pierced the gloom.

Your eyes lifted.

And there he stood.

Your Anakin… and yet not.

His silhouette emerged from the shadows like a nightmare carved from obsidian. Cloaked in darkness, his saber casting hellish light across the smoldering temple, he looked more wraith than man. His face was impassive, carved from stone, but those eyes—

Gone was the sun-gold warmth that once danced in his gaze when he looked at you.

Now his irises burned a molten amber, twin infernos of hate and agony and something worse than rage—emptiness.

“Anakin?” Your voice cracked, nearly drowned by the crackling of flames and the weight of the moment. You took a step forward. “What have you done?”

He didn’t speak.

Only stared.

You wanted to reach for him. Wanted to believe this was a trick, a vision, some dark Force illusion. But the truth lay around you, splattered on the floor in crimson and silence.

Your hand hovered over your lightsaber hilt. You didn’t draw it.

He did.

He was trying to kill you.

And some twisted part of you understood why. Because you knew him. Knew the guilt would rot him alive if he let you live. You were the last piece of the old Anakin. The last witness.

If you lived, he couldn't hide from what he'd become.

He wouldn't let that happen.

Not willingly.

You survived. Barely.

It took everything, every drop of strength, every trick Obi-Wan ever taught you, every prayer you’d never believed in, to get away.

Mustafar nearly finished the job.

Lava scorched the sky, a mirror to the fire that had swallowed the Temple. You collapsed on blackened rock, your body broken, saber gone, breath shallow and wet with blood. You remembered the smell of burning flesh, his screams, and the stench of betrayal seeping into your skin like poison.

You had seen him fall.

And you had still reached for him.

“Please, come back. You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re a liar.” “I loved you.”

“You killed everything we ever were.”

He hadn’t hesitated. Not then.

You crawled away from that planet half-dead, dragging yourself aboard a stolen ship, your limbs barely responding, the pain a constant roar in your ears.

You didn’t know how long you drifted in space, slipping in and out of consciousness. Sometimes you screamed. Sometimes you prayed.

And sometimes you whispered his name.

Anakin.

Anakin.

Anakin.

But he didn’t answer.

Not until the Force began whispering back.

Not until you felt it—a pulse, faint but persistent. A flicker of life inside your broken body.

It started as a warmth low in your belly, a tiny flutter like a star being born. You thought it was the pain, a hallucination.

Until the Force wrapped around you like a breath.

Two heartbeats.

Not just your own.

You were pregnant.

And that was the moment the last piece of you shattered.

You wept for Anakin Skywalker.

The man who had died with his hands soaked in the blood of the future.

The man who would never hold his children.

The man you loved more than anything.

Even now.

-----------

Years Later

The Outer Rim was harsh, but you raised your children in its shadows. Two of them, twins. Luke, steady and protective, with his father’s quiet strength. Leia, fierce and luminous, her eyes full of fire and stars.

You told them stories of the Jedi. You told them of a man named Anakin Skywalker, who blazed through the galaxy like a supernova, too bright, too fast, trying to hold back fate with bare, bleeding hands. But you never spoke of Darth Vader.

But the war never truly ended for you. You moved often. You taught them to hide, to bury their power. The Force pulsed strong in both, and the galaxy was no place for children of Skywalker blood.

You dreamed of him sometimes. The man with sun-touched curls and a smile that softened even your darkest days. The one who kissed your bruised knuckles after battle and promised that if there was ever a peace, he’d build you a home on Naboo.

Sometimes, even now, you still woke up crying.

-----------

Now

The Empire was relentless. It never stopped hunting.

You were a fracture in its foundation. A splinter of the past the Emperor never managed to crush beneath his boot. A memory wrapped in flesh. A threat.

So it was only a matter of time.

Vader found you on Dantooine.

The wind was sharp that morning. The sun low and veiled by ash-grey clouds. The cold arrived first. Then the silence.

Then the dread.

You barely had time to usher the children into the underground chamber, heart hammering, before the bunker doors blew inward with a metallic shriek.

They came in like a flood, stormtroopers, faceless and ruthless, shouting orders you didn’t hear as they seized your arms and forced you to your knees in the dust. Your cheek scraped the stone floor, blood smearing your lip. You didn’t struggle. There was no point. You could already feel him drawing closer, every step a thunderclap in your soul.

And then he appeared.

Black armor. Labored breathing. A towering shadow of death, framed in smoke and ruin. The mask was the same you’d seen in holos, the one children feared and rebels cursed. But it wasn’t just a mask to you.

It was a tombstone for the man you loved.

Your throat clenched. Your heart tried to crawl out of your chest. You couldn't breathe, not from fear—but from knowing. Because behind that mask was Anakin. Your Anakin.

Or what was left of him.

“You should have died,” he said. His voice wasn’t his. It came through a filter, flat and warped and wrong. It sounded mechanical and hollow.

Your fingers curled into the floor.

“And yet I didn’t,” you spat, tasting copper. “Neither did they.”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then his head turned, the mechanical whirring was the only sound.

“They?” he repeated, slow. Almost cautious.

And then, like a wire pulled tight between you, the Force cracked like a whip.

He felt them.

His body stilled, like stone beneath ice.

Two presences pulsed in the distance. Two familiar, flickering stars. Bright. Trembling. Luke’s resolve was already hardening, his small fingers wrapping around the hilt of his training saber. Leia’s fear shone brighter, like fire, but it didn’t crack. She was afraid, yes, but not broken.

He felt all of it.

And you saw the tremor ripple through his stance like lightning striking the sea.

“No…” you whispered, barely audible, tears springing to your eyes. “Please. Anakin... not them.”

The name, Anakin, split the air like a scar. It clung there, heavy and hollow, a word too full of history.

He didn’t speak. But he didn’t move, either.

You saw his hand twitch. Not toward his saber.

"Look at me," you said, voice trembling. "Look at what you became. Look at what they could be. Don’t let this be it. Don’t let this be how it ends."

Something cracked in the silence. Not out loud. Inside him.

The air grew heavy, tense, like the galaxy itself held its breath.

The stormtroopers were frozen, unsure whether to fire or wait for a command. You weren’t sure what would happen either. You were trembling, whether from fear or hope, you didn’t know.

And then, with slow, almost painful movements, Vader stepped forward.

And removed his helmet.

It hissed as it detached. The sound was final. Like the slamming of a coffin lid, only backward. A door opening, instead of closing.

He looked... ruined.

Older. Worn. Paler than you remembered. Scars crawled across his skin like jagged cracks in porcelain, and his eyes, his eyes, they were sunken, haunted things.

But they were his.

Blue, beneath all that shadow. Just barely.

And the moment he saw them, really saw them, everything stopped.

Two small figures stepped into the threshold of the hallway behind you, drawn by something they couldn’t name. Luke, wide-eyed, tense with uncertainty. Leia, brave as ever, her hands clenched at her sides even as her lip quivered.

The second he saw them, Anakin Skywalker fell to his knees.

Not in pain.

Not to dominate.

To beg.

His saber deactivated and dropped beside him with a thud.

“I didn’t know,” he rasped, voice barely more than a whisper through scarred lungs. “I didn’t know you lived. I thought—I thought I killed you—I saw you fall—"

His voice broke, and so did your heart.

You didn’t know how you moved, only that you were in front of him, the twins behind you. He looked at them like they were ghosts.

Leia stepped forward first. Brave little flame. She looked at him, chin held high, and said in a voice far too soft for the moment:

“Mom said you were a hero.”

Anakin flinched as if struck.

A breath escaped him, ragged, wounded. His shoulders crumpled, hands shaking. His fingers curled against the floor, as if trying to hold on to something slipping too fast through his grasp.

You moved closer.

Kneeling in front of him, you reached out and gently touched his cheek.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

You saw it then, the flicker. The flicker of the boy who’d held you beneath Naboo’s waterfalls. The man who kissed your stomach when you first told him you wanted a family. The warrior who fought with too much passion and loved with too much fire.

“You still can be,” you whispered, your voice breaking in two. “It’s not too late. Come back. Please. Let them know their father.”

Silence.

Then a sound.

Snap-hiss.

Your breath caught.

But the blade wasn’t red.

It was blue.

He turned it, not on you, not on the children, but against the stormtroopers still standing dumbfounded by the door. Against the monster he had become. Against everything Palpatine ever chained him to.

He moved like the wind. Efficient. Cold, but not cruel. He didn’t slaughter them for vengeance.

He did it for you.

For them.

For the light still buried beneath years of shadow.

-----------

Later

You buried him beneath the trees of Naboo.

A quiet resting place, where the wind sounded like laughter, and the light through the leaves looked like peace. Where the water shimmered like glass and the grass remembered bare feet and kisses stolen under moonlight.

You chose the spot where he'd once told you he wanted to build a home. Back when his eyes were still blue, when the war hadn’t yet carved him into someone else. When you’d both believed, naïvely, foolishly, bravely, that peace was possible.

Leia’s hands trembled as she laid her bouquet down, delicate blossoms she'd gathered herself, wrapped in a strip of her old tunic. She didn’t cry, not where anyone could see. But she stayed closest to the grave, as if trying to understand the shape of a man she’d never truly known.

Luke stood beside her, quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he was trying to see the galaxy their father once believed he could save.

The stone you placed was simple.

No titles. No rank.

Just a name.

Anakin Skywalker.

The one he finally earned again.

As the final clumps of soil were placed and the wildflowers arranged, Leia knelt beside you. Her small fingers laced through yours. Her voice was soft, almost unsure.

“Did he say anything? At the end?”

You turned your head, you swallowed against the grief swelling in your throat and smiled through the ache.

“He said he loved you,” you whispered. “Both of you. And me.”

There was a long silence after that. No one moved. Even the wind seemed to still, as if the world itself wanted to preserve the moment.

Then Luke stepped closer.

Without a word, he took your hand.

And as the three of you stood there, beneath the trees where love had once bloomed and returned to die, you looked up.

The stars shimmered above you.

Endless.

Quiet.

Hopeful.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was still something out there waiting to be healed.

Something worth fighting for.

Something worth remembering.

Something like hope.

---------------

I loved this rec, I hope it matched their expectations. Also sorry for the sad ending but at least it was happier than my other stuff. 💗 Tysm for reading everyone hope you enjoyed!!

[cybrasigilism]

hear me out, the wet dream drabble you did, PLEASE MAKE A FIC like where hes over for the night and reader falls asleep and has a wet dream abou him, but hes still awake and when readers asleep he hears her like faintly moan his name and like she wakes up and they ykkkk

Sweet Dreams (Nam-gyu/Player 124 X F!Reader SMUT)

warning: smut, well no shit | NOT PROOFREAD | lowercase intended | wet dreams | nipple play (if you squint) | oral (m! receiving) | dom to sub, kind of? | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: holy moly, i’m so sorry for my lack of activity! i recently got a new place and i’m in the process of moving, life’s been hectic! i can’t promise that i’ll be posting a whole bunch but i’m definitely going to try :)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

finding yourself having a sleepover with nam-gyu of all people was not something you expected out of the night, but here you were— cozied up in your own bed, scrolling on your phone while he took a drag from his cigarette.

“hey, asshole. did i say you could smoke in here?” you scoffed, looking him up and down in exaggerated disgust as nam-gyu blew his smoke in your face.

“funny, you mistake me for someone who gives a fuck.” he chuckled, before bringing the butt to his lips once again, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

you weren’t sure what it was, but in that moment, there was something about nam-gyu that made you press your thighs together. you had never seen someone look so damn good while smoking, and here he was; as if he was putting on a show for you.

there was no possible way he knew what he was doing to you.

was there?

————————

as you slept that night, your mind couldn’t help but circle back to when nam-gyu was blatantly ignoring your aversion to his smoking habit. the way he retained your gaze as he slowly exhaled trails of smoke from his mouth, slightly agape; dark brown eyes flicking from your own eyes to your lips quickly.

you couldn’t trust if that last part had actually happened, or if it was just a trick your brain was playing on you as some more… lewd thoughts began to circulate through your brain.

it was impressive how quickly your mind took things from slightly suggestive, to downright dirty, in a matter of moments. before you knew it, visions of nam-gyu dicking you down were playing on repeat in your mind. it all felt so vivid, down to the sensation of the sheets beneath you moving in tandem with your bodies.

you must have been deep in this erotic trance, because you didn’t notice that the noises you were making in your blissful fantasy were carrying over to the real world.

it started out as nothing much, a light moan leaving your throat that could easily be explained away as a sound you made due to changing your position. although stirred awake by this initial sound, lord knows how, nam-gyu didn’t think much of it… until he heard it again.

this time, it was more than a light sound; you straight up moaned his name. not overly loud or obnoxious-like, but airy enough for nam-gyu to piece together that you were definitely dreaming about him.

part of him wanted to let you carry on, he wanted to see how far you would get— if you would actually cum in your sleep. but another part of him wanted to wake you up, and fuck you for real.

to hell with dreams, to hell with fantasy. he wanted you to feel him fuck you good, real this time.

against what may have been his better judgement, nam-gyu reached over and shook you awake. you rubbed your eyes, squinting up at him confused. but, before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours; his tongue pushing its way into your mouth as a desperate moan left his throat.

you brought your hands up to his neck as he crawled on top of you, you felt his bulge rub up against your side as he did so.

“fuck, you knew what you were doing.. didn’t you?” nam-gyu gasped, breaking the kiss as he rolled your shirt up your body. “i don’t.. i don’t know what you mean—“ you were confused, but you definitely did not mind your current situation.

had you known letting your subconscious take control would end up getting you in bed with someone like nam-gyu, this may have played out earlier. but you didn’t have the time to focus on ‘what if’ scenarios here. you were quickly snapped back to the present when nam-gyu rolled his tongue over your nipple— shooting a sharp shiver up your back.

“oh shit! ah, s-so, so..” “shh…” he interrupted, running his hand up and down your body, occasionally cupping your tit when he reached your chest. “don’t need you to say anything.. just lemme do this, please..”

his breath against your skin made you tremble, and each time he brought his mouth back onto your tits, you felt your pussy clench around air. he knew exactly how good his tongue felt on your chest, and he was going to drag that feeling out as long as he could.

“mh, so good… need more of you…” you were slurring your words, like you were drunk on this wave of pleasure— and of course nam-gyu was going to take advantage of this. “yeah? need me s’bad, huh? you just want to get your needs met, don’t you?”

the mix of your tired state and the sheer sense of euphoria you were riding boiled you down to a mumbling mess, the only coherent response you could give him was a loose nod. nam-gyu chuckled, bringing himself away from your breasts and falling back onto his side of the bed.

“well, you’re not the only one.” he stated, pulling the waistband of his sleep pants down; exposing the tent in his boxers. you may have been a loopy mess, but you knew exactly what he was getting at here. without command, you positioned yourself between his legs and started to free his dick on your own.

“i’d say it’s only fair, since you were practically begging for me before— ah, fuck..” what would have been more of his douchebag rambling was cut short by your taking his cock between your lips. with no warning at all, you cut the shit and started bobbing your head up and down his dick. now, he was the one who was becoming incoherent— rambling nonsense as he took a fistful of your hair in his grasp.

“ah, f-fuck.. your mouth feels.. s’good— yeah, j’st keep sucking me like tha— fuck” he was so fucked out already, you would have guessed that he was the one having the wet dream.

each time your tongue swirled around his shaft, you felt nam-gyu buck his hips up into your mouth like you were planning on abruptly stopping anytime soon. you were sucking him like a woman starved, like you planned on sucking him dry. his moans only egged you on as you dug your nails into his hips; deepthroating him all the while.

“mmh, f-f-fuck me, oh g-od, ‘m gonna cum soon if you don’t… don’t—“ you almost felt bad, with how pathetic he sounded. but you wanted to pull more of these sounds from his lips, you craved hearing him whimper and whine like a cheap slut for you.

poor nam-gyu, he doesn’t know half of the monster he’s created.

══════════════

hey chat! i’m alive! i can’t believe it’s been 18 days since my last work, i promise i didn’t mean to leave it that long!

i’m sure you all understand that life gets busy, but i don’t want anyone to think that i’m losing interest in squid game. well that could just never be possible.

have a fantastic night/day lovelies! 💋

as always, thank you so much for reading! if you have any constructive criticism/advice on how i can improve my writing, please feel free to dm me! 💌

🏷️: @namsgyu @gongyoosgf @kouzih

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

Oh I know this one! So in 1216 Louis VIII decides to take advantage of the whole thing currently going on in England and starts invading in May. He's excommunicated May 29th. Barons proclaim him King of England June 2. In our (and Arthur's world) Louis VIII's invasion goes bad and in 1217 he pledges to never attack England again, and his excommunication is lifted. In this world, it doesn't, the treaty of Lambeth never happens, and Louis VIII has been ruling for nearly 40 years. Meaning Arthur and John arrive a bit before 1256!

malevolent season 5

[quintells]

The Radio Demon Dorms with a College Student (Part 2)

Part 1 | This is Part 2 |

It's been just a bit eversince your life become intertwined with the Radio Demon. Still becoming adjusted to your newly tied companion (as he is to you but much more easily) you wonder how to get the most of this deal, after all, he owns your soul now!

Warnings: Alastor not caring for your personal space, terms of endearment that may be feminine, slight nudity, Gen-Z reader so terminology all be used

A/N: When I was a kid and watched Black Butler (shouldn't have been but oh well) I always liked to imagine a modern set up where the one who deals the contract just wants a friend, but the demon themselves is a bit too butler like for their liking (they're both so confuse on what the other wants, this is the dynamic that will play out) I'm writing this instead of my college finals project ^0^ BTW Alastor will def be a OOC in the way that I want to make him very touchy (but he himself still doesn't like touch until he softens up) ALSO I know Alastor is canonically in his late 30s to early 40s but for the sake of mine, his human form will be 28+ since the reader is 21-22.

The Deal is, What a Wicked Smile -

When the memories had finally come back, you didn't know what to do first. You sat still, hands clasp as you stared at them intensely, mouth shut. Alastor could only remain grinning, waiting for the shock to pass you, he knew it was nothing trivial, you had died last night and now here you were, contemplating what you had done last night. You had promised your soul to him, and he, his services. And for something so insignificant like partnership, you didn't even wish the different riches that the world has to offer! Hell, he could've made your family wealthy for generations instead of struggling. He'll never understand the crave for companionship.

You started hyperventilating, hands tugging at your hair, breathing quicker. How does this alter everything?

"Wh... what changes? What'll happen when I die... again?" You asked, your widened eyes moving to look at the owner of your soul.

Alastor looked to the side for a moment, thinking about his oh-so-funny delivery, then looking back at you, "Nothing. You won't ever go to Heaven, reincarnation? No chance. This is it, so make the most of it, dearie."

You stayed silent for a moment, still terrified. "... I'll be in Hell forever? Will I have a body?" You asked, hesitantly.

His finger plays with the rim of the tea cup he held before, "Mhm, you will be like... a chess piece, well,... if you prove to be useful that is... if not, you'll just be a card gathering dust." He replied, eyes squinting as his smile widened.

"What a wicked smile", you thought. "Oh..." was all you could muster up, looking everywhere else but him. It was a frightening thought you didn't want to linger on, may cause you to die sooner if you do.

Sensing your displacement, Alastor stood up from his seat, your demeanor too down to even care that he had moved. Walking behind you, his hands placed on your shoulders that tensed up at his touch. He leaned down, his head near yours, "Cheer up, doll!" His fingers move to your chin, turning your head towards him rather gently. "I'll make sure all your needs are met, even those you have no clue about!"

Your heartbeat increased, but you summed it up to being on high alert at the close proximity. "...Okay..." Was all you could reply back.

"What a quiet little thing..." Alastor thought.

After that small interaction, Alastor had offered a day out in the city, duties that you didn't think an overlord demon had (he had given you some background). You had only guessed that it was part of the deal since closeness comes with fun little outings right?

You had managed to explore some parts of what you had figured was a really nice townhouse. From what you could gather, it had three floors, one being a basement you had yet to explore. The kitchen/dinning was on the first floor, having a nice view of the neighborhood, windows slightly covered by vines. Your bedroom had been on the same floor (easy access to food, yay!) You had yet to gone upstairs but that was for another time since now you had to get ready.

After taking a warm shower, you walked back to your room, standing in front of a mirror, studying yourself. The Radio Demon was right, it's like nothing had happened, well that is until you decided to unveil your chest and actually take a look. There it was, a long vertical scar, fully healed, that served as a reminder of the true fear you faced last night. Your fingers trace over it, feeling the difference between your smooth and damaged skin.

"I think it looks lovely." A static filled your ears.

You jumped, the towel picked up to cover yourself once more. Your body turned towards the man who sported red. You brows furrowed, "What the hell, dude, you can't just... do that!" You said as your hand signaled at him seating in a chair, one hand holding his radio cane and swinging it back and forth at a slow pace.

Alastor smiled innocently, looking away for a moment to tease. "Oh my, I had no clue..." Placing his other hand on his chest where his heart would be, "...cross my heart and I hope to die. I am no peeping tom, sweetheart." What a joke.

He stood up walking to you, you only shielding yourself, but didn't feel an actual alarm go through your body like before. Alastor set his cane to the side, leaning it against a dresser. He put his arms around your body, holding you closely. He was oddly warm. Although he was built like a branch, you felt so small within his touch, you enjoyed it. Your hands grasp his arms, confused as to what to do. You knew if it had been anyone else you'd screw them up but this... felt different. Was it comfort? You were practically nude with just a towel hiding you, but this moment didn't feel odd, it wasn't lustrous, it just felt good. God, how lonely have you been?

"And then..." Alastor whispered, "SPAZZAZZLE!" He shouted, spinning you, now fully dressed. You watched him dazedly, looking down at your clothes, stuff you had wished to wear before. He walked back to you again, grinning proudly, then grabbing the buttons of your shirt while he stared at the scar.

"Do you mind the scar? My apologies, I couldn't make it go away entirely, will you forgive me, little doe?" His eyes focused on closing your shirt.

You could only stare up at him, at awed, you knew you were supposed to be enamored with his every action but you couldn't believe how easy it was. You simply nodded.

Alastor gifted your sight with a smaller smile, one that seemed genuine (was it though?) "Let's use our words, ____..." He spoke softly.

You nodded quicker, "Yes..." you responded back, making him chuckle.

Alastor could only think about how amused he was, with how pleasantly you were willing to do what he said, he only wondered how the sight of you full of despair caused by him would look. It's more than just taking candy from a kid or kicking a lost puppy, here he was, giving you a fantasy that anyone else would have been able to accomplish, maybe with not as much ease since he's got infinite charm but regardless, him one day just not being able to return... oh it would leave you in shambles, wouldn't it?

The First Excursion, Harmless Curiosity? Potentially Harmful -

"So... uh, not meant in any mean way, whatsoever... but how are we supposed to go out?" You hoped he didn't take it as offensive.

Alastor hummed, tilting his head to the side, a brow raised, he knew what you meant but what was the harm in pushing you?

You signal at him, your hand making a circle as you point at him. "It's just that your appearance if very different from what... humans are."

Alastor moved to turn the door knob, his cane in hand as he smiled at you, "We'll just have to see!" You should know, he has a plan for everything.

You raised a brow as he opened the door for you, exiting unsure but trusting that he really does know what he's doing. Turning back to the outside, you saw the same neighborhood you lived on, buildings and all, the same bakery still in front, like nothing had changed. You walked down the steps of the townhouse, turning around to view the home. It was in between the buildings you used to live in, standing out due to its brown-red coloring, yet everyone else walked by like nothing, as if it had always been there.

A hand was placed behind your back, "Do you like it?" You heard his static whisper next to your ear.

You turned your head to him, only to see a whole different person, a human. You gawked at him, "Alastor?" you slur out, befuddled.

Next to you stood a brunet male with brown hair and eyes. His hair was a mix of curly and wavy, having some sort of natural volume. He wore a much more modern outfit. Alastor knew he couldn't be too flashy, he liked the attention but it may distract him from his duties! So it was the evil devilish pair of jeans he had to wear (he hates them) and a buttoned shirt with a couple of top buttons loose underneath a maroon v-neck sweater, his cane now looking like most, it's shape still remaining the same for the most part.

You stood shock for a moment, pondering just how much can a demon overlords powers do.

You were impressed, that stroke his ego just a tiny bit. He hopes you knew that very, very, very few in Hell can accomplish what he can.

And while he wishes you were thinking that, you could only think back at his demon appearance and what punishments does Hell give that alter your looks so dramatically. Do they really take your melanin? And his hair is unlike his human form, he's not ugly by any means within his demon form but damn, you're beginning to fear more what you'll look like rather than just being a slave to an overlord.

Hooking his arm with yours, Alastor leads the walk, as you continue to gawk at him. His brow tenses for a moment as he catches other passerby's looking at you two, puzzled by your expression. He only gives them a smile and wave, as they blush at him and wave back. (He's so famous) Pausing for a moment to look down back at you.

"Is there something on my face, love?" He asked, not actually expecting an answer.

"Melanin..." You whisper. Alastor leaned his left ear towards you, humming. Snapping back out of the trance, "No... thing, I was just surprised, that you have like... a, uh, back-up form." Nice, you saved yourself.

Alastor backed away, resuming the walk with you by his side, "Nearly every demons does, even the weak ones." He informed, looking ahead.

You wanted to know more, yet, there was another voice in the back of your head that didn't want to know how the Hell functions exactly, your anxiety would just tense up. "Harmless curiosity? Potentially harmful..."

People from school stared, some making sure to be strategic (but failing) others shamelessly looking and whispering. Perhaps not everything is as fabricated as you thought. What were others thinking?

Alastor had not a care in the world, in fact, he did not give any shits so much that he went ahead and bought some ice cream for you two, a banana split! How sweet, right? Making short conversation with the Ice Cream man, greeting him as though they both known each other forever, reality modified to his liking.

While you had been eyeing everyone else curiously, Alastor only led you to a picnic table underneath a tall tree that shaded you both from the sun, and perhaps from others. Snapping back into the moment, you see him offer you a bit of the treat. You look at him for a moment, seeing his small grin. Opening your mouth slowly, Alastor places the spoon inside your warm mouth, delving the cold treat gently. You hummed, pleased.

Savoring the sweet flavor of the banana and ice cream, you couldn't believe you hadn't tried it before. You had deemed it pointless to waste money or to go out by yourself.

"How is it, dear?" Alastor asked, noting that you had been stuck in a deep thought previously.

"It's actually pretty good, I regret not trying it sooner." You replied.

Alastor picked up a bit of the ice cream, using the same spoon he had put in your mouth, setting it inspire his lips, he nodded lightly.

You brain could only focused on the action itself, the small detail taking over your head. That was an indirect kiss! What was this demon doing, was he trying to seduce you? You had no clue, you had to contain yourself!

He laughed wickedly inside his head, what a tease. It was far too easy to see through your mask, he wanted to coo at you, make you flustered and stammer at your words and actions, lost at to what to do even when he was supposed to be your servant at. the moment.

"LOCK-IN, LOCK-IN, LOCK-IN!!!" You shouted to yourself within your mind.

The Call, Close? Close -

You both arrived home after the small... date? Outing? Yeah, and immediately after he opened the door for you again, you turn to see he'd already shed off his human self, red drowning your sight. How is he so quick with it? And does anyone even see it happen? Probably not.

Your phone rang in your pocket, a little tune playing that made Alastor's ear scrunch slightly, which you took notice of and thought about changing it later. Reaching into your pocket, it was a FaceTime call from your mom. You looked at Alastor who simply tugged his bowtie. Answering the call, you looked down at your phone, your mom and two siblings in frame.

"Hey, y'all!" Your voice hiding any worry.

The three smiled at you, the kids waving, "Hey, ____! How are you?" Your mom asked.

"Ohhh, well nothing much, just came back from going out, feeling real tired, y'know? How about you guys?"

Your little brother leaned into frame, his head leaning on your mom's shoulder "Where's Alastor?" He asked.

Your pursed your lips, looking at Alastor who simply shrugged and gave youths same grin he always carries. Looking back at your phone, hesitating as to what you should say, "He's-..."

"I'm right here, little chap!" Alastor declared, in full view. Your family giggled and continued Mohave a full blown conversation with him, Alastor taking the phone from your hands gently. As your mom spoke to him, he turned to look back at you, "Get dressed for the night, I'll take care of them." Softly speaking.

You could only raise a brow again and nod slowly, turning towards your room. Closing the door, you took in a deep breath, relinquishing the whole day once again, it was nice, you’ll admit, it made you anticipate what was next. Walking to your dresser to pick out a set of pajamas for the night, you could only let your hand loom over the many types of soft pajamas, they’re looked so lovely with adorable designs or even elegant ones, you felt like royalty in a way, but you also did miss the good old sweatpants and oversized t-shirts. You looked through the other drawers, and as if your mind had been read (you worried about that now) there they were, some of your old clothing. And while the much nicer sets were tempting, you opened for comfort of the old you.

“Some things never change, hm?” It sounded more like a statement rather than a question. You jumped, hitting your head on the dresser above your head that you had very dumbly forgotten to push away. You turned to him again for the second time today, he sat on the same chair, phone in hand.

Rubbing the pain away, you glared at red demon. “Alastor, please do not sneak up on me, also, why are you always in the room when I’m about to change!” You said, waving your clothes in hand at him, for a second you thought about throwing them at him but decided not to (let’s not push it).

Alastor continued with his shit-eating grin, scrolling through your phone like you’d seen many old people do, one finger with his eyes squinting, he adjusted his monocle. He was odd. You felt you could trust him but at the same time, your indecisiveness won again, you also believed you couldn’t, he was a demon after all, the one who could do anything he wanted with your soul once you die.

“What’s the point of hiding? I’ll know everything there is about you, even things you don’t know of yourself, mon cher.” He stated, looking straight at you as he flung the phone your way. You managed to capture it, glaring at him again, and placing it on the dresser nearby.

You raised your index finger at him. “Out.” You demanded. Alastor raised a brow, how could you possibly think you hold such heavy authority? Was he your ‘servant’ whilst you were alive, yes, but he used that term loosely, if anything, can’t you see he’s just being nice?

He moved his posture, relaxing into the chair, he was showing you he didn’t care for such unneeded decency. Setting the side of his head on his hand, “Make me.” He teased.

You gawked at him, what the hell were you supposed to do? You thought maybe a little order would get him out but now you clearly see not. For gods sake this red clad wearing mother fucker was huge, you weren’t going to be able to push him even with how he’s built (it’s misleading)

Your free hand turned into a fist, you hmph-ed at him, turning to the bathroom and slamming it closed. You couldn’t believe the nerve of that guy! Acting like a gentleman and all but showing his true colors (a walking red flag, once again) changing and then looking into the mirror, the well decorated bathroom reflecting onto it, all this because of Alastor, you rolled your eyes. He may have gifted you all this but still! Pushing boundaries like that?

Turning the door-knob, he sits on the chair still, now in his own fancy pair of pajama set and a crimson & black robe, he smirked at you.

“You failed.” Was the first thing he said.

You scowled at him, what the hell did he mean? What were you supposed to do, you’re far too frail in comparison to him.

Alastor noting your expression stood up and walked to you, hands behind his back, his cane still in hand. He circled you, it made you feel tense, a prey. You heard him practically sniffing… at you?

Feeling anxious, you raised your hands up a bit, in defense. “What… do you mean failed?” Suddenly everything became quiet, you could only hear the two of you. Only hoping that he couldn’t hear your heartbeat (he could, like a symphony)

Finally stopping in his track, next to you but facing the opposite wall, his smile widens. “Yes, failed. Like many others… But don’t worry, my little doe.” He raises his hand to pet you, but you flinch away, still hesitant. His eye twitched for a moment. What a brat.

“So many pet names…” you said, looking at the hand that hung in the air, pushing it away.

What? Alastor was actually offended. He didn’t show it but how dare you, most people enjoy his terms. Especially lonely losers, perhaps you had more self-respect than he thought. Putting his hand down, behind him again.

He cleared his throat. “You will get used to it.” He moved to face you, up-front and close. “Our deal isn’t just ask and tell, dear, if you truly wish to command me, you must have power behind your wishes. You fear too much for someone who has me on a chain rather than it be the other way around.” He put a hand under your chin, once again ignoring your boundaries.

You grumbled. “What does that all even mean? Ordering you around? Chain? I don’t understand, I thought you were just… like… a partner for me to not be lonely?”

Alastor shook his head, his hair swaying. Suddenly the room went entirely dark. His horns grew by the size, he seemed more demonic. You stepped back, but and invisible forces strained you. Looking back at him, you could see a chain around his neck, connecting to your dominant hand, it was faint but it was there. “What’s that?” You asked.

“Our connection.” His clawed hands went through it. “Not very strong, you see? It represents the bond… practically nonexistent I’d say.” He regressed to his usual form.

“And that entitles?” You continued questioning.

“Your power over me, it’s weak, it’s fragile, it’s nothing. The only reasons you have what you were presented today is because of what I offer, willingly. I can half-ass everything if I want to, how I please even if it displeases you and it’ll be because you fear me, I don’t respect you, I’m unknown to you and that threatens you greatly.” His face leaned downwards toward you.

You squint your eyes, pursing your lips. “How am I not supposed to fear you when you’re the proof of eternal suffering? The guarantee that my soul will be a pawn? Or like you said, collect dust. Of course I fear you, I don’t know what you’re capable of…”

This only entertained him. His claws grasping the side of your arms. “Find a way, mon cher… you’re going to have to either way. Danger is promised as well with these deals.”

Looking up at him, your eyes widen. “Danger? Like you don’t mean, other… sorts of hellish things right?”

His hands soothe your sides, letting you go. “If you mean by other demons, yes!”

Your mouth opened letting out a sound. “I feel like I should’ve expected this but it’s still different to hear a confirmation…” your shoulders sunk.

Alastor smiled, his teeth hiding behind it. “Do we worry, then. If you want full and strong protection you must learn to control you and I. We’ll have to become close.”

“Close?” You asked.

“Close.” He confirmed.

A/N: I really have to finish up my project but I was having so much fun writing this! I will be adding some sexual tension cause haha but idk how soon.

[nexstage]

“You know, I’ve never considered humans consistent enough with their words and actions. But you, kid. You seem to be the exception what with this sudden attachment to your brother. I mean, can't you see how happy he is?” The MultiFace, an amalgamation of voices and faces in one solid mass, showcased in front of Ford a big, old, and slightly cracked mirror. Inside there was Stan, followed by a multitude of fans as they asked him for autographs. He signed lots of them before entering his car, or a new more modern version of it, where his wife and children were waiting.

“This is just a sick illusion to keep him from reality after tricking him!!”

“Tricking him?” the MultiFace tilted its position because, well, they don't have a head. “Why would I trick someone who has accepted such a harsh truth? I may hate humans, but I'm not a bloodthirsty psychopath.”

Now Ford was the one who couldn't understand. “What truth are you talking about?”

MultiFace’s mouths and snouts grinned creepily. Ford’d hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a shiver coursed through his body. “That his ‘family’ never loved him.”

Ok, NO! Absolutely no! That’s bullshit!

“That’s bullshit!! Of course, we love him.”

The thousands of eyebrows of MultiFace raised, and they hummed, unimpressed. Ford fought hard the urge of hiding his hands. He felt judged. Like a kid who thought that had given the right answer to the teacher but instead had made a fool of themself without knowing.

The MultiFace got unnervingly closer to Ford; he stepped back, ready to attack, but his body felt paralyzed by all the eyes of different colors and sizes that scrutinized him. “Tell me, ‘genius’,” the creature spat the last word with a cruel sarcasm. “Would a person that truly believes their family loves them accept to be replaced by one of my changelings and live their life as someone else?”

Ford opened his mouth but nothing came out for the MultiFace interrupted him, “Would a person that says ‘I love you’ to another one not recognize said person and distinguish them from an imposter?”

“W-What’s are you getting at?” He asked, his voice trembling just like his logic for it warned him of the answer, and answer he didn’t want to believe was true.

“Ok, Mr. PhD Master, I’ll dumb it out for you. Your twin has finally realized he was never loved and your ‘family’ has finally shown their true colors. But hey! Everyone is happy! He’s in another reality where he’s loved and those putrid liars you call relatives have the version of Stanley they have always wanted. You even got your apology!”

“At the cost of my twin! Stanley—!”

“DON’T YOU DARE TO MAKE THIS ABOUT YOURSELF!!!” The MultiFace roared with such potency that it pushed Ford to the ground. “YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE THE MOST ABOUT HUMANS YOU LITTLE, SHITTY SCUM?!!! THAT YOU PIN ANYTHING ON YOURSELVES AS LONG AS THAT BENEFITS YOU!! THE BLAME, THE CREDIT, THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS, ANYTHING!! YOUR BROTHER IS HAPPY BUT THE MOMENT THIS RUBS IN YOUR FACE YOUR OWN SHORTCOMINGS, YOU GO WAAA WAAAA LIKE A FUCKING BABY BECAUSE YOU CAN’T OWN UP TO YOUR GUILT LIKE A MAN!!!”

Ford got up, ignoring the survival instinct to run away from the eldritch beast before him. “You don’t know us. We love Stanley. I love him! I even realized he wasn’t talking to me but one of your offsprings!”

“Oh yes, congrats,” their condescending tone boiled Ford’s blood. “You are the exception in your rotten excuse of a family. What should I give you? A medal?”

“Give me my brother back. Return him to reality!”

“I said you were the exception in your ‘family’, but I never said that you were the exception with making things about yourself.”

“That’s nonsense! This is not about me!”

“Really? Let’s see, I do what you want and then what? What do you think will happen with your brother? You might free yourself from your own guilt and pat yourself on the back, but Stanley will be once again in a reality where he is a nobody, a screw up. Oh! What about when he finds out that his own ‘family’ never realized they weren’t talking to him but to one of my changelings and liked it much more? How can you heal a heart that has proved to oneself that their loved ones never cared about him, that their relationship with them was so shallow that their own ‘family’ failed to distinguish the real them from an imposter?”

The moment Ford was about to say ‘I’ll find a way to fix that’ never came because, and he hated to admit it, the level of emotional and psychological damage that would cause was beyond his expertise.

Did Stan really thought that low of himself? That even a replacement could do better than him and get the approval and acceptance of everyone? Did this start when he was kicked out or much before? Did Stanley’s trust on their family’s love was so fragile as to think he was better of replaced?

Here is an idea for a GF fic that my friend and I came up with which I'm not sure I'm gonna do anything with.

***

Ford calls his mom shortly before a family reunion that he's not sure about attending (given that he usually doesn't). Caryn joyfully tells him that Stan, who no one's really heard from in a while, is also gonna be coming for the first time since he was kicked out. And Ford is... well, he doesn't know how to feel about it. If anything, he is surprised. The first time Stan didn't try reaching out on their birthday and then on other family holidays, he kinda saw it as confirmation that heis brother really didn't want to come back and apologize. Family reunions never felt the same afterwards, so Ford just stopped coming. Now though... well, it's just strange and very unexpected. But a small part of him that he desperately tries to push down is hopeful that maybe Stan will finally apologize and perhaps they will at least be on speaking terms again.

So, against better judgement, Ford does go. And Stan is there, just like his mom said he would be. He seems to be doing well for himself, just like Ford thought he would, exuding confidence and chatting with people. What's strange is that their father is one of those people. Because Stan has never been so calm when speaking to him, and it's unbelievable to see, especially after all that has happened. Their father seems to have picked up on the confidence, something that he's always wanted his sons to exhibit, so maybe that, along with how well off Stan seems to be, may explain his change of attitude. Stan, however...

Eventually, Ford finally talks to him. It starts with an apology, a surprisingly straightforward one too: no averted eyes or nervous hand movements, no hasty explanations or excuses. In a way, that's all Ford has wanted: a straightforward genuine apology, an admission of guilt. But somehow that also feels entirely wrong, like someone playing the part of his brother in a play, doing it well, but only as well as someone reading from a script could. That's when Ford gets the creeping thought that whatever's in front of him is something that's pretending to be his brother.

Of course, at first he tries to write it off as just him being paranoid, especially seeing how the rest of the family doesn't seem to think anything's off. And, after all, it has almost been ten years. But the more he watches, the more he notices the numerous small inconsistencies, like all the mannerisms he clearly remembers from years ago being completely gone.

At last, Ford can't bear it anymore, so he decides to use something that is extremely personal (and painful) to both of them: their childhood dream. He casually comes up to Stan and starts a conversation. Eventually, Ford brings it up and Stan's reaction is something along the lines of "Well, that was just stupid, wasn't it? I mean, it's a childish dream, something we did to pass the time, but it could never work. Sometimes you just have to outgrow things like that, you know. I wish I had just done it sooner, rather than later". And it's so utterly wrong it's straight up uncanny. Like, of course, Ford did choose to pursue his own aspirations instead. Maybe Stan could find other things to do too, that's believable. But this doesn't mean the dream no longer matters, and for Stan out of all the people to talk about it like it doesn't and hasn't ever...

So, right then and there, Ford decides that, whoever he is talking to is not his brother. And thus he sets out on a mission to find out whatever happened and, most importantly, where Stanley actually is.

***

Or alternatively, Stan somehow stumbles upon some sort of mind reading supernatural creatures who pretty much push him to make a wish. That wish is kinda contradictory in itself, more so two of his deep wants combined: Stan wants his family to accept him and love him again, but he also wants to stop being himself, Stanley Pines, the homeless grifter and the screw up.

The solution to this problem is: a sort of magical clone of Stan is created, which is designed to, while mainly relying on Stan's own memories, act in a way that will make the people he cares about like him. Overtime, the copy will correct its mistakes and become more and more like the real thing, and Stan will forget who he is, which would free him of all his regrets and let him begin life anew.

The flaw with all of that? Stan severely underestimated how much his twin actually cares and how much he's willing to do for him.

***

I have no idea how this would actually go or work and neither does my friend. A rescue mission, a lot of upsetting realizations, that's for sure. Anyway, I like this idea too much to just let it quietly perish in our imaginations. So I'm putting it into yours too lol

[returnofeternity]

oh my god i am literally on my knees BEGGING for more freaky tattoo artist nat... your last one was so good i need more 😩

tattoo artist nat who also does piercings!! going to her for your lip piercing because you've already been to her before so why not, and she probes around your mouth with her gloved fingers, telling you that she's just checking :) she never tells you what she's checking for, but she's the professional here! nat who perks up when you hiss in pain as she pierces you :) nat who wants you back in a few weeks to check on the piercing, stuffing her fingers in your mouth again just to make sure it's healed properly....

speaking of piercings... nat giving you nipple piercings. she's the one who suggested them in the first place. she told you that you'd look great in them and that they're in style right now, so you should totally get them! she just wanted an excuse to see you shirtless. nat who tells you that she has to get your nipples hard before she pierces them because it'll "hurt more if they're soft." thinking of her ending up getting so lost in playing with them that she ends up leaning in and sucking them. and plus, hearing your stifled whines didn't help. you wanted this as much as she did is what she tells you when you try to ask her what she's doing. she gives you a discount if you promise not to tell anyone what happened :)

nat who tries to convince you to get more adventurous with your tattoo spots, suggesting that you should get one near your pelvis because it'll look great (if she does it of course!). pervy nat who gets so desperate that she says she'll do it for free if you get it.

may i interest you in tattoo artist reader with tfem nat? :) nat who wants tattoo on her dick and ur the only one who'll do it. she ends up cumming all over the black seat she's on 😊

[delicateperspective]

Hi

I’ve noticed there’s a lot of debate about Harry’s career, and I wanted to ask what you think about it. Like, do you think he’s actually fully free when it comes to his career?

It seems like he’s gained a lot of creative freedom, and he’s pretty close to the CEO of Sony Music.

I get that at his level, there’s usually more control over artists, but it kind of looks like he’s managed to carve out some real freedom.

hey! oh my gosh anon, thank you for asking this in such a kind and respectful way. seriously. i’ve had this question come in before, but often phrased in ways that are really dismissive or degrading toward harry, and i try to avoid engaging with anything that tears them down for my own peace of mind. so i really appreciate the tone you brought to this ♥

there are definitely some great takes floating around from other blogs, but i’m happy to throw in my two cents too!

so — do i think harry is completely free in his career now?

short answer: no, not completely. but i do think he’s carved out a lot more freedom than he had in the past, especially creatively.

longer answer below if you're up for a read 👇

📄contract stuff 📄

when harry was 16, he was handed the same standard x-factor contract as the other contestants — and likely wasn’t allowed to seek outside opinion before signing. those contracts would’ve included clauses about not revealing anything that happened behind the scenes, letting the show dictate how their image and likeness are used, and (this one’s actually been confirmed by other contestants) never disparaging simon cowell. several former contestants have said they’re still under those NDAs — so at least parts of that original contract are probably still in effect.

and that’s just the beginning.

after x factor, 1d signed a recording contract with syco/sony (december 2010) for five albums and a set number of years. they fulfilled the album count, yes — but we don’t know what other clauses were baked into that deal. i’ve seen theories (and i tend to agree) that if three or more members are seen collaborating or photographed together, it can still trigger the 1D brand — which could reactivate image management clauses. and from what we know, syco/sony may still own their masters, unless that changed when the business entity was sold to universal in 2020 (though that didn’t seem to include the catalog).

they also renewed that contract in 2013, which again — no one outside their teams has seen the terms or end date. and then there's the US contract with columbia/sony (signed in 2011), which would’ve come with its own image rights clauses and restrictions.

now — harry himself has said that the first contract he saw without a “cleanliness clause” (sometimes called a morality clause) was his first solo deal with columbia. that tells us that every previous contract — from x factor to 1d — likely included one. and those clauses are serious. they’re basically designed to let the label (or management) protect their investment by controlling anything that might be seen as “damaging” to the artist’s public image or marketability.

if the artist breaks a clause — even unintentionally — the consequences can be massive: they can lose their deal, be forced to pay back everything that’s been invested in them (studio time, promo, tour costs), and in some cases even be sued for future losses — meaning the label can estimate what they would have made off you and demand that too.

so when people ask “why would they closet him?” — the answer is: because under a cleanliness clause, being openly gay could absolutely be labeled as ‘unsavory’ or ‘damaging’, especially in an industry built on selling a fantasy to teenage girls. back then, harry’s entire commercial value (to them) was tied to how desirable he was to a young, straight female audience. coming out — or even being perceived as queer — could have been framed as a threat to his marketability, and therefore a violation of the contract.

and we’re not talking small stakes — we’re talking about millions of dollars riding on his “image.” at that age, with that kind of power imbalance, it wouldn’t have been framed to him as a choice. it would’ve been: this is what you signed. this is the deal. this is how it works.

and just to expose myself a little — i’m actually really familiar with clauses like that. i’ve written them, i’ve signed them, i’ve seen them broken. they’re not just used in music — they show up in any industry where someone’s public image is monetized. are they outdated and kind of gross? yeah. but from a corporate risk perspective, they’re considered “standard.”

to give a non-music example: if J.K. Rowling had been under contract for five more books when she started making horrific comments about trans people, her publisher could’ve dropped her and sued her for all the money they lost out on because of her public behavior. so — yeah. sometimes those clauses are used to protect people, but they can also be used to control them.

🌟 current day 🌟

based on what little we know, i personally believe that harry fulfilled his first solo contract — which i think was for three albums (HS1, Fine Line, Harry’s House). that deal may have been better than what he had before, but he was still just starting out as a solo artist. he probably didn’t have the leverage (or confidence) yet to push for a deal that was completely in his favor. the label was taking a risk on him — he could’ve flopped. and i think he knew that too. none of the industry people could’ve predicted just how massive he’d become. (okay, we could’ve, but still.)

and here’s where i’ll expose another opinion: i fully believe that part of that solo deal — or jeff’s strategy — was to intentionally distance harry from the 1D brand, and from all the members. not because he doesn’t care about them, but because the narrative around him needed to be “solo star harry styles,” not “harry from one direction.”

that’s why we didn’t see him publicly with any of them for years. remember when he went to louis’ xfactor performance in 2016? there was a photo of him with steve aoki. and then a separate photo of louis, liam, and niall with steve. but no photo of all of them together. no photo of harry with any of them (the closest we got was in AOTV - and everyone says "thank you Louis"). that’s not a coincidence.

even if i didn’t believe in larry (which i do), i’d still believe that the public friendships within the band were intentionally regulated for years. not because they weren’t real, but because they weren’t allowed to be seen.

🌈 freedom, but with limits 🌈

i also have a little (okay, a lot) of suspicion that part of the break harry was on was being used to renegotiate whatever his contract looks like now. but it's too early to see any of the effects of that.

to me, he’s as open as he can be — with the original restrictions still in place.

i don’t believe he can confirm his sexuality. i don’t believe he can say he was closeted. i don’t believe any of them can tell us the full truth about how bad things were — or what really happened behind the scenes.

he has signifigant control over his music. he has some control over his image. and he has more say now than he ever did before. but he’s still walking a very careful line, and i think that’s why he’s known for only doing interviews with pre-approved questions. not because he’s trying to be mysterious and "diva" about it — but because he literally can’t afford to say the wrong thing.

there’s a constant push and pull with his public image. and honestly? i think he’s handling it with a lot of grace.

💬 final thoughts 💬

i really, really hope that someday he (and the others) can be more open. and i think he hopes that too, based on the way he changes lyrics live (golden, 2022, coachella. "i'm hoping someday i can be open") and the quiet ways he pushes boundaries.

but for now? no — i don’t think harry is as free as people assume he is. he has more freedom than he used to, but he’s still navigating a system that was built to control him.

and while i’m here — neither is jade (even if she’s running a simon hate campaign in her music - the illusion of freedom is there for her without actually confirming anything), and definitely not louis (who has signed even more contracts with syco/simon even after the band). or the rest of them, really. they’re all still carrying the weight of the contracts they signed when they were teens, and the machine that came with it.

there are people trying to fix that — former contestants, people who were mistreated by simon, by itv, by x factor. but so far, no real structural change seems to have happened.

thanks again for the thoughtful ask, anon 🫶

[lulublack90]

Prompt 4 - Profession

@wolfstarmicrofic May 4, word count 292

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

“Moony was so subdued after Prongs caught up,” Sirius said sadly. “It was like he knew what had happened. Like he knew it was only going to be Padfoot and Prongs,” Remus had just woken up in his and Sirius’s bed in the spare room at Lily and James’s.

He was tired, sore, and his voice was hoarse from all the howling Moony had done last night, but other than that, he felt mostly all right. He could feel the remnants of Moony’s sadness and felt for the wolf, even if he felt nothing but hurt and anger towards Peter.

Moony had never known anyone but Wormtail, his friend, the little rat who used to ride on his head or scurry over Moony’s body, tickling the huge wolf until he fell to the forest floor. Moony was going to miss him, and Remus wished he could help him through it, but that would be up to Padfoot and Prongs, not him. They could make it their new profession if they survived this war and were able to come out of hiding. Padfoot and Prongs, Werewolf Therapists. Some of the lone wolves he’s met would benefit from an animagus friend. Perhaps he’d write a book about them all, though under a false name. He didn’t want to get them in trouble after all. “Hey, Moony, you with us?” Sirius asked, drawing him from his thoughts and back into the present. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m trying to listen,” he yawned loudly. Sirius smiled at him fondly. 

“Get some more sleep, sweetheart. Lily has promised to have pancakes waiting for you when you get up,” Remus yawned again, but let Sirius tuck him back into bed, and he was asleep before Sirius shut the bedroom door. 

[deadundedwhatsitmater]

Part 2 (Danny's Rough Day)

Part 1

Danny wasn't sure what to think after he got home. Sam and Tucker came in with blankets, water, and a whole bag of stuff, he wasn't sure what all was in it. Sam rushed in just a moment before Tucker, they wrapped their arms around him. They don't say anything for a long moment, they just stand in the middle of his bedroom bag of loot at his door dropped and forgotten in the hast. He didn't realize how much he needed them. They were his rocks, just as Jazz is, and just like Jazz, they knew. They knew he needed them and they were there. He breathes, he hadn't noticed he wasn't breathing. But now that he has air in his lungs, he feels a little more grounded. " I love you guys"

"We love you too Danny" they say together. After that they didn't say much and he didn't say any more than he had to, they played a movie they'd watched a thousand times, something to destract them just enough but not needing active engagement.

There's a knock at the door not even halfway through not that he was actually watching. All three of them jolt. He gets up and answers the door cautiously; he's greeted with the sight of Amity's Sheriff because yes Amity does have a sheriff. Sheriff Whitten stands on the threshold for a few moments before he says “ May we come in?” We? Danny didn’t even notice the deputy standing slightly behind Sheriff Whittten. Sam and Tucker are close behind, but not visible to the Sheriff and deputy unsure of where they stand here. Danny looks back towards where he knows they’re hiding up on the stairs. Getting the message both Sam and Tucker leave their hiding place, standing on either side of Danny as he lets the Sheriff and Deputy in. 

They all sit in the living room, before the Sheriff can continue on “ I saw the News” is all Danny says, then I know they’re dead goes unsaid but heard just as well. Sam and Tucker move closer to Danny where they sit on the couch practically on top of each other but no one seems to mind, they're trying to comfort him in any way they can. The touch feels warm oh so warm, he can't help but lean into it. The rest of the conversation drags on Danny isn’t really paying attention, he's hardly aware as his brain’s on autopilot, answering whatever the Sheriff and deputy ask. He tells them his sister is already aware and on her way. Now they have to discuss where Danny will go. He’s still 16, and his sister is on a full ride to Gotham U he can’t ruin that for her. She can’t take him in no matter how much either of them wants it, besides the court will never give her custody if he has Vlad on record as his Godfather. Oh shit, Vlad. Danny can’t help but shiver, thinking about what this means for Vlad’s obsession, he can’t fade since he's still half alive so what will happen to his obsession? Will it change? There are so many unknowns, and Danny really doesn’t wanna get stuck with Vlad for the foreseeable future. At some point, Danny stops responding stuck in thought. “Daniel, we need you to answer us, so we can move forward,” Sheriff Whitten says, shocking Danny. “It’s just Danny” 

“Ok Danny, do you want to stay at the station until your sister or Mayor Masters come to pick you up, or would you like Deputy Genkins here” he motions to the deputy sitting next to him, a tall tan woman, with curly brunette hair- “to stay with you here?” 

“I’d like to stay here,” he says barely above a whisper.

“Ok son, we’ll figure this out more tomorrow, get some rest.” he gives Danny a small sad smile and that's all the Sheriff says before he takes his leave.

Danny goes to hand Deputy Genkins the living room’s TV remote. Slightly surprised his parents haven’t used it for some invention yet. The TV is off limits, but the remote and anything else is still free game. Oh, wait. His parents were never going to ravage the house for spare parts again. How poetic, for years Jazz and he had to deal with finding the blender in pieces or the microwave blowing up in their faces because of the ravaging of his parents. Yet here he is still staring at the remote, and–  Oh? His face is wet, he’s crying. Deputy Genkin stands in front of him unsure of what to do, you can tell she’s new, probably the only other person they had to babysit him, he thinks. Sam puts her hand on his arm, grabs the remote from his hand, and gives it to Deputy Genkins without a word. She and Tucker walk him up to his room, wrap him up, and continue the movie. Danny is pretty sure both Tucker and Sam are trynna talk to him, comfort him but he can’t even think anymore, it’s all too much. So he doesn't; he just watches as the scene shifts and the characters talk but he can’t quite hear them. At some point near the end, he falls asleep.

[qierxing]

Memento Mori

Sequel to To be or Not To Be Commissioned by the lovely @achromaticbibliophile A/N: oh my god the halloween series was 3 years old??? insaneee

TW/CW: Manipulation, Implied Mutilation, Slight suicidal ideation, Human experimentation, slight religion text tones

Log - XX/XX/XX, 5:00

I’m not sure how humans do these things, but Azul insisted upon it. Something about ‘posterity’ and ‘how humans do so’. Floyd never particularly cared for it but I do find it quite fascinating. Perhaps I shall enjoy this a lot more than I thought.

The operation was, in my opinion, quite a success. It took a lot of sedatives, but the subject did manage to calm down once it began registering in their bloodstream. The cut was clean, barely any bleeding. Azul’s precision is exactly how I remember in the past.  

The subject’s organ has been stored in a safe place. Remarkably, the subject did not pass away, as presumed. I have read in a textbook that ‘without a functional heart, a human cannot live for long’. Of course, I’m sure this is dependent on several factors. After all, we are undead, and yet, by the sheer power of human will, we are once again able to walk and talk. Humans are really fascinating creatures. They lack the hardiness of us seafolk, yet they are resilient in many other ways.

I suspect Azul has something deliciously delightful planned. I do so look forward to it.

—

Your fingers had lost any feeling it may have had. The numbness wasn’t really a problem. You didn’t feel cold or hot, nor did you feel any pain. 

And Azul made sure you weren’t uncomfortable.

He had been very sweet from the moment you opened your eyes to the quaint bedroom you had been resting in. He didn’t frown or scowl when you couldn’t answer any questions about yourself, even when you couldn’t remember your own name. When he started crying, you weren’t sure of what to do besides to awkwardly offer him a tissue from your bedside table. (Are tears supposed to be black?)

When you roamed the hallways, lost and disoriented, his fellow ‘acquaintances’ (his exact words) would always manage to find you and redirect you. They were a little more jarring than Azul. Floyd's smiles always bared sharp teeth, and Jade’s polite smile only did enough to hide the very ends of his own. The medicine you had to take daily from Jade went down as well as a terrible whiskey shot.

Still, it wasn’t bad.

You once questioned their roles in all this. Who would bother taking care of a disheveled amnesiac? Azul only smiled and tucked you in your bed to rest. 

“It’s only right to take care of someone who is ailing,” he said with a kind smile. “How could we leave you alone like that?”

You open your mouth, but he interrupts you with, “Now, go to sleep. You need the rest.”

And that’s that. He shuts the light off before you can even say that he’s doing way more than needed for hired help. 

—

Lab Test Results - Blood

Color has started to become a dull, grayish red. Clotting seems to happen more frequently, causing blockage in veins. May need to adjust drug dosage.

-A

—

He can’t relax. 

Thump.

The undead cannot sleep as there was no need to, but Azul’s muscles remain taut with nerves as he lays on the bed next to you, staring up at the ceiling. 

He flinches when you speak up.

“I can’t sleep.” 

The sentence is spoken so matter of factly that it takes a moment for Azul to realize there’s an undercurrent of unease within. 

“Why not try counting sheep?” 

“Counting sheep?”

“I heard it is what people do to fall asleep.” Actually, he read it in a book somewhere in your vast collection, but the details didn’t really matter. “The repetition will make you feel sleepy.”

It makes sense. With repetition comes boredom, and with boredom, the brain will eventually lack the stimulation to keep the body awake. 

“Azul, did you help me sleep before?”

Thump. Thump.

“Of course,” he lies, because it���s all he can do at this point. “And I always will.”

Finally it’s quiet enough that Azul feels himself relaxing, his teeth unclenching, back muscles losing their tension. He thinks you’ve fallen asleep and just as he’s about to get up–

“Why did you fall in love with me?”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His throat dries as he tries to find the words to answer. Through the darkness, he can still feel your glazed eyes watching him, waiting. 

“I…”

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He’s left staring at you, his eyes wide with barely held back terror. Why did he love you? He just didn’t want to be alone again, left in the cold, cold sea–

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Just go to bed,” he finally says brusquely. Azul turns his back to both conversation and you as he tries to muffle the sound ringing in his head. No, not even his head: it’s like his whole body was subject to each vibration and thud.

He closes his eyes and wills his body to shut it out. 

It’s a very long, long time, before it stops beating.

—

The Collector seems to enjoy a variety of interests.

Colorful butterflies are painstaking pinned down in ornate cases upon the wall–each tiny specimen labeled with careful detail underneath. Danaus plexippus. Papilio dardanus. The names blur by as you glance over to the bookshelves underneath. The wooden oak shelves groan with the weight of knowledge; every single inch crammed with textbooks ranging from biology to chemistry. Next to those are glass domes containing elaborate displays of taxidermied animals–a dire wolf head yawns wide with frightfully sharp teeth in one, while a falcon is roosting on a fake perch in another. 

The sight brings a sense of sadness, though you’re not sure why. Perhaps it’s because these belongings will never be properly cherished again now that their owner is gone. 

“Enjoying the sights?”

Your eyes meet mismatched gray and gold. For identical twins, Jade and Floyd couldn’t be further apart in terms of personality. The quirks do make it easier to differentiate them, at least.

“Just curious.” 

Jade’s smile widens, barely hiding his amusement. 

“Is that so? About what, exactly?” You’re not sure what answer he’s looking for. If anything, there are many things to be curious about in your situation, but not many are enough to make someone laugh, unless they were purposefully malicious.

“Just in general. There’s just a lot to see.” You truthfully say. This room could pass for a museum exhibit just from how many items and books are held here alone. But that’s not entirely why you’re so drawn to it. The well loved items in this room must mean that it’s a room you favored.

And yet, you just cannot conjure up any kind of memory to mind. And so, all you can do is see yourself through another’s eyes, even if they must have a different name.

“The only cool thing about this dusty place is that,” a bored voice pitches in, and you both turn to see Floyd pointing at the taxidermied dire wolf and its open maw. Your stomach feels unsettled at the gleam in Floyd’s eyes as it slides over the sharp teeth of the animal in genuine admiration.

“Oh my, Floyd,” is Jade’s only reply, but you can tell he’s having fun at your unease.

“Azul’s calling you, by the way, Jade,” Floyd adds nonchalantly, with a lazy thumb pointing behind him. “I’ll watch shrimpy here.”

“I resent that name,” you say with a sigh as Jade’s chuckles follow him out the door. 

“You’re short, small, and cute,” Floyd’s grin stretches wide with no shame, unlike his twin. He leans over, practically swallowing you up in his height. “I could eat you whole.”

You narrow your eyes and hold your stance, refusing to be cowed into shrinking further into yourself. After a couple seconds, Floyd is already bored of trying to shake you up, sauntering over to an empty chair and slouching in it ungracefully.

“What’s Azul doing?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

“Dunno. Somethin’ about an experiment or other.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you process the information. Was there a lab in this house you weren’t aware of?

—

Log - XXX/XX/XX, 20:36

Can’t find the skeleton key. Azul’s gonna be mad, but I don’t really give a damn. I’ll ask Jade if he has an idea where it is.

—

The attacks just won’t stop. 

You wipe furiously at your nose and mouth. Thankfully, most of it started to clot and dry, but the damage has been done. Deep brown red stains the front of your shirt and skin, making it all sticky and uncomfortable to touch. For a moment you only stand and look at yourself, dazed eyes barely processing your shaky hands.

Thump. Thump.

Slowly, you look up. Azul is standing in front of you, mouth aghast and face twisted in shock. A ringing in your ears prevents you from hearing most of the words he’s saying as your limp body staggers into his sturdy arms. Something is injected in your arm, a sharp clean pain that has you looking down at the needle stuck into your veins, pumping unknown liquid into your body. 

Bit by bit, your vision stabilizes and the strange vibrating starts to fade away. Azul’s voice, flooded with worry, begins to process in your ear drums.

Thump. Thump.

“--ame]!” His hands are shaking on your arms. “Are you okay?!”

You only nod unsteadily. “Yeah…”

Azul bites his lip, worrying his teeth over the bottom lip. “T-This isn’t right, you shouldn’t be already suffering from more attacks, something isn’t right–”

This is enough to jar you from your dizziness. Furrowing your eyebrows, you turn and ask, “What do you mean?”

His face goes even paler. His eyes quickly dart away as he squeezes your hands, hard. A peek of something catches your eye.

Stitches. 

Black and metallic, winding around the joint of his wrist. Azul sees where you’re looking before he quickly covers it up with his sleeve, but it’s too late. 

When he tucks you back into bed, you’re already wondering what kind of injury could warrant such obvious needlework. So obvious, it almost rendered him…

doll-like.

—

Log - XXX/XX/XX, 3:23

I’ve looked through every textbook and gone through all their notes. Is there really no other way? I thought it was a chance that the operation went astounding well–how can the aftereffects be like this? 

I can’t give up now.

-A

—

The Collector’s house was not large, but it was roomy enough.

The wooden panes and foundation didn’t creak with old age quite yet, but the oaken color is beginning to fade in the time that’s passed, and the glossy sheen of polish is beginning to chip away.

A door stood before you, quite ordinary looking, despite the fact it was the only locked door in this house. You didn’t miss how Azul and others had tried to herd you away from it, even if they were quite subtle. But if you were to recover some semblance of your memories, it would be best to rip off the bandaid, no matter how painful.

The lock relents with the iron black key, turning with a heavy click. When you open the door, it doesn’t creak open dramatically, but swings out normally. It’s almost disappointing, really.

Inside is just as ordinary. It seems to be a study, well furnished just like the exhibition room. An oak desk is placed near the large window, alongside several bookshelves and monitors. The desk’s surface can barely be seen under the copious amounts of strewn and stacked books and papers, all looking like they’ve been rifled through recently. A section of the study seems to have some dedicated desks for alchemy, with various ingredients scattered over the surface. There’s several hanging artworks and posters, although most of them are shadowed by the large poster board covered in pins and notes. 

You glance at the posterboard, trying to make heads or tails of the scrawling notes. There’s yellowed parchment paper that looks to be real old, and you strain your eyes to try to decipher the aged text.

Guidelines for XXXXX

Thou shall NOT befriend the undead. We are the light, and they’re the dark. Our worlds can never join and the boundaries for them must be maintained.

Your skin prickles at the ominous scripture. Underneath the aged manuscript, a post-it is scribbled with hurried hand writing.

*This will cause the subject to grow attachments that may linger on even if they are exorcised. Take special care to not show extra emotion.

The detailed annotations continue on. 

Thou shall NOT incur the undead’s memories. 

*This will only confuse the subjects in the long run, but also send them on a frenzied hunt for ‘missing’ memories-which as listed above, will make them cling tighter to trying to stay alive. (MAKE SURE FRANK UNDERSTANDS)

Your skin prickles with dread. Why would someone need to take such detailed analysis of such an outdated and religious text? It sounds all too fantastical. Pushing back the feelings of unease, your eyes dart to a clipboard hanging to the side and reach out to it.

Subject #003

Cause of Death: Unknown

Description: Medium-length silver hair, blue eyes, and lanky medium small build. Mole near mouth.

Notes: Subject does not exude much hostility. Capable of utilizing core body functions including the brain. 

What? Subject? Cold sweat begins to form at your back. Does that mean…the Collector was a necromancer? But these descriptions sound so much like…you clasp a hand over your mouth in horror.  

No. No, no, it can’t be. Maybe you misunderstood something. Was the reason why Azul and others like that because…

Your mind flashes back to the black metallic thread winding through flesh and bone and nearly retch. Oh Seven…

Something trembles underneath your feet and you look down to see the floorboards shaking. 

Thump. 

Your chest aches. You begin to kneel, as if drawn to something that calls for you. 

Thump. Thump.

Your nails scrabble at the floorboards, trying to find the grooves to pull. 

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Finally your nail catches the gap and tug a stray board up, sweat running down your back and forehead. You’re practically gasping for breath now, physical and mental exertion taking a toll on you.

Your hand finds the glass jar, covered in dust and grime. When you wipe away the soot, your eyes widen in horror. 

—

Log - XX/XX/XX, 6:45

Subject has been acting rather suspicious lately. It’s rather funny how they think they’re being so sneaky. Azul would not enjoy me playing with my prey like this, but I can’t help it, they’re quite cute. Besides, Floyd has also been slacking in keeping tabs.

However, this game is soon coming to an end, I feel. Subject has been coughing up more and more blood from the internal bleeding, most likely due to that organ being removed. Azul is dead set on finding a different way to solve this but…

Well, who knows?

—

THUMP. THUMP. 

“Shut up, shut up–” The vibrations have skyrocketed into pounding on the walls, the floorboards, and the very foundation of the house. Black tears start blotting his vision from the sheer agony of hearing the noise, like grating nails on chalkboard, but worse, because there has been no end to it, not since the past few days.

Papers and books are scattered around him and he knows he must look crazy, kneeling amongst the mess and desperately trying to find anything to make sense.

Report #XX

Frank, that bastard. He raised the dead, but if we get caught by the Association, we’re gonna be in hot water.

Reversing the process of necromancy is not easy, but it’ll be somewhat easier than reviving them. Just have to take precautions. Those modern tool assholes back at school laughed at me, but look at what traditional magicks became relevant. 

He scrabbles at the papers again, shuffling through it at high speed. 

He’s already read this so many times, but there’s nothing else. No more hidden trails or clues, just your practical notes.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His scream of anguish rings out in the room, hollow and ringing. 

“Azul?”

He stops, blot dribbling down his chin. When he turns around, his eyes widen at you standing behind him, clutching a very familiar jar. 

“It isn’t what it looks like,” he tries to explain, mind rapid fire thinking of excuses to throw you off the truth. Even if everything is already falling to pieces. What was Jade and Floyd doing? They should’ve been preventing-

“Don’t.” Your voice is soft, but it silences Azul immediately. 

The two of you stare at each other, unsure of what to say. 

“They’re gone.” 

Azul thinks he’s hearing things, at first. Your voice is so hushed that it could scarcely be heard over the pumping of the organ. 

“What?” he laughs, blot trickling to a slow drip.

Your face doesn’t change. 

“They told me everything. What you’ve done. What I’ve done.” You look down at the jar, conflicted. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about, my sweet-”

“Floyd said he’s tired,” you interrupt, not letting him finish. “And Jade said he’s bored. So…I released them.”

“...what?”

You look at him with sorrowful eyes that both mourn and pity. 

“They’re gone, Azul.”

No. No, no. No no no, that’s not true. He just talked to Jade this morning. Floyd mumbled something about checking out the exhibition. They couldn’t, they wouldn’t do such a thing-

“I spared you,” his voice comes out in a breathless whisper. “I could’ve thrown away your heart for what you’ve done to me and my kin, but I didn’t. And now you’re going to betray me too?”

Your expression hardens. 

“Azul, the dead do not belong here,” you look at the beating heart in your hands again. “We do not belong here.”

“What are you doing?” His voice rises with panic at you examining the jar with an unreadable expression. You ignore him and in a flash of movement, you raise the jar above your head. 

“NO!” 

But it’s too late. The jar meets the fireplace near him with a thunderous CRASH and glass is flying everywhere, and he’s lunging forward despite the pain digging into his skin-

In seconds, there’s a flame roaring in the hearth and he screams again, as if it is his heart in there, burning alive. 

Blood trickles down your face as he whips towards you, but you show no sign of defeat or pain, but smile widely at him. 

He’s left clutching a cold body by the time the embers blow out in the hearth, leaving only ash and charcoal in its depths. Dark blot dribbles down his cheeks once more, but this time, he doesn’t bother wiping it away, letting the darkness pool around him and swell. 

In the dark void, he whispers an ardent promise to a soul that’s long departed. 

“No matter how long it takes, I will bring you back.”

[biancadoes1]

I have a theory and I hope I’m wrong.

If, and a big IF, both L and N go to the Met Gala, yes it shall just be them at the event and them interacting together is always amazing!

But, because we know that certAin people like to be everywhere and stay hotels waiting, (seriously, where is the self respect? Never wait around for a man! Especially in a lonely hotel room in another country), both A and J (again, IF they are also there) could get in to the after parties. I googled about whether you have to be invited to the met gala after parties, and this is what a vogue article stated from 2024;

“You have to have clout. But to get invited to a Met Gala after-party? You just gotta know somebody. Which is why every first Monday in May, thousands of New Yorkers get dressed up and go out - all in the name of an event they weren't even guests at.”

This then had me thinking about A’s recent story of being in the studio with S filming her dance video which she posted on Thursday and then the full dance video on Friday to her grid. I thought at the time, wow that’s a quick turnaround for that to be done, from concept, to filming to editing. Why the rush? (I say this as someone who is a video editor as part of my job. I know how much it takes from pre production to post production on a video. Doesn’t matter the final product length, it takes time.)

Could this have been her attempt to showcase her most recent dancing before either the Met Gala or the BAFTAS, so that any networking she tries to do at after parties, they look at her socials later on can see her “work” and dance highlight on her page. Possibly. A smart thing for her to do if she really wants work. But to me, It just screams strategic to me, as she doesn’t seem like she has the “get up and go” attitude when it comes to work. Harsh? Maybe, but that’s the vibe I get from her. I hope that’s not why she has done that to try and get clout at after parties where she doesn’t belong. But who knows and at this point, I don’t know why I care lol.

It would be great to see L and N there, but at the same time, I almost don’t want them to be there because whatever happens at the after parties or whoever also pops up always takes away from N and L, and honestly I’m bored of that. However, I also do get the vibe that they won’t be there either. (I don’t know why I think that).

Anyway, I always enjoy the Met Gala and the looks people do, so whatever happens, I know there shall be some amazing fashion.

As you say Bianca, stay ready so that you don’t have to get ready. Pass the popcorn.

I mean I never thought Luke was going and I’m 50/50 on Nicola attending atp.

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

-

Masterlist

-

Hey, hey! I'm back yet again for the first time in 2025. College has been kicking my ass, so I'm happy to finally get something out. It's a bit shorter than normal, but this is the last chapter that will be following an episode outline for a bit. I'm excited to get into some less action-packed and more random plot points. As always, DM's/Comments are always open if you have any comments, questions, or concerns. I'd also like to thank everyone for the constant support, especially considering my very sporadic and streaky updates.

-

Chapter 18

-

Your eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the gleaming light. "Ugh." You groan, your hands running through your hair. God, your head is throbbing. This is worse than a hangover. You're sprawled out across the crown of a large oak tree, leaves and sticks tangled within your hair.

Your gaze shifts around, taking in your surroundings. So this is what hell looks like. There's far less fire than you assumed. Now that you think about it, this terrain is remarkably similar to Earth. Checks out; it was quite a dreadful planet.

You start to pick the intrusions out of your hair, tossing them onto the ground beneath you. Every flick of your wrist is accompanied by this atypical groaning sound. You crane your neck downwards, searching for the source of the noise. "Can you stop throwing shit at me!" A familiar, brash voice calls out from underneath you.

You finally catch a glimpse of the large figure, your lips curving upwards at the sight. "I never thought I'd be happy to see your ugly face." You snicker at the man, who's now pulling the sticks you threw out of his own unmanageable hair. You jump down from the tree, landing right in front of Raditz. "You look good for a dead man."

"Hardy Har," the man scoffs. I never wanted to come back to this planet. My brief stint in hell was far more pleasurable." Wait a second... you're alive? This is actually Earth. You thought planet Namek took you out with it, but that seems to not be the case. So, how the hell did you end up here?

"Oh really?" The corners of your lips curve upwards, flashing him a teasing smile. "It's not your life's dream to become one with the earthlings? You could even become one of their domesticated pets like Kakarot."

Raditz looks down at you, his lips resting in a thin line. "If anything of the sort becomes my lifestyle. I want you to kill me."

"I'll hold you to that," You look around the terrain, not quite having enough energy left to sniff out anyone's power levels. "I wonder where Vegeta spawned."

"Desiring a reunion with your darling brother already?"

"Oh fuck off, Raditz." You flip him off before strutting off in a random direction, forcing the taller man to practically chase after you. You're far too weak to use any sort of energy-sensing technique, so you're going off pure instinct.

You arrive at a small clearing, spotting a significant number of Namekians. It's dreadful. Just moments ago, they were eradicated, and now there are countless. They're all crowding around the Earth woman in a circle. Amongst the group, you also spot Gohan. He isn't exactly hard to miss. The kid sticks out like a sore thumb in the sea of green. You scan the crowd, trying to figure out what's happening. Within, you spot an open flame. So they're committing arson now? Cause that's something you can get behind. Bulma grins wide. "The leaves are burning, guys. This is a good sign." Huh? You knew this woman was off her rocker before. But this is a whole new level.

Raditz leans down, his voice a low whisper. "It seems like they're performing a cult-like ritual. Must be native to their people." You've witnessed many strange customs throughout your years. This one may just take the cake.

"This is good news. Goku must be coming home soon," Bulma exclaims. You furrow your brows, your forehead creasing. What the hell is she going on about now?

You scoff loudly. "Please, Frieza slaughtered Kakarot. He probably used his bones as toothpicks." You turn to Raditz, your features softening slightly. "Sorry."

The group still somehow hasn't noticed either of you, and Raditz isn't exactly hard to miss. Talk about being unaware of your surroundings. "The leaves never lie, you know." The Earth woman is far too cheery for your liking. How can burning a few leaves give any sort of data? It must be some human superstition. With a flick of your tail, you extinguish the small flame. Your eyes twinkle with mischief as panic begins to arise. There's just something about mass hysteria that you find so endearing. You're an agent of chaos, after all.  

"That wasn't very nice." Raditz chuckles.

"I'm not nice, Raditz." You smirk. "You should know this by now." You look around the clearing, spotting Vegeta out of the corner of your eye. He's leaning against a tree, his typical brooding expression plastered across his face. He's seen you. He knows you're here, and yet he hasn't approached you. Something's not right here. 

You and Raditz continue to fly under the radar, maintaining a comfortable distance from the group. You watch as two of the Namekian children play. One hangs from a large branch, playfully teasing the other about how they're too short to reach. This encounter fills you with a strange sense of familiarity. Reminding you about one of the few fond moments of your childhood.

20 something years ago

You sprint down the hill, running with all your might. With every step you take, the distance between you and Tarble increases immensely. You've always been the speedy one. With your father and Vegeta off-planet, it's one of those rare moments of leisure where you get to play. And it's not the typical roughhousing your people are accustomed to. It's plain old, joyful fun.

Your brother starts to gain traction as the gap between you grows smaller. Your hair blows in the wind, and your laughter bounces as you descend the hill. Your breaths grow shorter as you begin to tire yourself out. You need to think fast. Tarble has always been a rule follower, while you've been far from that. You search the terrain, finding a large tree. You race over to the tree, gripping one of the branches, swinging yourself up. You now stand on the branch, smiling triumphantly at the boy below you. He stops in front of the tree, panting. "Oh, come on!" Your twin pouts. "That's not fair!" He's not wrong, but you've never liked to play fair.

"Life's not fair, Tarbie." You cackle.

"Father told you to stop calling me that!"

"Just cause he said it doesn't mean I'll listen." You scoff. "I'm not, Vegeta."

"You know I can't get up there myself." The boy huffs. He's not wrong. You stand at least a foot taller than him, and you're not particularly tall among your people, either.

"Well, maybe next time then, runt." You smirk, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tarble rolls his eyes, ignoring your teasing. "Seriously, be careful up there. It's dangerous." He's always been cautious, especially compared to your recklessness. He's the yin to your yang.

"I'm fine! It's just a stupid tree. I'm barely off the ground- woah!" Once again, you spoke too soon. You lose your footing, falling off the branch. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for a fall, yet it never came. You slowly open your eyes, seeing Tarble. Despite his smaller size, he managed to catch you. As if seeing your fall activated some sort of natural instinct in him.

Raditz nudges your shoulder, bringing you back to reality. "You're zoning out again."

"Well, excuse me." You scoff. "It's been a pretty long day." Suddenly, two Namekians rush over to the large group, calling the names of another. The pair mention that they can't find any Namekians from a specific village. Oh, well, that's not good. You don't care for their well-being; every single Namekian could drop dead on this planet for all you care. You're pretty sure you know why they can't find them. Raditz eyes you skeptically, being able to read you like an open book.

"I have an answer for that." A gruff voice speaks up from the distance. You immediately recognize it as Vegeta's. Well, looks like he's gonna spill the beans. "That wish was too specific. Most of you did fall to Frieza or one of his bruisers. However, at least one of your villages fell, thanks to my sister and me. He gestures to you while laughing. Well, now they're all aware of your presence. "Well, she wasn't much help. Bailed on me right after the first Namekian fell. There was no loyalty, which proves you can't trust anyone." Is it just you, or does Vegeta seem even more hostile than usual?

As your brother goes off on his tangent, the large Namekian dragon balls fall from the sky, turning into stone. That can only mean one thing. That elderly Namekian died for the second time. You turn over, watching the grand elder fade into nothing. There are a lot of tears from Namekians and humans alike. You don't get it. He was both old and had already died once. They got the chance to say goodbye. They should be thankful. That's not a luxury many have.

You tune out the entire scene before you, that is until the small Namekian makes a comment that makes your ears perk up. He claims that the Namekian Dragon Balls had no limitations for how many times someone can be resurrected. That is, as long as they didn't die from natural causes.

"Wait," Gohan exclaims, grabbing Dende's shoulders. "That means once those Dragon Balls recharge, we can bring back anyone. No matter how many times they died?" Dende nods. "This is the best news I've ever heard."

This is the worst news you've ever heard. Unlimited resurrections. It'll be like having a bunch of ants. Making them next to impossible to exterminate. This is gonna be a massive thorn in your side. Those humans will just keep popping back up like a game of whack-a-mole.

You notice the Earth woman start speaking to herself as if she is holding a conversation with someone. And she keeps mentioning Yamcha. Maybe she's really lost her mind this time. All that Namek drama must have done some damage to what was left of her psyche. "Hey guys, great news! Yamcha just told me that Goku took down Frieza for good!" You find that hard to believe. Saint Kakarot not sparing a life? Practically unheard of. Also, how are you the only one who finds it mildly concerning that she's speaking to her deceased boyfriend?

"Really?" Gohan cocks his head. "Are you serious?" Gohan pumps his fist into the air, cheering loudly. You watch as both Gohan and Dende spin in circles, Gohan chanting about how his father is some sort of hero. They must use that term loosely here. You turn and see your brother seething. You guess every awful situation has a silver lining. Cause that look on Vegeta's face is priceless.

Bulma pauses as if she's listening to something. "Oh hey, get a load of this. Apparently, Goku couldn't get his way off Namek before the whole shebang went off." And now she's laughing. This woman is unhinged. "Well, I know something you don't know. The Namekians came back with us to Earth with their Dragon Balls. And that's not even the best part. They work differently. These ones can bring back anyone, no matter how many times they've died. So Goku, Krilin, and Chatsu all get the same first-class ticket back to Earth, just like you guys." Is she rubbing this in his face? You can't help but feel that there's something off about this. It all seems too perfect. And in your experience, if something appears too good to be true, it likely is.

You rack your brain for any possible inconsistencies, using your observations and prior knowledge of wish orbs to your advantage. Back on Namek, when you wished for Piccolo's resurrection, he didn't just appear on Namek. You had to make a second wish to teleport him there, and even that wasn't done entirely correctly. Since the Namekian died on Earth, that's where he respawned.

"Oh, uh…" Bulma appears to be dazed. "Looks like I may have spoken too soon."

"Why?" Gohan looks confused. "Why can't Dad be brought back like everyone else?"

It's become clear to you why. "Cause there's no planet Namek." You speak up, everyone looking at you in shock. "If you were to wish for either Kakarot or the bald one back. They'd just spawn in space and die from lack of oxygen. Or their heads would pop like balloons."

"Oh, come on," Vegeta smirks. "Use your heads for once. The answer is simple. Firstly, ask for their souls to be brought to Earth. And then resurrect them. It should work, at least in theory."

"Of course, why didn't I think of that?" Bulma's eyes light up. "That's a brilliant idea, Vegeta."

"Wow, Geta. You're so helpful to their cause. A real team player." You mock.

"You shut your damn mouth." He points a finger at you. "I am not speaking to you!"

"It sure looks like you're speaking to me now." As the two of you bicker, Gohan flies over to your brother, standing right before him.

"You really do care." The boy grins, extending his hand outwards to the grump. Vegeta simply slaps his hand away.

"Please," You huff. "Vegeta doesn't give a damn. He just wants to slaughter Kakarot for himself. That's who my brother is, after all. Always wants the glory."

Vegeta's eyes narrow into slits, a low growl emulating from him. "What did I say about shutting your damn mouth!" 

You hold up both of your hands. "What crawled up your ass?"

"Betrayal! That's what!" Vegeta sneers. "You're a liar. And now that I know, you are no longer to be trusted!"

"Excuse me?"

"You surpassed me!" He shouts. "And you hid it, not for days, not for months. But for years! I look like a damn fool!"

"That's just your face! You always look like a fool! And you're so right. I should've told you the truth cause you just handled it so well!" All eyes are on both of you now, the face-off that was years in the making. "I had to protect your ginormous fucking ego. I mean, just imagine your reaction. If it's this awful now, just picture how much worse it would've been decades ago!"

"That's not the point." He storms over to you. "You lied, time and time again. You've broken my trust!"

"I don't know what you want from me!" You throw your hands up into the air. "Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Vegeta! You've always said I need to be more aware. That I must meticulously plan my every move to be ten steps ahead of my opponent. And that's exactly what I did!" You stand your ground, a rare sighting of tears stinging your vision. "For once, I did everything you said; I followed your every damn order to a tee. And yet, it's still not enough! I can never please you!" Despite how often you disregard Vegeta's words. There's

one thing you've always longed for, Vegeta's approval. Something that seems so far out of reach no matter what you do or how hard you try.

"Stop with the crocodile tears." The world around you has grown quiet. No one else dares to utter a word. "This is just like you. Always taking on a pet project. First Tarble, then Raditz, and now Kakarot.  What's next? Are you gonna adopt a pet human?" 

"Don't you dare utter his name." Your eyes flash with anger, getting right in your brother's face.

"Tar-ble," He extends his enunciation, a smirk slowly spreading across his lips. He knows exactly where to hit and how to cut deep.

"Enough!" Raditz's outburst stuns you both to silence. "For once in your life, Vegeta shut your mouth!" Raditz has never spoken to Vegeta like that, not once. "You've always yelled at her to be more responsible. To plan before she acts. And that's what she did! How can you be angry at her for just doing what you've always said? She did exactly what you would've done in her shoes, and you know it."

"Don't you ever speak to me like that, you second-"

"I'm not done! Everything was gone. Our people, our planet, our families. For a while, we thought you were dead, too! She did everything she needed to do to survive. So what? You're angry that she was smart enough to live? Would you rather not have your sister standing here?"

"That doesn't excuse-" Raditz yet again cuts him off.

"We were all just kids. Everything that happened was straight out of a nightmare. She was scared, Vegeta."

Vegeta scoffs. "Saiyans don't experience fear."

Raditz shakes his head. "We both know that's bullshit."

"I don't need this." He kicks a rock, sending it speeding into the distance. "Or you! I don't need either of you. You can both drop dead for all I care."

"I'll see you in hell!" You scream back at him. Before you can shout any obscenities, you feel a small hand on your shoulder.

"Come on," Gohan starts pulling you away. "You can stay with me."

After a bit, you arrive at a decent-sized home in the middle of nowhere. You take one look at the exterior, and the entire place is in disarray. While the interior isn't much better. And you thought Nappa was a slob. "What the hell happened here?"

"Well, you see." Gohan laughs nervously. "Dad isn't really much of a cleaner. It's honestly not that bad, considering it's been abandoned for a year or so." Vegeta would have a conniption if you left your quarters like this.

"Ya, this is not happening. I do not live in filth." You gesture to the vicinity around you. "We are fixing this. I don't care if it takes all damn day." You head straight for the kitchen, picking up a roll of trash bags and tossing them at Gohan. "This is ridiculous. I've seen tyrants keep their prisoners in cleanlier conditions."

"It's not so bad. We can make cleaning fun!" Fun. Fun? This pigsty. It would probably be easier to nuke the whole place and start from scratch.

"You have the same sunshine attitude as your father." You sneer. "I find it vile."

"I like to think of it as being a glass-half-full kinda person." Gohan starts throwing trash into a bag. "It makes things go way quicker. You should try it sometime."

"Maybe after I'm dead." You decided to stop complaining and actually get to work. This is going to be a long day. Let's just hope you can make a dent in this mess. Life on Earth is going to be far more complicated than you ever expected. Maybe cutting your losses and getting the hell off this planet would be worth it. With Frieza out of the picture, you're finally free. You're no longer a puppet being sent to do the bidding of another. And yet, here you are in the middle of nowhere. On this wretched planet. Maybe you're losing your edge?