#why is this man unable to miss why is he so evil

[trenchcoat-full-of-snails]

Started Will Wood's "In Case I Make It" album tonight to try and give myself enough energy to finish some art

I did not even make it through the first song and i'm ugly crying?????

[wearysparrows]

The D Word

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At Tara's suggestion, you try something different on the phone with Sylus. Things quickly escalate.

CW(18+): daddy kink, phone sex (kind of), masturbation, dirty talk, fem (afab) reader, female terms of endearment are used, cringe pet names, porn with feelings, reader is MC, sylus is not a booktok daddy dom, he's so much more than that to me 3.4k

“Why don’t you just try it? He seems to dote on you so much already. It doesn’t seem like a stretch.”

Tara, your best friend and semi-frequent interloper into your personal relationships, was attempting to convince you to get under Sylus’s skin. “Skye,” as she knew him. Your boyfriend in every sense of the word – except that you had never made it official. Tara was especially privy to this fact – it had become nearly impossible to hide all of the time you spent with Sylus from her, nevermind the constant influx of gifts and attention from him. He had never broached the subject of putting a name on your current relationship, and you had been too nervous to ask for fear of scaring him off, or being rejected. As things stood now, you were soaking up what he was willing to give you – which, to be fair, was quite a bit. 

Tara wasn’t wrong, though. Despite your lack of a label, you had begun to rely on Sylus in a way that differed from anyone else in your life. While your relationship had started on a purely professional level, it had quickly evolved into something much more personal. As it stood now, you even relied on him for assistance with mundane tasks – like helping you build furniture, or heavy lifting that you could definitely do but didn’t want to if there was a big, strong Sylus around instead. He came at your beck and call without much complaint, and often initiated spending time with you on his own accord.

Still, there was one aspect that was missing. Despite your continually growing affection and reliance on him, you and Sylus had never been truly intimate with each other. You had definitely sexted him more than a few times – and he had happily reciprocated. You weren’t an idiot, either. You were certain you had felt him hard against you more times than you could count while settling down to a movie, or while lazing around in bed. This was another thing that he had never broached of his own volition – which made you reluctant to try Tara’s line of encouragement to tease him. You weren’t sure if he was being respectful, just wasn’t that into you, or if it was something else entirely.

“I don’t know, Tara. What if he like, gets grossed out and completely drops me?”

Tara, who was sitting across from you on the couch in your apartment, wrapped up like a burrito with a cup of tea in her hands, raised a quizzical eyebrow in your general direction.

“Are you kidding me? The man looks at you like he’s liable to eat you at any moment. You could probably ask him to take the moon down for you, and he’d find a way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her turn of phrase. Her encouragement was wearing away at your reservations. If he hated it, maybe he’d just brush it off and pretend it never happened. Best case scenario, you figured. You didn’t even want to consider the worst case scenario. You sighed, relenting to her devious plans for your situationship. She had yet to steer you wrong when you had come to her for advice in the Sylus department.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try it. If it all comes crashing down, I’m blaming you, though.”

Tara grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself. She sipped her tea innocuously, hiding her smile behind the drink as if you hadn’t already seen its evil intent.

“You have to let me know how it goes.”

This was how you had ended up pacing around your house that night, unable to bear executing your plan from the safety of your bed. You had too much nervous energy, even after completing your nighttime routine. It was late – around 11PM. Just around the time you knew that Sylus had finally begun to start his “day.” You had locked and unlocked your phone to send him a text more times than you could count, now. You stared at the irritatingly blank message box under Sylus’s contact. It really wasn’t helpful that the last set of messages between you two was about something incredibly innocuous – something about going to the shooting range to blow off some steam. The friendly nature of the messages did nothing to bolster your confidence on this matter. You made your way to the couch, finally forcing yourself to stop screwing around. You put a blanket over your bare legs, which had taken on a bit of a chill from the night air in the apartment. You opened the message thread between you and Sylus. You took a breath. Your heart thudded around, and threatened to take up residence next to your intestines as you typed out a message.

Me:

Hi. Whatcha doing?

11:03PM

You eyeballed your own text. Innocent enough. You weren’t sure if Sylus would even respond – sometimes the two of you were both so busy that you went days without contact. It wasn’t ideal, but to be expected considering the nature of your lives. You, a Deepspace Hunter, and him, the enigmatic leader of Onychinus. Despite earlier anxieties, you knew now that Sylus would always get back to you eventually. You couldn’t help your surprise, though, when his response came within the same minute of your original message.

Sylus:

In a meeting. grueling. Everything OK?

11:03PM

You stared at his response. This was the one thing that was difficult about texting Sylus – he wasn’t one for casual conversation over text, unless it was about making plans, or very brief. He seemed to be under the assumption that you texting him, especially at night, was because you needed something from him. He technically wasn’t wrong in this case, you mused, though you weren’t sure it was a need he was even willing to fulfill. Or cared to. You worried your lip between your teeth, trying not to doubt yourself now. Tara’s words about Sylus wanting to eat you came back into your mind, and you stifled a laugh in the silence of your empty apartment. You imagined him sitting in on his meeting, bored out of his mind. The image made you want to see him all the more.

Me:

Everything’s fine. Couldn’t sleep and I was just thinking about you

11:04PM

You had to force yourself to hit send, squeezing your eyes shut as you did so. It wasn’t as if you had never told Sylus something like this before (though not enormously often), but your trepidation about your plans was combined with the fact that he was currently in a meeting, and therefore liable to ignore your texts entirely (for good reason). Being rejected in an indirect way was somehow worse than if he had just outright said he wasn’t interested. Despite your reservations, the reply came quickly.

Sylus:

Funny, I was thinking about you too. want to tell me exactly what it is you’ve been thinking about me?

11:04PM

You felt your face heat up into a hot crimson at his response. It wasn’t overt at all – and you couldn’t even be quite sure that he had meant it like that . It was sometimes impossible to tell with Sylus, especially over text. He often said things that could be taken many ways. You were certain that you could be inconveniencing him in whatever extremely-serious-Sylus-business meeting he was engaged with. But it was too late to back out now. Your mind was made up. You took a breath, steadying yourself.

Me:

Was thinking about what we’d do if you were here. It’s pretty cold tonight.

11:04PM

You opened your camera app. The room was somewhat dark, so your form was a bit obscured, but just visible enough in the low light to take a photo. You turned over to lay on your stomach, and kicked your feet leisurely into the air. You were wearing one of Sylus’s big sweaters, which he had loaned out to you in the name of the recently dropping temperatures. Other than that, you had elected only to wear your panties underneath it. You snapped a picture, not including your face. You squinted at it. It showed the slope of your back, and the swell of your ass, just barely peeking out to show your panties from under his sweater. The bare soles of your feet and the backs of your bare legs were visible, too. You quickly righted yourself onto your back, pulling the blanket back over your form. You attached the photo to the message and hit send before you could change your mind. You buried your face in the blanket. You weren’t sure about the logistics of him opening the photo in his meeting – but considering it was Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, Relentless Conqueror ,  you doubted it was that much of a problem. 

There was a space of about two minutes before Sylus’s reply, and you had already begun to worry that you had somehow managed to push it too far this time. Maybe he just wasn’t that into you. But the reply came just as you had begun debating apologizing for overstepping.

Sylus:

Do you think it’s fun to get me all riled up while there’s other men in the room? If I was there, I’d already have two fingers inside of you.

11:06PM

Attached was a photo of Sylus from the waist down. He was seated with his legs open in a relaxed position. You recognized the black slacks he was wearing – some of his favorites. You even recognized his shoes. The carpet you didn’t recognize. Clearly in an establishment belonging to someone else. But none of this was important, because you could clearly see the outline of his erection straining against his pants. And it was big . You knew Sylus was big – of course you did. There was never any doubt. You had felt it before. You tried to imagine what it would feel like to take him all in when he was fully aroused. You were already feeling slick between your thighs. He had casually taken a photo of his hardon during a meeting. He was hard because of you.

Shit.

You had never even gone so far as to feel each other up (short of fleeting touches), but he was already talking about fingering you over text after just one slightly risque photo. You would have to unpack that another time. Right now, there were more pressing matters. You figured now was as good a time as any to try it out – Tara’s idea. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. You forced your fingers to swipe across the keyboard. Your anxiety and arousal had combined into a feeling like that of nearly being outside of your body as you typed, and you hardly recognized your own words on the screen before you sent them.

Me:

I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy

11:06PM

You flung your phone to the end of the couch, where it landed with a soft thud . You could hardly send the message, let alone read it back more than once. You put your face in your hands, wondering if you had just screwed up all of the time you had spent cultivating your current relationship – whatever it was – with Sylus. While you had nothing for contempt for him when you had first encountered him, he had slowly wormed his way into your mind until he began to consume your every waking thought. You were always wondering where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. If he was thinking about you. If he was wondering about you, too.

There was a lull of time, and Sylus still hadn’t responded. One minute passed, then two, then three, then four. You felt yourself begin to sweat with the anxiety of it, and kicked the blanket from your body once again. Maybe you really had fucked up. You reached for your phone, intending to check the time. As soon as you touched it, it began to ring. You nearly dropped it again in your shock, but managed to right it in your hands. It was Sylus calling. Your palms were slick with sweat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 His name and contact photo stared you squarely in the face from your phone screen. You gawked at it while it rang. You had never expected him to call you in response to your teasing – nevermind the fact that he had been in a meeting only minutes prior. Maybe he even intended to admonish you. Your heart had begun to beat erratically. In your anxiety and excitement, you even had begun to feel a bit nauseous. You took a great intake of breath, steadying yourself. You hit the answer button with a shaky thumb.

“Hello?” You answered. Your voice sounded much calmer than you felt. As if you hadn’t just been asking your not-boyfriend to put his dick inside you over text. As if you hadn’t just referred to him as daddy. Your knee bounced up and down involuntarily, your nervous energy having nowhere else to direct itself. It felt like ages before he responded on the other end of the line.

“Tell me what you just told me over text.” 

You felt your ears grow even hotter at his command. His tone was raspy and hushed. He sounded needy . You had never heard his voice like this before. The sound of it only made you feel even more aroused than you already were, combined with his commanding timbre. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was trying not to be discovered, somewhere. Had he stepped out of the meeting just to call you for this? You twisted your thighs together, squirming.

The thought of following through with his command flooded you with even more embarrassment than you already felt. Over text was one thing, but over the phone? You had hardly had the guts to send it, let alone say it out loud. Your mouth suddenly felt even more dry. Your tongue flicked out in an attempt to wet your lips, with little success.

“I..”

You attempted to start, but you lost steam. You took a shaky breath. Sylus was quiet on the other end of the line. Clearly waiting for you to continue. It was if you could feel his gaze on you, without even being with you here. If Sylus wanted something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it. You began again.

“I said I…that I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy.” You couldn’t help but emphasize the last word, just a little. He seemed like he was into it, after all. Your own voice sounded foreign to your ears. 

“Fuck. ” Came the growl of a response. It was rare to hear Sylus curse – and something about you eliciting that response from him was incredibly sexy. You felt your core pulse in response to just one word from him. You heard the sound of metal jingling –  what you thought sounded like him struggling with his belt. 

Did he go to the bathroom or something to get himself off on the phone with you?

You swallowed dryly. Sylus’s voice came to you again. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, princess. My pretty girl. If I was there right now, I’d be fucking you so hard that you’d forget your own name.” 

You heard fabric rustling, and the sound of wet skin on skin. He was definitely jerking off to this. He had referred to you as his . You desperately resisted the urge to get yourself off at the same time – you wanted to enjoy him losing his composure over you, just this once. It was rare for him to lose face in front of you – let alone show you a side of him like this. You pressed your ear against the speaker harder, trying to catch more of his noises. He continued speaking. 

“And you’re wearing my shirt. I just know you’d feel so fucking tight around my cock. I’ve wanted to take you for so long, baby. But I’ve held back. Fuck .”

Your panties were completely soaked, now. You opted to remove them entirely, discarding them thoughtlessly over the edge of the couch, exposing yourself to the cool night air. You thought about Sylus touching himself to the thought of you. To the thought of being inside of you. How he might feel inside of you. Stretching you to your very limits. You suddenly felt very, very empty without him filling you up.

“You can fuck me the next time you come over. I want you to. Really badly.” You blurted, voice barely above a whisper. It sounded incredibly loud to you in the stillness of your apartment. It hadn’t been at all what you intended to say – despite the insanity of the situation, you were worried offering yourself up to him so soon would somehow still put him off of it. But it was what you wanted. You couldn’t help but be honest when he was like this.

“Shi–iit,” He breathed.

“I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. And you’re gonna take all of my cum inside, do you understand? You’re going to be so good and take it all for me.” 

You could tell he was already getting close. The wet, lewd sound on the other end of the line had increased its tempo, and he was breathing so hard you swore you could almost feel his hot breath in your ear as if he were already on top of you, inside of you. You clenched around nothing for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. You had no idea you could want someone this much.

“You can cum inside me, daddy. I’ll take it all, okay? As...as many times as you want.” You had begun to feel more confident now, emboldened by Sylus’s response to your words. You didn’t know you could have such a strong effect on him. Despite your nervousness, you began to feel the beginnings of anticipation for when he would actually fuck you.

“Fuck. Fu-uuck . Gonna cum, baby. Holy shit. ” His orgasm was nearly silent except for his words and the intensity of his breath. You wondered if he was always quiet, or if it was just because he was getting off to the sound of your voice in a public place that he shouldn’t be. You squirmed, your own unresolved arousal now leaking onto your thighs. You wiped at it half heartedly. You could hear Sylus panting, trying to collect himself. Righting his pants and belt after cleaning himself off quickly. You listened intently to these sounds. He had cum so quickly to you that you almost couldn’t believe what had just happened.

His voice came to you again, still sounding a bit wrecked.

“If I could, I’d come there right now and take care of you. I’m going to come and see you tomorrow. As soon as I can. Wait for me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his insistence. He was trying to reassure you, you realized. He wouldn’t just disappear back into his world like nothing had just happened between you. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird that longed to go to him from its cage. 

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. Sorry for interrupting your meeting.” Not that you were actually sorry. Still, it was only right to apologize.

Sylus snorted in response.

“You’re much more important than these fools. But I do have to get back to them eventually, unfortunately. I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve gone. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” 

Butterflies flitted about in your stomach. Sylus referring to your importance in his life always made your insides twist up in all different directions. You wanted to be filled up with him in more ways than one.

“Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye, Sylus.” 

“Goodnight, little dove.”

You hung up the line. The air suddenly felt very empty without the sound of Sylus panting in your ear, and the cold began to creep back into your bones. Despite him never having actually been with you physically during the call, he had certainly managed to warm you up. You padded quickly back into your bedroom and buried yourself into the plush blankets of your bed. You thought about getting off – but Sylus’s words came to you.

Wait for me.

You knew that Sylus was a man of his word. He had never fallen back on a promise to you, and you knew tomorrow would be no different. It would be better if you held off. The anticipation made it that much more intense. You elected to finally find your way to sleep, your last thoughts conjuring images of all the ways Sylus would find to bend and fold you over for his own pleasure.

[just-wrting]

Feeling Fangs

Title: Feeling Fangs

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You find out what your husband has been hiding from you after he loses against Straw Hat, but you find yourself fixating on how pretty he is without his scarf.

Master List Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: My bf won't let me read about this man because I'm not far enough in the anime so I'll just write about him instead. And read about him but my bf doesn't have to know that part yet. He's worried about spoilers but what spoilers am I gonna get from all that smut? Also I just like men with fangs.

You didn't particularly care who one this little war that broke out, as long as your husband is fine. There's no doubt in your mind that he'll survive, you just don't want to see him hurt. Sure, the two of you have never really been romantic or anything, your marriage was somewhat political, but you've grown fond of him. So when his little sister is kneeling on the street saying he lost, your heart drops.

"Brulee, get me in there," you hiss in her ear. "I need to make sure he's okay."

There's tears in her eyes as she looks at you quizzically. "How did you get here?"

"This isn't the time for that. Let me in the mirror dimension."

She nods quickly and lets you through. Her steps are hesitant as she follows behind you. You make note of the chefs slumped against a wall, curious as to who killed them. It doesn't matter to you as you stumble closer to your husband.

It's the first time you've seen him like this. Even when it's time to sleep, he's still awake, sitting up in bed doing who knows what as you drift off. Right now, he's asleep on his back with a hat on his face. You quickly locate his scarf next to a group of people, ignoring them.

You've never seen him without his scarf, but you figure out that everyone here has. The chefs must've seen him without it, so he's the one who killed them. Everyone else must've passed out from something in the battle, but they've all seen him too.

"Brulee, tie up everyone here. It doesn't matter who they are, I want them unable to leave," you say in a low voice. "If you fail to do this, I won't forgive you."

While she follows your orders, you crouch down to rewrap his scarf. You make sure to hide his face from view as you carefully lift the hat. Biting your lip in anticipation, you do your best to not wake him. As you unveil his full face, you feel yourself get flustered.

Poking out from his lips are four shiny fangs. You do your best to not reach out and touch them, wondering how sharp they are. You expected something frightening under the scarf, but Katakuri is actually just as pretty as you thought he was. You don't know how you lucked out to get him, but you'll think about that later.

You make quick work with his scarf, noticing he's missing his jacket. You'll have to look for it later, your focus needs to be on finding Pudding. It doesn't matter that she's rude to you, what matters is her ability. You had overheard it in passing, but her ability to manipulate memories is what makes her the key.

"Let's go, I need to find Pudding."

Thankfully, you can see her hiding on the other side of the mirror you came in. It might take a moment to run and get her, but you'll put yourself through whatever you need to. The most important thing to you is wiping everyone's memory of what Katakuri looks like.

You dash through the fight, weaving your way through both enemies and the Big Mom pirates. Ducking down next to Pudding, you catch your breath for just a moment while she stares starry eyed at someone.

"Sanji..." she mumbles before glaring at you. "What do you want?"

"I need you to alter some memories for me."

She gives you an evil smile. "Why would I do that? Just because you're my big brother's wife doesn't mean I'll help you."

You frown. "I won't tell anyone that you've fallen in love with Sanji and most likely helped him escape."

"What?! You have no proof!"

You pull her up and start dragging her behind you. "I may not have concrete proof, but I'm not stupid. Besides, your reaction is my proof."

She grumbles something about you being an ass, but she follows you.

"You also need to wipe some of Brulee's memory.  If you tell anyone what you saw in them, I'll tell everyone that you helped Sanji escape. Do you understand?"

She nods. "Alright, I understand. Why what did they see?"

You set your jaw. "At the very least, they saw Katakuri without his scarf. I'm not sure what else they saw."

You watch over her shoulder as she shoves her hand into people's memories. It's a little gross, but it'll get the job done. It's better to threaten one person over a dozen.

There's a moment where Luffy slips and falls, gaining a large wound in his stomach due to being numbed. After finding out why, you watch Katakuri stab himself and pull off his scarf. It's nice to see a pirate try to have a fair fight, giving you a bit more insight as to what your husband is actually like.

"I guess it's a bit weird that he didn't want help if he couldn't defeat Straw Hat, but it doesn't make him lame. Those idiots don't realize they're the lame ones," Pudding grumbles. "Do you think Sanji has the same idea?"

You shrug. "It seems like his captain does at least so probably. Do I look like Sanji?"

Pudding scowls. "Shut up. Let me do this."

You don't miss the days when you'd have mood swings about men. That's the one good thing about having an arranged marriage, you don't have to worry about your feelings for other people.

"Mirrors, are any of you in an intact room? One with a big bed and access to water."

One a little ways away responds, and you look back at your passed out husband. You don't know how you're getting him there. Maybe you should've thought about that ahead of time, but it doesn't matter now. You can figure it out, you always do.

—-

It's been at least one day since you dragged him into bed, and Katakuri has yet to wake up. You can feel yourself dozing off every time you sit down, so you do your best to stay occupied. You prepare food, make sure you have enough water to wipe him down and let him drink, and constantly rearranging things. On one hand you want him to wake up so you know he's not in a coma, on the other hand you want him to get as much rest as he needs.

What you want doesn't matter, as you hear him wake up suddenly with a gasp. In your shock, you drop the plate you were holding.

"There's no need to wake up so aggressively, Katakuri. You're safe," you reassure as you pick up the bigger pieces of the plate. "How are you feeling?"

"How did I end up here? What did you see?" His voice is low, almost threatening.

You dump the bigger pieces in the trash and start sweeping. "We can talk about that later. You should have some water and eat. Then you should go back to sleep. I patched you up as well as I can, but I'm not a doctor."

He starts to pull the covers off, giving you a harsh look. "What did you-"

You dump the dustpan's contents into the trash before setting the broom to the side. "Like I said, it can wait. No offense, but you don't particularly scare me when you're ripping open your wounds."

His face goes a bit red as you tell him off. You want him to feel better before you deal with any other matters. That includes the talk of whether he'll choose to kill you for seeing his face.

"I made you some food, so just sit up."

Thankfully, he obeys. Katakuri doesn't even protest as you feed him. You make sure to avert your eyes, just for his comfort. He seems to be extremely hungry, eating all the food you've made. By the time it's all gone, he looks tired again.

"Get some more sleep, I'll lock the door. I wanted to be awake when you woke up, but now that that has happened, I can sleep."

He watches as you turn the lock and slide the broom handle through the loops of the door handles. You do the same with the window, shoving a fire poker through the handle before closing the curtains once more. Giving each of them a tug, you feel satisfied when nothing clatters to the ground.

"When did you sleep?" Katakuri asks, watching you intently. "You look..."

"Terrible, I know. I don't think I've slept since before the tea party, though. I'd have to think about it."

You crawl into the other side of the bed. It's a bit small, but leaning against him makes it a bit more comfortable. Despite your efforts, you find yourself dozing off before making sure he sleeps. There's no way he's getting out of the bed though, you've managed to lay on his arm.

—-

By the time you wake up, Katakuri is fast asleep. For what must be the first time ever, he's got his arm around you, holding you close. You watch him for just a moment, admiring how pretty he is. You want to reach up and play with his hair, but you ignore that feeling and try to wiggle from his grasp.

Even with how battered he is, you find it difficult to free yourself. You knew he was strong, ridiculously so, but you didn't realize he's just this strong. After freeing yourself, you feel exhausted again.

Thankfully, Pudding has left another basket of food for you, complete with an angry note about how she's not your delivery girl and if she's going to bring you stuff you need to be there. You roll your eyes and throw away the note. If she had important things to say, she can say them to your face.

You help yourself to an apple, crunching away as you try to figure out what to make. It would be nice if you could access a bigger kitchen with more ingredients, but this will have to do. Hopefully it's enough food, you've seen the size of  the food he eats.

With a sigh, you give up. Exhaustion still flows through you, so you focus on things that don't require a lot of thought. So you eat and wash the dishes, making sure to be as quiet as possible. It's better for him to wake up naturally, not due to you being a jerk.

Once there's nothing more to do, you make your way to the bed. You check the wounds, letting the smaller and scabbed ones breathe. Almost all of his injuries have stopped bleeding, you just can't check the one you're most worried about. He needs to wake up for you to take a look.

As you reach towards his head, his hand shoots up and grabs your wrist tightly. You wince in pain, surprised at how tight his grip is.

"What are you doing?"

You tug on his fingers. "Checking the scrape on your forehead. I want to make sure it closed up."

He cautiously releases you. "Don't do anything else."

You click your tongue against your teeth. "Have some more faith in me, Katakuri. I'm your wife, I have no ill intentions."

"We need to talk."

You start unwrapping the dressing. "What do you want to know?"

Katakuri breaks eye contact with you. "What happened after I lost?"

"Well, we lost. I dragged you out of here with some help."

"What about the others in the mirror dimension? What happened to them?"

The blood that makes up the scab also goes into his hairline, so you make a note to bathe with him so it doesn't open. "Those chefs are dead. Your little sister and her stupid fan club on the other hand are alive."

"Where are they now?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "What about the cam-snails?"

"I have no idea where they went after they woke up. I collected the cam-snails though, they're in a bag here."

His hand makes its way to your thigh, holding you down. "What did you see? What did you do?"

"I put your scarf on, tied everyone up, and made Pudding alter their memories. Straw Hat knows, but based on how I found you, I don't think that matters."

"How did you-"

You give a small smirk. "Poor little Pudding was so against marriage, but she ended up falling in love with that Sanji boy. I told her that I would keep it a secret if she kept yours. I'm telling you in case you choose to... you know."

His other hand pulls down his scarf. "So you know. And you're still here?"

Satisfied with the head scrape, you pull back a bit. "Of course. You're injured, where else would I be?"

"Aren't you afraid?" He pulls his face into a scowl. "Don't you think-"

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean forward and kiss him. It's nothing romantic, just a quick press of your lips on his, but you pull away flustered.

"Why did you do that?" His eyes are wide.

You blink in surprise. "Why did I do that?"

"How would I know, I'm not-"

You lean forward and kiss him again. His lips are soft, and when you lick your own after pulling away, you find them sweet.

"What are you-" You cut him off again with a kiss.

"This plan isn't-" Even after a fourth kiss, you can't stop.

Before he says anymore, he grabs your face in both hands. "Stop whatever nonsense this is. What are you trying to do?"

You've never seen Katakuri look like this. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide.

"I just really wanted to do that."

It’s now his turn to blink in shock. “Why?”

“You’re just…” You look away, knowing that your face is burning up. “Katakuri, you’re so pretty.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you intensely. You’re worried he’s upset, you did just keep interrupting him with kisses, but that thought is dashed within seconds as he pulls you into a kiss.

His tongue pushes past your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth. Even when you try to take control of the kiss, it takes him no effort to keep you in place. His tongue overpowering yours and exploring your mouth, filling your taste buds with sweetness.

Due to the size difference, his tongue fills your mouth, eagerly searching every part of your mouth. You can’t help the dirty thoughts that start to fill your mind, thinking of other ways he could use his tongue. All you can focus on is how sweet he tastes and how much you enjoy kissing him.

You’re completely breathless once he pulls away, panting as you try to breathe. Through half lidded eyes, you watch him recover. His face is somehow even more flushed and he’s looking at your lips. Without thinking, you blurt out the first thing to come to mind.

“Katakuri, can you bite me? Please?”

His thumb brushes softly against your cheek. “Are you sure you want that?”

You rub your cheek into his palm, letting out a soft hum. “Please?”

Titling your head to the side, you expose your neck. You have no idea why you want him to bite you so badly, you just do. If he tells you no, you won’t ask again, you just want to experience it this once.

The hand on your other cheek slides down to your shoulder. You feel his warm breath on your neck, and you bite your lip in anticipation. At first, he just presses a soft kiss to your neck, carefully holding you like you might break. Then, without warning, you feel his teeth sink into your neck.

You let out a gasp, and your hand grips his shoulder. It’s not a harsh bite, just the very tips of his fangs. The only pain you feel is the initial breaking of your skin, but once that passes, you feel flushed and warm. It’s really doing something for you, and you don’t want him to stop.

“Did that hurt?” Katakuri asks, pulling away at your gasp.

You draw a shaky breath as he licks the marks on your skin. “You drew blood. That’ll always hurt, but I’m fine.”

He hums softly as he makes sure you’re not bleeding anymore. His touch is gentle and light, and you let out a groan as he traces invisible patterns into your skin. You want more, and you lace your hand in his hair.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You pull away from Katakuri, adjusting your shirt to cover the mark. You wait for him to pull his scarf back up straight under his nose. There’s still a dusting of pink across the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look as flustered with his scarf up.

He nods, and you open the door. Pudding stands there with her arms crossed, pouting. She pushes past you, dumping a bunch of stuff on table.

“Here’s everything you asked for, don’t ask me for stuff again. You can start getting it yourself!” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve done what you wanted for the past three days. I’m done!”

Katakuri moves to get out of the bed, but you wave him down. Both of the siblings deserve their rest. That’s the only thing you should focus on.

“Thank you Pudding. Go get some rest, we’ll be okay.”

She looks surprised, before huffing. “Of course I’m going to get rest. I deserve it.”

She gives you another dirty look before storming out. It’s like a whirlwind came in, scolded you, and left. You don’t really care. She did her best to help you, so you can cut her some slack.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

You close the door and lock it once more. “It’s fine. Everyone is under stress right now, including you. You should get some more sleep if you can.”

Katakuri tugs his scarf off, letting it rest on the floor. You want to go fluster him again, but you just stay still. Seeing him like this, battered and bruised, makes your heart ache.

“Are you going to sleep as well?”

You give him a soft smile. “Do you want me to come and get more sleep?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he answers. “It’s your choice.”

You walk over and place your hand on his cheeks, making him look at you. “Do you need me next to you for you to sleep?”

Unfortunately, you seem to have pushed him just far enough to annoy him. He gives you a stern look as he wraps his arms around you. Even though he’s annoyed, he’s gentle as he pulls you on top of him.

You squirm slightly in a halfhearted attempt to get him to let you go. His grip is iron tight, and he has no intention of letting you go. This is the first time he’s ever insisted on having you sleep next to him, and it makes you feel warm inside.

Once you stop moving, his grip looses just enough for you to get a bit more comfortable. You lay your head on his chest, closing your eyes to listen to his heart beat. It’s relaxing, and you feel yourself get drowsy. You know it’s all over, when he starts to rub your back.

There’s the sound of his saying something, but you fail to catch it as you fall asleep. You don’t even notice the soft kiss he presses to your head while you drift off.

[animehideout]

Hi um it’s my first time requesting something..😭so I mean it’s okay if you put your other requests before me

So I was thinking maybe ..can you make a reincarnated version of a princess reader and sukuna ? Like they were lovers in past but she died because villagers killed her and her family because her father was cruel but she was nice to everyone actually and that’s why he fell for her and after 400 years he saw her again but this time she’s one of the sorcerers

For Eternity

Ryomen Sukuna X fem! Sorcerer Reader (Reincarnated)

a/n: Hii anon, hear me out, I was so excited to write this one , you guys always come up with amazing ideas OMG!! I really hope you enjoy it tho 🥺❤️.

Words count : 2.9k (Not proofread)

Angst with happy ending <3

Halted mid-fight. Crimson eyes that were amused while fighting Megumi are now wide open, in shock. Aflamed with ancient fire. His mouth parted in disbelief, unable to form a sentence while looking at you, standing in front of him, in your full glory.

“That's impossible” he managed to say.

Too distracted by your surprise appearance, the love of his life, his princess, the woman he couldn't uproot from his mind despite being separated from her for 400 years, after some villagers murdered her along side her family.

Too engrossed in your face, the face he missed so much, he didn't notice Megumi's attack.

Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses, that hundreds of sorcerers from different timelines tried to kill him but failed, ended up receiving a powerful punch on his face by Megumi.. because of you, because your presence made him weak and easily targeted.

That punch knocked some sense in him, waking him up from his trance. Now easily dodging Megumi's hits, shoving him aside, no longer interested in fighting some jujutsu sorcerer.

“Y/n” he said as he took a closer step to you, his voice was so soft and sweet, making Megumi look in confusion. “My princess” he added, gently extending his hand to you,

but was met with your cold eyes, clenching your fists into a fighting position, ready to use your jujutsu technique and kill him. Sukuna chuckled in confusion, why on earth would you fight the man you loved against your family and people's will?

“What are you doing? Y/n?” he asked not realizing that being reincarnated means forgetting your past life.

“What am I doing? I'm going to exorcise you Ryomen Sukuna and free the world from your evil” you exclaimed in a challenging voice, yet perplexed by his question and how he knew your name even though it was your first time meeting.

“Y/N RUN” yelled Megumi from the other side as Sukuna got way too close to you, but you stood your ground.

“No you won't kill me! it's me!! the man you swore to love forever–” he explained.

“HUH?!” you and Megumi said in union.

“Are you insane? clearly living for 1000 years damaged your brain” you said in a harsh tone,

furious that Sukuna was toying with you, even though he was telling the truth. Without hesitation, you started attacking him. To your and Megumi's surprise, he didn't fight you back, or even bother to block your hits, you found it as an opportunity to harm him and maybe success in exorcising him.

His soul ached with each blow you landed on him, with the words you said to him.

“Y/n stop” he said,

but you're a jujutsu sorcerer, you can't stop, you fight to protect the weak you fight to kill curses, that's what you do. He suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you to his chest,

“Fucking stop it Y/n and fucking remember who you truly are” he yelled.

You fought against his tight grasp even though he was holding you so delicately, yet so securely afraid to let go, afraid he might loose you again.

“I'm a jujutsu sorcerer, that's what I truly am–”

“NO YOU'RE NO SORCERER, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO I REMAINED LOYAL TO EVEN AFTER YOUR DEATH, FOR LONG 400 YEARS, YOU CAN'T BE A SORCERER WHEN YOU'RE ALREADY MINE”

You couldn't say anything but stare, eyebrows frowned with the intake of words that Sukuna said to you. When he first approached you, you thought he'd easily snap you in half, or torture you to death. But he did the unexpected, the thing that nor you or Megumi anticipated. He just held you close, and started babbling nonesense.

As long as you were safe, Megumi didn't do anything, he stood there and watched things unfold, too surprised to even react.

“I.AM.NOT.YOURS” you said through gritted teeth, freeing yourself from his embrace, eyes narrowing

“Then who the hell are you?” he asked in disappointment, his eyes fixated on your figure, trying to take into every detail of yours.

Even after years, your face and body that he worshipped and still do, is still engraved im his mind to this day.

“I already said it, I'm a jujutsu sorcerer, and I exorcise things like you” you spitted angrily.

“Things?” he repeated,

his soul shattering with the eco of your voice that rang in his ears. You weren't the princess whose kindness and gentleness captivated his cold heart and ascended on the throne of his ego. Sukuna never believed in love, just power and total vigor. But a princess, with a modest heart and a pure soul swept him off his feet, 400 years ago, making him weak and needy for love, something he never experienced, something he never dreamt of untill he met you. But now, you stood in front of him, cold and distant, full of hatred and enmity towards him. Maybe..maybe if your father wasn't cruel, maybe if those fool villagers didn't kill you, maybe if Sukuna knew beforehand and manged to save you and keep you alive, you'd still be his princess, by his side and not the jujutsu sorcerer you are.

“Then you leave me with no choice Y/n” he muttered,

the idea of killing you, killed him more.

“Y/N” yelled Megumi panicking.

You wanted to run away for your life, but you couldn't. Too scared to even move? Too attached to the idea that jujutsu sorcerers never run away? Or an invisible power held you in place?

Sukuna's red eyes started glowing, evil and scary expression drawn on his face once again, making him the ruthless king of curses that he is. His eyes couldn't leave yours, taking into your sight, one last time before be kills you.

Air hitched in your lungs from fear, you knew there's no point in fighting him back now, as your jujutsu that you've spent your whole life mastering is now useless. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to just do it and end it all, your life wasn't special....but your past life was..Oh if you knew that, you wouldn't give in to death so easily.

You waited and waited but nothing happened....

Jolting, a startled gasp left your mouth when Megumi shook you awake.

“M-megumi?...Am I dead?”

“What? No!”

“D-did you kill Sukuna?”

“No”

“Then we're both dead?”

“NO, he left”

“left?”

Is it a miracle? Did Sukuna pity you and spared your life? All these questions burned in your throat, craving answers.

“Let's go” said Megumi dragging you back to Jujutsu High.

A long sleepless night, how could you sleep after the king of curses confessed his undying love to you? What is so special about you that stopped him from splitting you in half? Looking at the dark ceiling, mind wide awake for hours now.

“What game was Sukuna playing?” you said to yourself.

You refused to believe his words, but you couldn't brush the curiosity that stirred inside you. Putting your jacket on, you headed outside for some fresh air, the room was too suffocating for you. You stood outside looking at the starry night above you, eyes fixated on one particular star, your favorite that you used to watch.

“I have to meet him again” you muttered to yourself.

You knew he could easily kill you, were you dumb or brave to chase the truth from Sukuna? You needed to know, even though you put the possibility of him making all of this up to get to Gojo Satoru and the other strong sorcerers.

Busy in your thoughts, a hand covered your mouth, making you freeze in place. You could feel his strong presence, no one other than him Sukuna Ryomen. Heart hammering against your ribcage, as if he was reading your mind, you wanted to meet him again and he showed up in the middle of the night, emerging from darkness...just for you.

“Come with me”

And who were you to fight against his will, so you followed along, his hand still on your mouth and his other arm wrapped protectively around you..he was trying to protect you while you thought he's the danger. He was loving you while you thought he's the enemy. Taking you to an abandoned place, up on a hill– Everything looked so small from up there, the city lights glistening.

“You always liked to go up on a hill and watch the sunrise with me, you said they are a proof that everyday is a new beginning and a new chance” he started, peacefully looking down at the lights.

Your eyes widened, how did he know you enjoyed watching the sunrise? was he stalking you?

“If you kidnapped me to kill me then do it already!” you said coldly but deep inside shivering form his presence.

“Kill you? 400 years mourning your death and you expect me to kill you?” he said in a sad tone, his palm cupping your cheek, as his thumb caressed the smooth skin. He closed his eyes enjoying the sensation, “I love you Y/n” he added.

You could have stepped back, but something was holding you still, an unexplained force

“But I'm alive, what death are you talking about? Are you trying to drive me insane? What game are you playing Sukuna?” you drowned him in questions, that only him hold the answers for.

You almost broke down, tears threatening to fall. He helped you sit down and took a seat next to you

“I know you're confused, I can't balme you, I'm confused too, but let me explain to you..”

you nodded weakly, all what you wanted in the first place was an explanation.

“We were lovers, many years ago, you were mine... A gentle princess that I couldn't help but fall for..you, you were a princess Y/n– your family ruled back then, your father, a cruel man, an abuser who made your life a living hell, you used to escape from him and come to me, you found safety and warmth in my arms. Despite my sins, despite my cruelty, I was always gentle with you, I've never hurt you and never will, I've lived to protect you...but I failed..” he paused clenching his jaw and tightening his fists, “They took you away from me, you were a victim of their revenge, they wanted your father to suffer by taking what he had, thinking that Killing his family would make him pay for his wrong deeds towards the villagers he oppressed.....you were the price Y/n..I couldn't get a chance to revive you, they burned you alive, leaving me with nothing but emptiness..I killed them all even your father..”

You gulped, how could you believe this when you clearly have a complete different life now. It was hard to swallow his words.

“Maybe I just look like her?..I mean your past lover, maybe it's just a coincidence we have the same name and face, may–”

“NO, it's not just your face, it's your soul, I can feel it”

“So you're saying I'm a reincarnation?” you questioned and he nodded. You stood up quickly, leaving him,

“NO Y/N WAIT.. your favorite flower is Ajisai, you enjoy looking at them” he spoke trying to prove to you that he knows more about you

“Its just a guess Sukuna, anyone can like Ajisai, not only me” you fought the urge to believe him and started walking away,

“You have a crystal necklace, I gave it to you when we first met” he said again,

and you stopped in your track, no one ever saw your necklace it was always hidden beneath your clothes..

“A star, appears in the west, you've named it Heiwa (japanese word for Peace), your favorite star, manifesting peace whenever you looked at it. Collecting leaves in Autumn, you liked the degradation of the colors. Watching the rain pour for hours, dancing while getting soaked with it, saying it purifies us, Admiring the butterflies during spring, wishing that one day you become free like them...” he added.

Electricity ran through you, hands shaking, breathing heavily as your heart raced inside. How could he know every detail about you? your habits? how could he be so accurate? It's not just a coincidence so how? You turned slowly, facing him again,

“W-who are you?”

“Ryomen Sukuna, your lover”

“I can't remember anything..” you choked on tears.

“You will, if you don't fight it back, embrace it and memories will flow back” he reassured..

The first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, a gentle gradation of purples and pinks painted the sky, gradually giving way to warm oranges and yellow. You and Sukuna watched, eyes glued ti the sky, putting you at ease, as the sun rays pierced through the darkness, casting a golden glow..maybe this sunrise is a new beginning for both of you.

“I- I have to go..”

“Wait Y/n.. promise me that you'll try to remember ” he pleaded,

you nodded, sadness taking over you, you left to Jujutsu High with a heavy heart. Was your whole life a lie?

“Where have you been?” asked Gojo, catching you as you snuck into the school.

“I- Um, I” you stuttered.

“Megumi told me about your encounter with Sukuna..hm so curious, how the king of curses withdraws from a battle field?”

you remained silent as you teacher Gojo tried to read your face,

“I don't know” you said.

“I think he's got something for you Y/n”

“It doesn't matter, right?”

“Nah it does, we can use it against him maybe..”

“How?”

“It seems like Sukuna has a weakness..you!”

“And?”

“We grasp the opportunity, you trick him and lead him to our trap, if you're in of course!” he suggested.

Will you betray him and forget about the promise you just made, to try and remember.

“I don't know Sensei, I'll think about it” you answered, you weren't in a stable state of mind of take such decision.

“Take all the time you need y/n-chan” he said with a wide smile.

Straight to your room, no missions for today, you needed solitude, you needed to know who you truly were. Locked inside no matter how much your friends tried to drag you out. Thinking and thinking.. holding the necklace that Sukuna assumed he's the one who gifted it to you. You've never remember how you got in the first place, you've been wearing it for your whole life now, its just an accessory.

Day after day, growing impatient and anxious, you thought you were going crazy, unable to focus on your present while trying to remember your past. Sleepless nights, exhaustion and living nightmares.

Enough is a enough. Sneaking out of Jujutsu High, going up that hill again. You were hoping to find Sukuna there, you wanted to tell him him to just forget about you and to kill you next time in battle. You couldn't remember, but you knew there was something hidden, far away from your reach and it tortured you. With heavy steps you hiked up...but he wasn't there...Sighing, maybe it was all a lie. Your eyes looked up, there was Heiwa, the star you named.

“please show me the truth...please I need to remember ” you pleaded to the universe, desperately whispering.

You brought you necklace that was hidden under your sweater, kissing it. The soft morning lights started crawling, your favorite star's glow slowly fading..

“Who am Im?” you asked again.

Suddenly the crystal on your necklace started ti glow once it was touched by the sun's rays. Your eyes widened, the necklace was always tucked under your clothes, never seen the day light. Each luminous pulse from the crystal seemed to sync with your heartbeat. Eyes fixated on it, you held it up, exactly in the middle aligned with the sun that rose from the east and the star thay faded in the west. The crystal radiated with memories from your past life

“I accept it, I accept my truth” you whispered.

Images, voices, scents, faces and emotions started to flow into your mind like a running river. Overwhelmed by the sudden remembrance you started crying

“I-its real” you cried out.

The crystal that once was worn as a simple accessory, transformed into a vessel of remembrance, channeling gour past life into your present, it channelled your love for Sukuna as well. Your heart suddenly full of him, as if you loved him for years, as if you've never been apart.

“Sukuna– I have to find him” you said to yourself,

ready to run as fast as you could to reach your lover and hug him again, to feel his warmth. As you turned at a random speed, you bumped into his chest, he was there, for you. His arms circled around your body, stopping you form stumbling backwards.

“S-sukuna?” you said softly,

throwing yourself into his embrace, burying your head in the crook of his neck, while sobbing uncontrollably. His strong arms pulled you close, leaving no space between your bodies.

“I knew you'd remember” he said smiling nuzzling into your hair.

You pulled away a little to look at his face, his thumb wiped your tears, his touch making your heart pound fast.

“I love you” you confessed.

“I love you too, I swear I'll protect you , I won't let anyone take you away from me this time”.

He pressed his lips against yours, pouring all of his love that was kept unspoken of after your death for 400 years into the kiss. You kissed him back, passionately. He pushed your head from the back further to his face, deepening the kiss. Oh how much he missed your taste, how much he missed your soft lips and how perfectly they fit with his. Leaving you completely breathless, hungry for more– His lips danced in sync with yours, completely devouring each other. He finally rested his forehead on yours and said,

“It doesn't matter, past or present, because in each life, you'll be only mine”.

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 1

Ring Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Kate: Why did you… kill them…?

Ring: “Why”...? Is it not natural? 

Ring: I’ll kill anyone as long as Dari orders me to.

His face, splattered with blood, showed not even the slightest bit of doubt about the murder he just committed.

It was at that moment when I finally realised it.

He, too— was utterly evil. 

…

One night, I stumbled upon a secret I never should've known, which led to me becoming Fairytale Keeper for a month.

A week after, Vogel, an organisation consisting of Cursed Ones similar to Crown, appeared and seemed to be hiding something. 

…

A few days after my encounter with them, I was called upon by Vogel’s chief— Darius. 

Darius: I’ve heard about it. To deepen your understanding of Crown’s members, you became their lover for a day.

Darius: We want you to do the same thing with us. The kind Miss Fairytale Keeper will surely agree to it, right? 

Unable to make the decision on my own, I quickly went to discuss it with Victor. 

…

Victor: Lovers for a day with Vogel? 

Kate: Yes. They also mentioned that they want me to show them around the city at the same time. 

Victor: I see… I don't have a problem with that arrangement. I happen to also have been thinking about giving them a tour of the city. 

Victor: What are your thoughts, Kate?

Kate: I… I can't stop thinking about what Harrison said to me that day. 

Victor: That Vogel is lying, is it?

Victor: I understand your concern, but we still can’t say for certain whether their lies are harmful to Crown. 

Victor: I doubt that they would be so reckless as to harm you in this situation. Therefore… 

Victor: The most important factor we should consider is what you want to do.

…

(What I want to do…?) 

(Victor did say he'd turn them down if I don't feel comfortable, but…)

(Since I’m going to have interactions with Vogel as a Fairytale Keeper, I’m personally curious about what kind of people the three of them are.) 

(So in order to find out… I’ll accept this request.)

(But before that…)

Kate: Excuse me, who is that tailing me? 

Ever since I left Victor’s office, I’ve had the gut feeling that someone was following behind me. 

When I voiced it out, a man emerged from the shadows.

Kate: Ring…? 

I called his name, although I still wasn't used to doing that because he only said very recently that I could address him as such without the use of salutations. 

Ring: Y-you misunderstood. I didn't mean to tail you today.

Ring: There’s something I want to ask you about… I just couldn't figure out when to approach you.

Kate: … Something you want to ask?

Ring: I wanted to ask who you’re choosing to be your lover for a day. 

Kate: Umm… and what do you intend to do with that information? 

Ring: Depending on whether you choose Nica or Dari, I’ll need to change my route and method for being their escort for security purposes. 

Ring: With the close, intimate distance of being “lovers”... who knows what tricks you’ll pull on the two of them. 

It appeared that Ring was wary of me and planned to protect them regardless of who I chose.

(Hm? But in that case…) 

Kate: What happens to the whole escort planning thing if I choose you to be my “lover”?

Ring: ME!? 

Ring: I- I don’t understand… Normally, either Nica or Dari would be chosen for this sort of thing. You don't need to consider such a possibility. 

Kate: But Darius said to choose “one member from Vogel”. 

Kate: So choosing you isn't a problem, right?

Ring: I-it’s a HUGE problem…! M-me as your l-lo-lov-lover…!? 

… Initially, I asked the question because I was genuinely curious how he intended to go about the escorting. 

But seeing Ring turning bright red and panicking sparked a mischievous impulse in me.

Kate: I’ve decided! I’m choosing you as my lover for a day.

Ring: WHAT!? You absolutely CANNOT do that! 

Darius: Really? I think that's a wonderful idea, though. 

The voice cutting into our exchange was Darius, who happened to be passing by.

Ring: D-Dari… why?

Darius: Somehow, it sounds like it’d be interesting. 

Ring: But what if she “cajoles¹” me into doing her bidding…!? 

¹ The word for “cajole” is 篭絡 (ろうらくrōraku). Here, when Ring’s says it, it was written in hiragana as “ろーらく” to express that his pronunciation of the word wasn't very accurate; possibly because his first language is german and not english. 

Darius: You know such a complex phrase as “cajole”? Good job, good job. 

Darius: But don’t worry. Miss Fairytale Keeper could never be a threat to us.

Darius: Have I ever been wrong about such things? 

Ring: … Never.

Darius: Then there's no problem at all. 

Darius: Go on, Ring. Pass auf dich auf (have a great day²). 

² For the record, I don't understand German at all. I’m only translating based on the Japanese translation provided by the game in the form of furigana.

As soon as Darius said something to him in their native language, Ring became obedient like a well-trained guard dog. 

Ring: … Alles klar (understood). 

…

The next day, I became Ring’s lover for a day and was tasked to give him a tour of the city.

Kate: I look forward to spending the day with you. 

Ring: … Oh, uh, yeah. Dari ordered me to “pretend to be Miss Fairytale Keeper’s lover for a day”. 

Ring: Going on a… d… da… date… with you… I- I’ll do it just fine. Just you watch…! 

(Ring looks extremely nervous…)

I was a little nervous myself, but seeing how tense he was actually made me feel better. 

Ring: S-so… the first destination is The Scala, right?

Kate: Yes. Since it’s a date, I decided to take you to some of my favourite places today. 

Kate: We could take a carriage there, but the weather is pleasant today. Shall we walk instead?

Ring: … Got it. Also, um… 

Ring looked like there was something he wanted to say as he stretched his right arm out in my direction. 

Kate: …?

Ring: Ah! No… nothing. T-this is just me warming up! 

He pulled his arm back and started rolling his shoulders in circles.

[ihfmseatsoch]

ok ok ok so if i may be so bold as to request something, ive been enamored wiht the idea of an older, controlling, borderline abuse boyfriend jimmy, like he and reader live together on earth, and reader goes to college, while jimmy works physical jobs trying to support them both. he's a SHITTY person though, so hes jealous of any man the reader talks to, reads through their phone, makes sinde comments about their weight and appearance, and (im totally not projecting here) eventually pressures them into dropping out, for like his perfect little live in partner/gf fantasy sjdhasd feel free to do whatever with this, but this specific scenario has not left my head for days

WHEEE this was fun to write ^w^ i rushed this a bit but i just didnt want you to have to wait any longer... :p

—

Jimmy Zare x fem!reader

reader uses fem terms (girl, girlfriend)

genre: how do i categorize this.... fic that makes you feel bad or horny depending on how you handle verbal abuse lol

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: age gap, domestic abuse, manipulation, arguing, fat shaming, several references to the readers body/appearance, jimmy being the biggest asshole oh my god i hate him (i want him so bad it makes me look stupid)

(is it bad that writing about jimmy yelling at me turns me on... WOAHHH who said that .....😰 also dont kill me for the weight shaming part IM A FAT GIRL !!!!!! i like when evil men are mean to me !!!!!! RAAAH)

—

"He's a good guy, he can actually be really sweet!"

That's a sentence you find yourself saying out of complete muscle memory at this point whenever someone questions why your boyfriend–... well, they question an awful lot about your boyfriend.

For example, why he's over twenty years your senior whilst you're still going to class on the weekdays. Why he doesn't allow you to see your friends, wear certain clothes, leave your apartment without him, and why he takes up so much space in your brain, completely distracting you from your own life and goals.

You've missed at least four assignments this semester alone. It's stupid, really. You thought you'd be done with obsessing and crying over boys after you graduated highschool. It's completely immature for a so-called adult like yourself, but then again, you're hardly into adulthood at all.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has a lot more life experience, many of those experiences negative. That might be why you've taken some form of pity on him, going so far as to move into his apartment so you can take care of him when you're not busy. He needs someone to make sure he doesn't fall off the deep end.

The thing is, it's become hard to fit him in your schedule, but whenever you're unable to make time for him after he comes home from work, that familiar scowl on his face indicating it was another shitty day, he throws a fit.

He'll accuse you of everything under the sun; Infidelity being the primary thing.

"You don't love me. There's someone else, isn't there? It's that one kid that asked you to help him 'study' last week, isn't it? No? Give me your fucking phone, then."

This is what you come home to everyday, so it's nothing new. In fact, you're pretty used to it by now. Though today, Jimmy seems particularly pissed.

"Where have you been?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, eyeing you up and down like he always does when he's about to grill you on something.

"Sorry..." You mutter, way too tired to deal with one of his moods again. "Traffic." You answer simply, not having enough energy to overexplain yourself like you normally do.

"Uh huh. Traffic." He mimics you in a way that already tells you he's not buying it. Great.

"...It's the truth." You shrink into yourself at the way he's looking at you. Contemptuous as always. You're in for another argument, it seems. A million, desperate pleas run through your mind;

'Please don't give me another lecture about how you're my only financial support, and how grateful I should be. Please don't ask to see my phone. Please don't tell me to drop out.'

But, of course, you can't actually change the outcome of this. You're gonna get yelled at. Belittled. Degraded.

"You're two hours late, and you're gonna tell me you were just stuck in traffic?" He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you.

"You're never home when you're supposed to be, and when you are home, you're all tired and upset.” He pokes a finger into your shoulder, hard. "What do you think that looks like from my point of view?"

"I'm sorry." You rub your face, exasperated. God, you wish he would shut up sometimes. Sure, he can be amicable, but lately... he's been a raging dick. Yet, you can't help but cling to the memory of his good moments. "I'll try to make it back on time tomorrow."

"Yeah? And how many times have I heard that before?" He sneers, "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

The way he accuses you so confidently, so sure of himself... it's insulting. Does he really think that little of you? "College has been kicking my ass, Jim. You know that. I'm not hiding anything from you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, college this, college that. Always complaining about fuckin' college," He scoffs, his eyes stay narrowed, still glaring. "How about what I'm going through? You think I'm having a great time every day at work, hm?"

"No, I–" You stammer, hating the way he's turning this around to make himself the victim. Oh, woe is him, having to provide for himself and his girlfriend. How tortured he is. "I know, alright? I'm sorry. I just– what else do you expect me to do?"

"Be here. Like you're supposed to be. And I expect you to stop acting like I'm the bad guy for asking you to be a decent girlfriend."

Jimmy's voice raises slightly as he takes a step closer, towering over your sheepish figure. He nudges your shoulder again, even rougher this time.

"I'm busting my ass every day to put food on the table, and you can't even have the decency to show up on time, let alone look happy to see me?"

"I– I am happy to see you! I am, I'm just– you don't get it. I want to be here, but... I'm not even halfway through this semester, and–" You stumble over your words as you attempt, in vain, to defend yourself. It's not like he'll ever feel sympathy for you. It's always about what he wants. What makes him happy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes at your attempt to reason with him. It's as if he doesn't even register a word you say. "But what? What's more important to you, huh? Some stupid classes, or the guy who keeps a fuckin' roof over your head and feeds you? Be grateful, goddamn it." He snaps, grabbing your arms and giving them a forceful shake.

You flinch from being handled like you're not even a human being, much less one with feelings. "Stop, please, I'm– I am grateful, I really am..." You're not lying, either. To be honest, his guilt tripping works wonders on you. Are you really acting unappreciative? He wouldn't be this upset if you were in the right...

He seems unfazed by your frightened demeanor and continues to hold a firm grip on your arms. He looks you up and down, not even having to say anything for you to know he's judging you, as a girlfriend and person in general.

"Oh, you're grateful? Then maybe you should act like it for once." Jimmy gives your arms another firm shake, a harsh reminder of who's in charge here.

"I'm not asking much of you. I just want you to be here, and you can't even do that. Do you think I'm just gonna sit back and accept that bullshit?"

"No..." You shake your head, looking down at the ground in shame. Were you really that awful? You didn't want to be a bad partner, it's the last thing you ever wanted. If you could make eye contact without feeling guilty, you'd see Jimmy's face light up with satisfaction as he finally notices you're not even bothering to put up a fight anymore.

There's a condescending lilt to his tone as he speaks, "No one will ever love you like I do. You know that?"

You nod, knowing there has to be some truth to his claim. He takes care of you, doesn't he? He keeps a roof over your head, gives you money for groceries, and he's not always that unpleasant to be around...

He's a good boyfriend. You're the problem. You always are.

"Exactly."

The grip on your arms eases, moving them to place a hand on each of your shoulders, contrastingly gentle compared to his behavior only moments ago.

"You oughta thank your lucky stars you have a man like me who puts up with all your bullshit. You get that, right? How lucky you are to be with me?"

You know he's right. You were blessed with someone who still loves you, despite your many shortcomings. You're too fat, the acne on your face and body is repulsive, the way you do your makeup is weird... all of this being things Jimmy has told you directly. At least you have an honest boyfriend, isn't that what every girl wants?

He gives your shoulder a pat, like he's treating you like a small, petulant child. "You realize I could have literally any girl I want, right? Pretty, skinny, smart ones, even. But I chose you. Because I care about you."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"But it would help if you'd actually put the effort in to look decent." He adds as an afterthought.

You've internalized every single snide remark he's thrown your way, reminded of them every single time you look in the mirror. Yet he still loves someone like you. Someone so difficult and embarrassing to be with.

"Jim, I don't... I don't know how I'm even gonna be able to free my schedule at all with school and stuff..." You mumble guiltily. You know he wants you to drop out, he's suggested it more times than you can count.

"That right there, that's why I'm frustrated, goddamn it," He says with an exacerbated sigh. He moves one hand from your shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Why don't you get it? Dropping out isn't the end of the world. Just quit and stay home. Done. Easy."

"It's not that easy... I want to get a good job and help out too, you know..."

It's true that you want to pull your weight around your shared home. With your combined income, it'd make everything easier. But... with how shitty college makes you feel, leaving you beaten down and tired by the end of the day...

You find yourself listening to Jimmy on this for once.

He can tell you're seriously contemplating it this time, which makes him feel... more in control. He's got you thinking and believing exactly what he wants you to. Soon, he'll be able to get you to obey him without another word from you.

The thought of having you as his subservient, stay at home girlfriend is more than appealing. It's his goal to mold you into what he wants you to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, I know. But you're stressing yourself half to death, and for what? Some stupid degree? Listen to me, I'm not gonna ask you again. You're just creating problems that don't need to exist. Just quit. You'll have plenty of free time that you can spend with me."

You can't deny how tempting the idea is. Hesitantly, after several moments of pondering the hypotheticals and what-ifs, you speak up,

"...I guess... dropping out wouldn't hurt too much."

He perks up at that, barely being able to contain a delighted grin. You're actually putting him and his wants first, and acknowledging that he's right. You're doing as he says, without any of the usual arguing or excuses. He'll finally have his dream complaisant, docile girlfriend to come home to every night.

It only took a month or two to finally get you to cave. You'll be easier to control from now on. Hell, maybe you'll lose some weight with some free time on your hands, stop wearing that shitty makeup...

"Good girl," He says in a patronizing tone, like he's addressing a child, "That's what wanna hear."

God, you really hope this isn't a bad idea. Jimmy looks pleased for once, so...

This decision can't possibly ruin your future too badly, right?

—

[da-rulah]

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

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

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

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

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

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

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wished you could live like that. 

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

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

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

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

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

Masterlist | Tip Jar

Tagging those who asked, and some of my mutuals who may or may not enjoy this!

If you want to be added/removed from my tag list, please let me know!

@writingjourney @portaltothevoid @anamelessfool @astro-ghoul99 @sodoswitchimage @through-thebrokenglass @ghoulette-knell @thylacourt @onlyhereforghost @mikathemushroom @jaymechaos @gardenghoul22 @mustluvecho @mlioravanfleet @tobbesdiscordkitten @the-did-i-ask @love-is-all-you-need-13 @fishwithtitz @xshadyladyx @redthefieryginger @preqvelle @arhiannababe @namelessdrool @jokerofthepack52 @popialover @alonso123 @copias-sewer-rat @kadedoesthings @popiaswife @thew0man @siouxbauhaus @copias-juicebox @ghostfangirlsweden

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight~ Route Preview translation

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

The happiness he gives me is like a thick, simmering sweet jam, entwined in my heart—I can’t escape it.

“I’ll stop time with the ultimate happiness, so…be mine forever.”

When I met you I found happiness. And this love—is going to kill me.

My evil is—The desire that entangles you.

Ellis: “…You’re a cute person.”

Ellis: “I’d like to ask to assist you with your first job in your ‘new department’…is that okay?”

Ellis Twilight—The young man with twilight eyes,

I forgot about the uneasy feeling I had felt at first impression,

He was a person who devotedly spread happiness to everyone, anytime, anywhere.

Victor: “Miss Kate’s life will be at risk before her contract expires—”

Victor: “—This means that Crown’s confidential information is also at risk! Isn’t that so?”

Ellis: “Yeah.”

Jude: “…I got a bad feeling.”

Victor: “So, Jude, Ellis.”

Victor: “I want the two of you to take responsibility and protect Miss Kate!”

Life with Crown, which is even involved in assassinations, is full of ups and downs.

Ellis: “…You’re a hard worker.”

Kate: “Eh? That’s not true.”

Ellis: “…Nah, it is.”

Ellis: “You’re a lovely person, Miss Kate.”

Ellis: “If you don’t like it, let me know… If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep together like this.”

Kate: “…Why?”

Ellis: “So you don’t get anxious.”

Ellis: “…Is that no good?”

Ellis’ kindness, like thick, sweet jam, has always enveloped my heart.

I’m drowning in that happiness-to the point that I’m so entangled in it I can’t escape.

Kate: “It’s not just about making the other person happy.”

Kate: “I think it would be better for you to become lovers with someone who you want to have by your side forever.”

Ellis: “I…Always by my side?”

Ellis: “...I’m sorry, I was scared.”

Ellis: “I wish you would close your eyes, so you wouldn’t see it.”

(Ellis, are you okay?)

He puts his feelings and desires in a secret box deep in his chest and stubbornly keeps a lid on them,

With the same hands and same expressions that spread happiness, he can easily take away lives.

I want to know –what’s inside that secret box that Ellis’ twisted heart keeps tightly closed.

Ellis: “…Okay, shall we become lovers?”

Ellis: “Everything that makes you happy… All of it.”

Ellis: “Kissing, and more—everything.”

Kate: “You’re kissing me now…”

Kate: “Is it okay to think that it’s because you want to do it too?”

--Before I knew it, I had fallen so deeply in love that I became anxious.

I didn’t know the true nature of the strange feeling that I sometimes felt—the depth of the darkness inside that box.

Ellis: “I’ve got a lid on this—but I’ve got to do something before I get any more selfish.”

Ellis: “I wish you were happy.”

Kate: “Ellis—”

Ellis: “Hey, Kate.”

Ellis: “How happy are you…?”

In the darkness that seems to swallow me up and make me unable to see anything—

What I discovered was Ellis’ true feelings, like the light of twilight.

Ellis: “Let’s stop time with the ultimate happiness.”

Ellis: “So… Be mine, forever.”

When I met you, I found happiness.

And this love—is going to kill me.

[a-simple-imagine]

Tear apart the heart

synopsis: you just watched your girlfriend die right in front of you

pairing: victoria neuman x reader

words: 1k+

WARNINGS - themes of grief, blood, death, mention of body pieces

she promised you the world and instead, you got the most disgusting makeshift lab you ever had the displeasure of stepping inside. but it really didn't matter anymore.

that heavy feeling in your chest is brand spanking new. you search your brain for a comparison but it's like nothing you've ever felt before. it's almost suffocating. blocking off the one thing keeping you alive right now. air. gross, dingy air that was so polluted with chemicals and old take out, it almost knocked you sick but now a hint of copper joined this mix. an unwelcome change. a tickle against your cheek. you reach up to remove the tear. only it is red as it slips from the tip of your finger down your hand and to your wrist. you wanted to believe it was fake even as it trickled down your forearm. so desperate for none of this to be real. but deep down you know it is. it's blood. her blood. and maybe the droplets that adorn your skin should have been actually tears but they just never came. did that make youan evil person? undoubtedly. everyone cries when someone dies. it's like the first thing that's expected. but you just couldn't. what you felt inside wasn't sadness per se. or maybe it was. you couldn't tell. it didn't feel like when you were normally about to cry. this felt all-consuming. you felt rigid in this moment. unable to process anything. This wasn't ordinary. most people didn't watch the person they loved get ripped in two. weren’t drenched in tiny pieces of their girlfriend. it felt comical in a way. perhaps that was why you were having such a hard time acknowledging it. people don't just get ripped in half. this wasn't a comic book or some mid-budget horror film which gaineda startling cult following because they used practical effects instead of CGI for the gore but they didn't overdo it with the gore either. it was tasteful. no. this wasn't tasteful. you don't know what this is. you can hardly even look at her. you want to go back. dear god. you shouldn't have given in so easily.

"did you order the food?" you question, glancing up from her laptop that you had been playing on.

"What?" a brief blank expression that settles into a gentle smile. the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "no. sorry."

"Can I order something?" a silent nod puts you to work and decides what to have. "who were you talking to then- on the phone?"

"Hughie,"

the name alone forms a pit in your stomach. you used to think so fondly of him. you'd met him a great many times but that was before. "you can't be serious,"

"Just hear me out"

"no, Victoria- that man has tried to kill you multiple times," you express. "what could you possibly want from him?"

"out," a simple word. She cares not to elaborate as she walks closer to the kitchen aisle. taking her laptop, she spins it around to face her. "so what are we eating?"

"what do you mean out?"

she shrugs. "I want out. out of everything. I just- I can't do this anymore."

your heart beats a little faster. out of everything? out of this? that wouldn't explain the conversation with Hughie. although they used to be close friends. "what?"

"he's gonna help me get out of this mess," she expresses. "I think I wanted this for a while. like genuinely wanted it not just because of what was happening around me or stan or whatever. but now it's just not something that makes any sense."

"Vic,"

"It's pathetic really but I'm just never gonna be more than a puppet. and that's not what I want- I don't wanna be under anyone's control, y'know?"

"Sure," a lopsided smile with a hint of shrug. you didn't get it. felt like a few pieces of the puzzle were missing. a small sigh leaves her painted lips as she walks over to you. your eyes trail after her until you're staring into all too familiar eyes. usually so steely but today they possess a flicker of something different.

"Hughie is gonna help me get out. if I do this- if I help them bring down homelander then I just get to live my life away from all the bullshit. I realised all I want now is to be with Zoe. and with you too."

"Are we just skipping the part where he and his friends tried to murder you? how can we trust them?" you wonder what she can see in your eyes. the fear of what's to come. the joy of knowing she was willing to give up everything to be with you? That was a crazy thought. a crazy thing to admit. Victoria was gentle with you and loving but this felt like a different level of vulnerability. one you never saw from her.

"I'm not asking you to trust them," she holds your gaze, firm and pleading. "I'm asking you to trust me."

she had never steered you so wrong before. on shaky legs, you push yourself up off the dusty floor. brushing yourself off; little did it help. your heart races with your decision as 5 people - mostly strangers- surround you. you weren't a supe. you had no means to protect yourself here. they don't seem like they're gonna kill you as you turn around to find Hughie amongst them. he was covered in blood too. your girlfriend's blood. it was almost strange how fitting it was. That pit that once formed was now a silent rage as you stared at him. the man who Victoria trusted enough to come here. the man who promised her protection. the man who leads her to her death. he just stares back. a look of sympathy perhaps- no, pity. you take a deep breath and turn away in search of the other person you arrived with. zoe lies unconscious off to one side. at least you hope she's just unconscious. or maybe you didn't? what was a worse experience for her? you slowly make your way over to her. nobody stops you. nobody makes a move. you know you can't carry her so you just sit down beside her. a gentle hand on her side. you don't want her to be alone when she finds out her mother is dead.

[bethanydelleman]

do you have any theories on why wickham turned out the way he did? his background sounds humble but not dirt poor as i know steward was a really valued job at the time. and as the elder mr. darcy liked him, he probably had a better life than plenty of boys. correct me if i'm wrong but i don't recall any mention of a mom or siblings, so darcy was probably his main childhood companion. it's just horrible to think that over the years he went from seeing darcy as a friend to someone he could ruin. and he was prepared to ruin georgiana's life, not just take all her money but cause a scandal so she might not ever get married again. and if darcy hadn't found lydia he'd probably just leave her where she was with no way of getting home and destroyed the bennets. like why? everyone was nothing but nice to him his whole life and all he does is hurt them and enjoy doing it. when you think about it kind of sounds evil.

From what I understand, Wickham was a failure of a system whereby a rich person would choose someone poorer to patronize. We can see other examples of this in Emma (Jane Fairfax & Harriet Smith) and especially Mansfield Park (Fanny & William Price).

The idea was that the rich would find someone worthy of improvement, sponsor their education, and give them the ability to raise into the gentry class. This sounds like what Mr. Darcy Sr. tried with Wickham, but in this case it was a failure. What ended up happening isn't that Wickham was grateful, but he ended up feeling entitled to the life of a Darcy. The novel's implication is that Wickham had a bad character, which education could not improve, and that Mr. Darcy Sr. was deceived in because Wickham had a veneer of decency.

From Darcy's Letter:

Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge; most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of this young man’s society, whose manners were always engaging, he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have.

Wickham's account:

“We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together: inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care."

In Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas talks about how difficult it will be to maintain the distinction between his daughters and Fanny, their adopted niece, and when I think about how Wickham turned out, I think this is meant to be taken seriously (even though Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris screwed up massively):

“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir Thomas, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up: how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorise in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct.”

Fanny feels grateful for what the Bertrams give her, even though it's scraps of a real education. Wickham ends up feeling entitled, even though he is "liberally bestowed" and that may have been the problem. He was treated too similarly to Darcy and felt that he was a Darcy, only to find out the patronage didn't go as far as he wanted.

Wickham comes off to me as one of those people who is ALWAYS innocent in his own mind, someone else is always the cause of his misfortunes (he's like Willoughby in that respect). So when he tells Elizabeth about how he lost his inheritance, I think he believes what he is saying. He does think Darcy cheated him somehow even though he was in the wrong. Darcy becomes the tyrant because Wickham refuses to be the villain of his own story.

In addition, I don't know if he would have seen Darcy as a friend. Darcy is one of the few people who can see through Wickham and a con man would hate that. Wickham's dislike of Darcy may well have started because he hates that Darcy can perceive and judge the real him.

[atrueneutral]

Just read the last chapter of HWBASK (I somehow missed that chapter 😅) and... I've got to ask...

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client insults Tav?

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client tries to flirt or make a pass at Tav and/or tries to include some funny business involving her as part of their contract with the devil?

What does/did Raphael do when a current/potential client does both?

“Color me not surprised to see the Hero of Baldur’s Gate here,” said the brute of a man who had come to the Devil’s Den seeking a deal - as anyone always ever did.

Since arriving a minute ago, full of swagger, he was pegged by Tav to be ugly, arrogant, and unpleasant.

“Is it true, hero? You’ll fuck a devil to save a person’s soul? How many fiends have you spread your legs for?”

Ah, and what he had for brawn was there to compensate for his lack of brains.

But, to answer his question, she’d spread her legs for two fiends to be exact. One of which she fucked on a regular basis - irregardless of a soul hanging in the balance.

The very fiend (who looked quite handsome as a human) stood not too far away from where she sat pretending to read her new favorite romance novel. Being a lawful fellow (though still evil in many regards), Raphael cooly leaned against the writing desk with no outward reaction to the salacious attack against her reputation - outward being the key word. She snuck a glance from over her book and could tell he was visualizing a future where the man’s soul was nothing more than a tasty meal.

“Are you deaf, hero?” asked the man.

“Speak to me, not to her - you are here for a devil’s deal, are you not?”

The man snorted in her direction before turning his attention to Raphael.

“Alright, devil. Let’s talk.”

—

“Then we have an accord?” Raphael oozed warmth - his steps slow in taking him from the desk to the man. “You are to procure a Bag of Devouring and personally deliver it to me in this very room - in three weeks time. In return for completion of this task, I will see to the end of your rival and his gang. If you are unable to deliver the item I seek within the allotted time, then there is the unfortunate matter of a price to be paid.” 

“My soul, is that it?” asked the brute, smiling with yellowed teeth.

“Why, yes - your soul would be a fine price,” responded Raphael, smiling with devilish charm.

Anticipation burned in his eyes.

The brute was not so brainless to accept on the spot; he mulled it over for about half a minute, but it was clear he predicted a favorable outcome.

“Agreed - and I think I’ve heard of this schtick.” The brute regarded Tav. “You’re gonna travel with me, yeah, sweetheart? Help me out?”

Rather than read (for the fifth time) the paragraph in which the protagonist and antagonist expressed their hatred for one another before kissing, Tav pondered on ugly, arrogant, and unpleasant souls and what they tasted like to fiends.

Something flavorful, she supposed, for behind his mask of congeniality, Raphael was gnawing at the bit for a bite.

Snap!

An infernal pairing of contract and quill appeared in front of the brute’s face - conveniently obstructing his view of her.

“All that’s left to do is sign,” Raphael said evenly.

The brute snatched the quill from the air with his meaty hand, pointed tip and ink was put to parchment, and the words blazed after a quick scrawl of a signature. Little time was given to the man to read anything (as if his tiny brain could understand Infernal in the first place) for the signed contract quickly disappeared in a plume of smoke and embers.

“Best of luck to you,” Raphael purred, allowing a sneer to eek through.

“I’ve had worse odds before,” the brute replied with a cocky shrug. “But, speaking of luck, how about it, sweetheart? How about you give the devil a good fucking when I leave? A good fuck for good luck - all for my dear, sweet soul.”

“Infiltrating Zhentil Keep for a Bag of Devouring…” Tav whistled as she flipped to the next page. “I remember doing something eerily similar not too long ago. Whether or not you make it out as I did… well…”

She pulled a face that said: unlikely.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I might be too busy fucking the devil - not for luck or for your soul, mind you.” For the first time, she met the brute’s stare - his arrogance was fraying into worry. “But because I enjoy it.”

“You’re obligated to do this with me!”

Tav laughed, “Says who or what? The rumors?”

“I put my soul on the line because of the guarantee!” The brute snarled, moving towards her in anger.

There was a flash and burst, and a large, pointed red wing fanned out to block the brute’s path. Tav was saddened that she could not witness the man’s reaction to seeing Raphael’s true form -  especially when her cambion looked so wonderfully antagonistic.

“A fool shall run a fool’s errand,” Raphael announced. “Run along, little fool.”

The brute snarled again in anger, and his bootsteps stormed for the door.

“Wait!” Tav shouted. The steps halted and Raphael refocused his glare on her. “If I were feeling up to a journey, when and where would I meet you? No guarantees, of course…”

An audible sound of relief.

“The bridge from the Lower City to Wyrm’s rock - dawn.”

After a moment, the door opened and then shut with a slam.

There was another flash and burst of fire as Raphael returned to his mortal disguise.

“Don’t look so peeved with me,” Tav scoffed. “I’m peeved with you! You know I hate Zhentil Keep…”

“You are under no obligation to go. It’s the fault of your own moral code - helping any and every mortal who steps into this den...”

“He’s not the first asshole and he won’t be the last.” Sighing, Tav closed her book and stuffed it into the pack that laid at her chair’s feet. “But, in all honesty, I won’t be too upset if you win this one either. The odds aren’t looking favorable - given your stipulation of three weeks.”

Raphael smirked. “A fair stipulation.”

“Says the devil,” came her droll reply. She stood while throwing her pack around her shoulder. “I think I’ll walk home tonight and will probably hit the hay as soon as I get back - early rise and all.”

“Mm, I’d join you on your stroll, but there are other matters I must attend to.”

Tav headed for the door. “Don’t take too long - I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to you being in my bed.”

When she reached for the handle-

“Does it bother you?”

Raphael did not need to clarify his question; the remnants of his play, particularly the gossip that overran the city and followed the local hero wherever she went, had evolved into other less-than-savory rumors. Seeing the futility in denying the slander, Tav leaned into taking each blow on the chin and hoped that rumors of her good-deeds would one day overtake the bad.

“Some days more than others,” she answered truthfully.

Raphael blinked at her, something on his mind, but he merely nodded for the exit.

“Hurry home, dearest.”

“I will, under the fair stipulation that you hurry with your business - it’s cold out and I’ll want to wrap around my personal furnace.” She twisted the handle and opened the door. Pausing, Tav threw a last look his way. “I’m happy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And I’ll be happy when this man’s soul is mine,” said her beloved antagonist.

To counter, the protagonist held her head heroically high. “Not a chance in Hell, you rat-fucking-bastard.”

At that, Tav left the Devil’s Den with a smile on her face.

—-

[takaraphoenix]

So @kimmycup and I wrapped up season 3A last night! And I have thoughts!

Stiles

Stiles, obviously, highlight of the season. As always. No but seriously, Dylan's acting kills me and the fact that he is pretty when he cries also kills me (so often, the act of crying just makes me cringe on screen but when he's crying I'm like "YES. MORE").

The way we spent over three episodes on Stiles' suffering about his dad being missing and wanting to bring him back? Allison and Scott also have their parents abducted but somehow Stiles is the one with whom it is presented as a trauma and who gets to suffer about it.

The fact that Stiles is at the center of the Hales actually makes me feel feral and unhinged though. He's the one to offer Derek comfort after Boyd dies, he's the one who asks about where Derek went when he disappears afterward (though I will admit I did like the Scott-Derek dynamic in this season too, the build up of trust there and Scott's guilt when they thought Derek was dead). Stiles working with Peter about the vault, interrogating Peter about Derek's past, saving Cora with Peter (but also, again, I did like the Peter-Scott team-up in the hospital that was a real surprise and actually fun). And obviously Cora. Oh, they were so setting her up as his love-interest. Nearly all of Cora's scenes were either with Derek, Peter or Stiles. Despite Boyd and Isaac being around too, despite Scott being set up to become head of the wolves, it's somehow Stiles who is at the center of the actual Hales, who interacts with them the most and I am living for it.

Also the Noah-Stiles this season! With his dad's abduction, the fact that Stiles died to save his dad (credit to Scott and Allison for dying for their parents too), that he finally told his dad the truth and that painful little "Mom would have believed me" that absolutely killed me. His constant fear of also losing his dad, even before the abduction, when he thought he'd lose Noah for telling him the truth.

Stiles is my absolute favorite fictional character, of all time, truly.

Peter

Coming in hot second place after Stiles, Peter really was the highlight of the season for me. I have come to deeply love this bastard man. His lil "I've always been the Alpha" I deadass went "made me feel very attracted to him and straight. That was unreasonably sexy of him.

But even before he did that? This whole season, spent kind of helping and kind of doing good, but never too much, just enough to keep being useful. Always manipulating with his silver tongue, the unreliable narrator of Derek's past trauma was a fucking masterpiece to me.

I still want to kiss him on the mouth for killing the most annoying Teen Wolf villain though. There are villains who are evil and villains I hate - in the "this is an effectively written villain! I hate them for their villainy!" sense - but Jennifer Blake was just annoying. She kept babbling on and not in a silver-tongued way but in the same awkward teacher trying to make a point way that she did in the classroom.

Death

Let's leap into that before I lose my train of thought, because Jennifer's death felt good. Even more so in contrast with Deucalion's not-death.

It truly, genuinely fucks with me that Scott and Derek let him go. He is why Boyd and Erica are DEAD. Two of your pack mates. Two innocent teenagers. They're dead because of him, but... Deucalion just... gets to walk free. Not even prison, not even human-standard punishment, not have his Alpha spark somehow removed, nothing. No, he gets rewarded by having his sight restored and is just sent on his merry way.

The same goes for Gerard. The man tortured teenagers for fun and killed countless innocent werewolves. But he just... gets to live. When only Chris was hiding him, I could somewhat excuse it with him being unable to kill his own father. But then both Allison and Scott learn where he is and it just pisses me off so much.

These people kill innocent and get no punishment at all. I'm not even necessarily saying "murder is the only way" (it is, to me, in these instances), but there is just nothing, they get to live on, free, not even imprisoned.

Makes me so damn mad and you just know if Deucalion and Peter hadn't torn out Jennifer's throat, they would have let her life and be on her merry way too.

Cora (& Derek)

I admit I fully did not remember shit about her. She was only in half a season and, clearly, I managed to block out most of it. But I really loved her! She... Yeah, they totally tried to replace her with Malia, because she has the same very direct nature and anger issues. Which only makes me sadder on account of those two never meeting or interacting.

I enjoyed her character and actually would have REALLY loved Stora? These two had good chemistry and I think the build up was definitely worth exploring what a relationship between them could have been like.

Her existence still drives me up the wall though because they really don't explain it. At all. How did she survive? How did she get all the way to South America? Hell, how did she even hear about a Hale Alpha again like what is there some kind of supernatural newspaper announcing these things?

And then she's gone again. And it feels... stupid. I think it would feel less stupid if Derek wouldn't return in season 4 either. Let me be clear, I love Derek and, as a viewer, am glad that I didn't lose him for good here by having him be written out. But internally, within the story, it would have felt much more rewarding to both of them if after all the trauma in Beacon Hills and the rocky relationship these two had, Derek had just fucked off from that hell-town to live with his sister somewhere safe.

But also, while I'm on Derek already. This boy really can not catch a break. He needs to stop falling for women, period. Paige's death was deeply traumatic, Kate groomed him and killed his family, and now Jennifer. At this point, the pack should get battle ready when he shows interest in someone...

Others

In a delightful twist did I actually grow attached to Ethan/Danny this time around and will be using more of those from hereon out.

I think one of the funniest bits of the season was Melissa meeting Peter in the hospital and saying "You're supposed to be dead" because I'm sorry he has been resurrected SIX MONTHS AGO and nobody told her that he is alive again? Really, Scott? Really?

[fountainpenguin]

im trying to explain foop's alt personality to a friend, do you have any posts explaining the existence of the guy bc i could swear you do but cant find them.

I love him!! He's named Hiccup in my fanfics and tagged on my blog as #alternate bat prince. He'll also get a full character profile on my sideblog, but he has a short bio for now.

I love the alt personality so much because it really drives home how much Foop broke during his time in Abracatraz... which gets more horrifying once you remember time was frozen and he was probably in there for a good 30 to 40 years, separated from his parents or friends his age, unable to grow up.

One of the overarching themes in FOP is how poorly the Fairies treat others while acting like they're superior and kind, and Foop is one of the best characters to show how Fairies fawn over kids of their own race vs. how Anti-Fairy babies are regarded with suspicion. The Fairies threw a 1-day-old in maximum security prison and left him there. And that REALLY put Foop through the wringer.

From his second episode of existence, you can tell he's changed since his debut episode, and that he's confused by what's happening to him. He blinks in alarm when he switches early on and speaks about himself in a different way than he does both before and after that moment (Ex: Refers to himself as "we" at one point). You can tell he's in a weird adjustment period, and seems to have adjusted to life with his alt personality much more in later episodes.

And this alt personality doesn't go away. He debuted in Season 7, returns in Season 8, and then cameos several times in Seasons 9 and 10 (indicated by certain hand gestures, voice shifts, and extra eye highlights when he switches)

"Man's Worst Friend" (S10) is a really good example, especially the scene where Anti-Sparky says he'd like to have Foop for dinner and you immediately get the chubby cheeks, clasped hands, and gushing about how nice of an event that would be.

He's a very deliberate, long-term addition to the show and I love that about him so much. I'm so glad he wasn't a one-episode joke. No....... no. Foop has a lot of trauma and it never goes away, even when it's not the episode's focus.

It's so cool that you can still see these subtle signs of his alt personality even when the episode doesn't make it part of the plot. Such a nice way to see the long-term effects of his childhood trauma while also being super clear that Foop is a well-rounded, well-written person who is still growing up and living his life.

I love that this didn't become Foop's entire characterization, nor was he portrayed as "a polite, misunderstood boy with a super evil scary alt personality." Nah. Foop causes trouble because he's Foop and he wants people to fear him. The alter is a totally separate thing to unpack (A newborn was separated from his mother and locked in solitary confinement during early development).

His alt personality exists and is part of him, but only two of his episodes truly emphasize it. The rest depict more subtle shifts. I just love it so much... the thought that went into this and the quiet commitment to having the alt personality show up in later episodes. Foop is one of my favorite characters and I love exploring his life.

My favorite thing about the alt personality is that it's very easy to glance at him and say "Oh, he's the stereotypical 'good' personality and Foop is the 'evil' one." And then you take another 30 seconds to get to know them and you're like "Oh. OH... oh my gosh. Why is he like that?"

I am specifically referring to him taking one look at Poof and cooing, "Does Mr. Popular want to fight??" Hey...

HERE is an outdated video showing all the personality switch moments I saw. I've found more switch moments since then (Ex: In "Fairly Odd Fairy Tales," some I missed in "Man's Worst Friend," there's one in "Certifiable Super Sitter," another in "Terrible Twosome" that's separate from Foop experiencing the Terrific Twos effects). I'd like to make an updated one sometime in 2025.

HERE is my post about the music switch in "Best of Luck," which happens to align with Irep holding his hands in a way only his alt personality did in the OG series. No idea if that was intentional, but I did laugh a lot. Why did they have Irep do that hand gesture at that exact moment. The gesture only the alt personality uses. Hey. what.

HERE is a post about Hiccup's relationship/connection with Poof.

HERE is the announcement post for a one-shot I wrote from Hiccup's POV in high school

Happy New Year!

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble 16

So, I actually added a little extra to #15. I would recommend reading that before this because while it isn't clear to have any affect over this particular drabble, it will on the next one.

Granger called in sick and Draco was forced to sit down with Potter, Robarbs and Weasley. An attempt, he imagined, at getting Weasley and Draco to hash it out, move on, put the past behind them and all of that.

He wasn’t going to put the past behind him. He would not hash it out and he would never move on from the hatred he had for Weasley. He might have been able to move past it, at one point, if Weasley had just been a man and stepped aside.

He doesn’t know how long the weasel had been cheating on Granger, but he was certain that it was before she had died. Certain that it had been what he was doing those nights that Granger had agreed to go out to have a drink with him because her fiancé was missing in action.

How many nights had they gone out for a bite, or a drink, because she was lonely? How many times had Draco seen her come into work with red eyes, from crying all night or all morning over this idiot?

And so, Draco said very little as Robarbs discussed the importance of interdepartmental unity. Draco might have resembled a petulant child as he scowled and slumped into his chair, his chin perched onto his hand. He stared at the table, diving into his usual fantasy of disemboweling Weasley with his bare hands while his boss droned on and on about the importance of being able to trust your fellow Aurors.

Meanwhile, Weasley was unrelenting in the daggers he attempted to drill into his chest with his eyes. Draco was certain that the red headed git had his own fantasies about murdering the man who had, essentially, stolen his fiancé.

It wasn’t until Potter spoke, that Draco found his ears perking up.

“I know Hermione means a lot to the both of you,” Potter began calmly.

But the mood had immediately shifted. Weasley sat up and turned his ire onto his best friend. “Don’t you bring her into this.” He spat. “Malfoy is the problem here. He’s unprofessional and evil.”

Draco lowered his hand from his face and lifted a brow. “Unprofessional? Am I the one who attacked a fellow Auror?” He looked over at Potter. “Is it too late to press charges?”

Potter grimaced and looked over at Robarbs who lowered his head into his hand. It was no mystery that Robarbs was tired. He wanted to retire, mentioned it nearly every single day. Which was why he was always pushing Potter, grooming him to replace him.

“You know what? I don’t want to press charges for assault.” He fought the lift of his lip as he turned to look at Weasley. “Can I press charges against someone for being a cheating bastard?”

Potter stiffened in his seat, his eyes snapping up to look at his friend.

“Fuck you.” Weasley spat. “No matter what you think you know, you still dont have a chance with Hermione. She’s too good for you. She’ll always be too good for you.”

“But she wasn’t good enough for you?” Draco asked with a laugh. “The brightest witch of our age was unable to stroke your ego, is that it?”

“What is he talking about?” Potter’s eyebrows were drawn in, tension bracketing his mouth.

“Nothing.” Weasley spat as Draco said, “Oh, you don’t know?”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

But Draco was just getting started. “You don’t know that your best friend has been sneaking around with the Patil twin while he gaslights his fiancé to believe that there’s something wrong with her?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Weasley stood from his seat, leaned over the table and tried to block Potter from listening to Draco.

“Apparently, Weasley here has real mommy issues. Needs to be pampered and fed like a good little boy.”

“Wait, is that true?” Harry pushed his chair back to narrow his eyes up at Weasley.

“What? No!”

“He’s been fucking Parvati Patil. Probably fucked her while Granger was laying unconscious in a hospital bed.”

Weasley’s wand was out and a stupefy was hissing from the tip of his tongue before Potter could get out of his chair.

But Draco was ready. He threw a protego the second the first syllable was out of Weasley’s mouth., before jumping out of his chair and putting it in front of himself as he sent a stinger into the idiots cheek.

Potter and Robarbs were out of their chairs, ducking behind the table as Weasley sent hex after hex at Draco.

Laughter was fizzy, like the carbonation of a soda, and bubbling up Draco’s throat as he relished in the feel of a good ol’ fashion duel. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel his hands causing pain. He wanted to feel the sting of a good punch.

How often had Draco gone out for a drink after work just to stir up a little controversy, allowing himself the pleasure of indulging in a bar fight? And all because this red headed moron wouldn’t step aside. He wouldn’t accept that he didn’t belong with Granger. She was too good for him. Too brilliant, too beautiful. Too everything.

It wasn’t really a surprise to Draco to find that Weasley had sought out a woman deft enough to praise him, to treat him like he belonged on some sort of pedestal. Wasn’t the bloke always overshadowed by Potter? At times, he was overshadowed by his own family, let alone the superstar girlfriend.

No, Weasley couldn’t handle Granger.

It was the thought that led him to toss his wand aside and lunge over the table. It was the thought that fueled the way his arms wrapped around his neck as he tackled the idiot to the floor.

Weasley managed to break his hold, kneeing Draco in the groin before rolling halfway out from underneath him.

Draco took an elbow to the mouth, a punch to the eye, breaking skin against bone as he was rolled underneath Weasley.

But in the end, it was Draco who managed to headbutt him in the nose. Weasley reeled back as blood erupted from his nose. Draco rolled out from under him. He jumped to his feet and kicked Weasley in the ribs.

Before he could go for a second kick, ropes wrapped around him from the tip of Robarb’s wand. Weasley was bound by Potter himself as Draco fell to the floor, landing hard onto his left shoulder.

Potter sighed and stepped over the two of them, panting and bleeding. He looked angry as his eyes bounced between his once sworn enemy and his once best friend. Draco knew that the revelation of Weasley’s infidelity would damaged their once solid friendship. Because Granger was the glue that held everything together. Granger had given up everything for Potter. She was most definitely the sole reason he was able to defeat Voldemort. The reason he was even alive.

Something had fractured, and it wasn’t just Weasley’s ribs. But something between the Golden Trio that Draco assumed was irreparable.

With a sigh, Potter ran a hand through his black, untidy hair before pointing his wand at Weasley. Robarb’s own wand was trained on Draco.

“I’m afraid you’re both under arrest.”

[indras-wife]

Heyyy!! Can you write a headcanon of the Uchiha men(include Indra too please!!) waking up in a female body? How will they react to that? What will they do?

Ohhh Anon, what a wonderful request! Lets see these men's reactions to waking up as a woman.

Indra

This man realizes there's something wrong with him the moment he opens his eyes. His shock cannot be described by words when he moved the covers of his bed and sees his changed body. His toned, muscular body now was gone being replaced by soft female body

He tries to stay calm and think of his following actions for the day. First, he tries to think WHY he ended up in this body. He didnt consume anything or practice any jutsu that could alter his body.

After maybe an hour of thinking, an answer could not be found and Indra gave up. It was nearing for his early morning training, and he was not going to miss it no matter what. Even being turned into a female cannot stop it.

He dresses up, trying his best to bind his chest to make it easier fooling people around him. For his face, he applied his blue eyeliner under his eyes and finished with his face. Heavens blessed him with soft feminine features so Indra was not worried about his face as much as he was worried about his body.

The other thing he was worried about was...his voice. His now deep voice was changed to a feminine one and he knew that if he spoke, everyone would figure there's something wrong. Indra sighed, feeling helpless at the situation he is in.

When it was time for training, Indra's annoyance was doubled. His body was now unable to keep up with him, which resulted in a failed training session. His day kept getting worse and now there was really nothing this man could do. Except maybe waiting for the weird phenomena to pass.

Madara

Waking up in a body that isn't his is a catastrophic event for this man. Where has his majestic, glorified body went to? Why is he in a woman's body? His head spins with questions which he knows cant be answered.

He think its an evil joke that his "best friend" played on him, and if his thought was right, then he will definitely be getting revenge from Hashirama.

Usually Madara would always take cold morning showers, to wake him up and to make him more energetic, but this morning he decided to break his habit, not wanting to see whatever his body looked like now. It was already shocking enough for him.

He cursed each time he tried wearing his robes, as now they not only didn't fit him, but his now body proportions were not doing a good job at trying to conceal his new problem. Women with big chests were always his favorite, but now he is starting to hate big chests.

Nevertheless, he was able to find a way to conceal his new identity. Madara wasted no time and headed to the Senju residence, to get explanation to his looks.

"Wait...you mean you...woke up in a woman's body..?!?!"Hashirama spoke loudly. Madara hated Hashirama for being such a loud man, and he hated himself more for being this man's friend. He pushed Hashirama to his room, in hopes that no one heard their loud leader.

After spending some good 30 minutes on laughing at him, saying that its his karma for being so rude to people, especially women, Hashirama calmed down, trying to help his friend understand the root of the issue. He knew Madara could not go out with his current form, because...he would grab the attention of EVERYONE, be it male or female.

"You know you look pretty hot like this though. If I didn't know your real self, I would definitely mistaken you for a hot woman and try to persuade you~" Hashirama, with his dumb jokes was making Madara angrier with each second. He needed to get rid of whatever he was in, as he had important meetings for the whole day and could not be present while looking like that.

Of course, luck was not on his side as he was unable to change and get his body back.

Izuna

First thing in his head when he sees his new body? Where is his dick? His best attribute is stripped of him without his knowledge.

Unlike his brother, Izuna gets adjusted to his new body very fast. He knows female body very good thanks to him whoring sleeping around, but he is for sure not against the idea of a proper examination. He stands in front of the mirror, touching his body all around: pinching, tickling, rubbing. Everything that crosses his mind

He loves his body better, but Izuna cant help but notice how good he looks even in female body. He loves that this body comes with big natural heaters, aka boobs. He also love how his face looks more feminine now. He looks perfect both as a man and a woman, and it boosts his self-esteem.

All fun and games, but Izuna realises he has to let someone know of this, someone like his brother. He knows Madara will find a way to help him get out of such situation.

Izuna entered his brother's office, looking to find him. When Madara saw him, he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Izuna...what is the meaning of this..? Why do you look like that?" Little die he know, Izuna's appearance wasn't intentional and he really woke up in this body.

Madara, not knowing what to say or do, instructed Izuna to not appear in public and be in his room mostly, till Madara figures out what to do to help him. This of course made Izuna happier becaUse he could be lazy all day long and not get yelled at by Madara.

He uses his free time in exploring the wonders of female body, not knowing when the heaven would stop. He would not mind staying in female body for a long time, but he LOVES his real body so he hopes some cure can be found for this thing.

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #11

We're reading PKNA #8: Silicon and I do not remember this story. That's about all I have to say beforehand oop.

How are you gonna IMMEDIATELY start the Donald Duck comic book with half naked women omfg what if my mom sees me reading this

I do find it funny that they're trying to get rid of Fangus when he was LITERALLY in New Zealand just last issue. Like sure he was there for work but he was still gone for some period of time, it's like he came home and they were like "ok now LEAVE" which like. yeah fair. it's Angus Fangus.

Never ask a Scottish person to say "purple burglar alarm"

He's so babygirl here in his pink shirt btw. or like purple idk purpleish pink shirt

As opposed to what Uno, artificial humor??? Bro I've seen AI write jokes and that shit is ASS don't even try

wait why the hell does Fangus have duck feet? kiwi feet don't look like that????

man not THIS asshole again. go home broke ass uno. you will never be him.

I'm not calling you a "good boy" PK that patrol wa- sorry.

I'mma be fr I'm more unnerved by these naked evronians than I thought I'd be. Also what's with the line dividing their torsos? It makes them look like they have a shirt and pants on which like.... DO they?????

I love when they fuck with Angus Fangus can we just keep gaslighting him forever please

I think there's something interesting to be said about the fact that Due is basically identical to Uno in every way, having only turned evil from being forced to lie dormant for years and unable to use his insane amount of intelligence and computing power. Like, if we locked Uno in an empty room for a decade would he have the same response? Is there a great capacity for evil lurking within that beautiful green orb of his??? Idk I'm not here to do a huge analysis, RIP bozo packwatch. I'm sure Due is gone for real this time.

shoutout to that one name that comes SO close to being matpat. also who the fuck is uncle sis

oh fuck. shit. fuck. not again. DAMMIT. HE LIVED. MAN. BOOOOOO

I don't have much to say in terms of reflection so I guess that wraps up this- oh my god wait a second, what's this??? There's still a few pages left? That's right folks, Looks like it's time for our first ever

🎊✨~ BONUS COMIC!!!! ~✨🎊

That's right bitch, PKNA has a bunch of little mini stories after the issues. Unfortunately the first series is focused on Angus Fangus </3 but HEY Trip is after this and I love Trip so we just have to stay strong and pull through ok. Trust.

New baby Angus Fangus just dropped. Punting this fucker into the sun.

Oh she's bad asf ok

GET A JOB STAY AWAY FROM HER

HELLO??? THAT'S SUCH A FUCKING DRASTIC TURN 😭

Actually you know what good on Vicious for backstabbing Fangus and stealing his award. That's what we call girlbossing your way to the top 💅 also like it's Angus Fangus who really cares

Ok see you next week :3c I miss Xadhoom