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christinebloodwrittings · 4 months

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Hi, I was wondering if you could do an Alastor x Reader, where Reader and Alastor are about to get married, but the day before their wedding, Alastor mysteriously disappears. On their bed lays a note: “I’m sorry, I had to leave.”?

Heart in debt

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: "Until death do us apart" turned into a "Until I see you again in hell", when Alastor, for unknown reasons, decided to become a runaway groom. Warnings: Gore, bit of angst.

Sorry for the delay dearest, this work took 4 drafts and a lot of re-write, I hope the result is to your liking :3.

The venue was reserved in advance, your mother had chosen the perfect location for you. The catering service was already paid for, as was the florist, band and cake.

Everything was ready.

Looking back, as you finished getting ready for bed, with your nerves on edge, you remembered how your parents reacted when you told them you were getting married.

The best couple ever, welcomed your fiancé, Alastor, as if they had recognized the plague made person. The permanent smile, the aura of death, and well, something they saw in him made them act defensively.

However, of course, your father loved you more than anything in life, so since the ring was of high quality, he had a house on his name, he could provide for you and assure you a future with children, he had no choice but to swallow his opinions and daydream the day when you say he can shoot his brains out.

It was distasteful to you that your father wanted to kill your fiancé, but you knew he loved you and as long as he was with you, Alastor would be fine.

And he was waiting in bed, with his glasses on the edge of his nose, busy with a book. "Excuse me, madam, but if you hold the rifle like that, you will hurt yourself due to the force of the recoil" you remembered your first interaction, his voice was as soft as silk, manners polished up to perfection.

“Then, what would you say is the best way?” you suspected he was going to say something mannish and arrogant, most man didn’t believed women could do nothing except cooking and breed children, judging by the eat shitting grin he was wearing, you were expecting the worst sexist comment.

Instead he asked your permission to help you, after you said yes, he gently moved your arms upwards to accommodate your position, then gently pulled sideways your hips, “Your support leg must be straight and tight, strong, otherwise you will fall back” then a rustle in the bushes alerted both of you, a white back deer.

“You can do it, aim” he encouraged you, watching the majestic prongs of the deer appear at the distance, “Breathe, don’t rush” his breath on your ear sent a shiver up your spine, “Now!” he spoke, you pulled the trigger, he held you during the push back, that kind of rifle was far too intense, even for him, but it had the enough power to kill the animal just fine.

“Do I have something on my face, dear?” he noticed your stare, smiling softly. You walked to him, pecking his cheek softly, “Now there is” he chuckled, setting his book on the nightstand, then he opened his arms to you, which were soon filled with your figure.

"I can't wait for us to be one" you snuggled against his chest, "Me neither, dearest" he pulled you closer, your hair ticking his nose. "At this hour tomorrow I'll be Mrs. Hartfield, I wish your mother were here to enjoy with us" his mom had passes away when he was a kid, but since your mother was friends with her, you got faint memories of the sweet woman that had raised your soon-to-be husband.

"She probably would have made a joyride out of the planning" his sarcasm got you giggling, "You're so mean" He kissed your temple, enjoying your laughter, "Rather honest, darling".

Nothing could go wrong at the moment, you were in cloud nine, until you woke up and noticed Alastor was gone. It was weird, usually he wouldn't move out of bed until you did.

“My love, I'm sorry, I had to leave. I realized I'm not ready. I'll be sending you money to compensate for the expenses. I'm sorry” Signed with his name, his calligraphy on a piece of paper next to his spot.

"Mamma?" You held the telephone life for dear life, barely holding on, "Did something happened my dear? You sound distressed" yes you were, also were under every type of weather, "He left, he left me a letter, and his clothes are gone" You chocked out on your words, tears falling onto your nightgown.

"Like full closet gone?" At her question you yelled back that he was gone, your heart shattered when you took notice that he even took his radio with him.

"I'll be there in just a moment; I'll make some calls okay?" She reassured you, "What happened?" You father spoke in the background, "Alastor left your daughter on her wedding day" Your mother tried to as delicate as she could, "Bastard! Don't worry baby, if he decides to come back, he's good as dead" he made the click of his shotgun sound against the phone, "I knew that son of a bitch was no good for my princess" he shouted.

"Maybe I did something wrong" you sobbed, "No sweetie, how can you think that? The lad wasn't ready, is no one's fault" Your mother tried to reassured you, but truth to be told, nothing could console you at that moment.

You refused to abandon his house, it was briefly yours before he went away, but the real reason was, that you still had some hope he would at some point come back. When he never did, you abandoned the house to live with your parents.

One night, returning late from your make up job at the speakeasy, you felt a rush, a cold feeling up your spine. Looking into the glass on the other side of the street, you caught the sight of a man, walking fast behind you.

Speeding up the pace, you ventured yourself into the swamp, the bayou. You knew Alastor had a hunting shed where you could at least arm yourself, you only had to run faster. Your heels at one point buried themselves in the mud, you had to continue on foot, a plus point since despite the stones and thorns on the way, you managed to reach the place.

You heard the paces even nearer, in a hurry you forced the lock to break, then took a rifle off the table inside, put three bullets in the chamber, then when the silhouette of your stalker opened up the door, he saw the end of the cannon pointing straight at his head.

“Turn back, leave!” your voice echoed through the trees, the wind eating up your voice quickly, “I will not repeat myself” you threatened, pulling the safety mechanism, “Poor little doll, you think you’re capable to-“ shakily, you fired, he was taken aback, nearly fallen to the ground.

“YOU WHORE!” he yelled, pressing a hand to his shoulder, “Leave, now” the rush that firing him gave you, was a sensation you couldn’t describe. It sent a shock of pleasure down your spine, you liked that feeling, even more so, when the one scared now, was him.

“Human scum” you aimed at his head, “See you in hell” his eyes took a less sharp look, his rage turned into fear, then absolute nothingness wrapped in blood.

Karma was a very ironic lady, when you pulled the man’s body to the lake, you tripped on an underwater root, your body barely above water caught the attention of a beast, and sooner than later, you were devoured by an alligator.

One man, one bloodlust rush sent you to hell.

A hundred years or so, after that incident, after surviving another extermination, hidden in a box in the closet. You felt a presence, something following you, you turned a corner, gun in hand, prepared to defend yourself if necessary.

When the footsteps stopped on the other side of the building, a shadow peeked its face towards you, the smile he was wearing was an amused one, especially when he saw you pointing the gun at him.

A slight unusual sound, seemingly a laugh, followed by its hand taking yours, only to leave a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Rather dashing, are you not?” your fear was not yet dissipated, but it was so gentle, offering its arm to walk you down the street.

“I’ve been eager to salute you, though I must say, you are rather hard to find” his voice was merely a whisper, “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he stopped in his tracks, “My most sincere apologies, but I don’t own a name, I’m simply a reflection, a shadow of a man” it seemed sad, yet conscious of its existence.

“Does this man, who’s footsteps you should be following, knows me?” he nodded in response, following by a quiet “He does”. You thought back how many men you have consorted with, who might have access or knowledge of umbrakinesis, none came to your mind.

“Am I to be afraid of his intentions?” as any other man you have encountered, you’ve never been able to shake the fear, always having to have a gun attached to your waist, “He has none, he thinks he has hurt you enough, with his sudden absence” he had been prohibited to utter the incident, but he found a way to do so anyways without actually saying ‘Alastor left you, and it pains him every day’.

“Alastor” his name fell off your lips like hasn’t done before, in quite a while, “Will he agree to see me?” you asked, wanting at least an explanation, “He’s not the man you remember” the shadow warned, but you were persistent, “I’d like to see him, if he has a moment he can gift me”.

His nonexistent heart shook in his chest, “I’ll see what I can do” that sentence alone brought you more hope than anything in the world, “Can you do me one more favor? I’ll see that you get compensated” now in your home, you took paper and pen, at the same time that you took a tiny bag off one of your drawers.

“This are three pure gold coins, Spanish ones, Cortéz brought this ones himself” you placed the bag on its hand, “I hope you accept this as payment, to pass him a letter?” he nodded watching you take your quill and start writing to him.

When you were done, you melted a bit of candle wax, sealing your heart in that page, then he left with the letter.

“My dearest friend.

How the time has treated us, I hope will never know. If there was a god up there I shall thank him, for it brought you back to me somehow, however subtle presence that is.

Have you seen the changes? Are you still pursuing your ambitions? How have you been all these years? Many questions flooded my mind, as soon as your name was brought to me for the first time in a century.

If it’s not too much of a bother, I would like to see you, an hour is all I desire.”

I’ll await your answer, in whichever mean you see fit.

While reading the letter, Alastor made a pause, his eyes burning with the old feeling, the same crushing one he was hunted by ever since he left under the mantle of the night.

“I am not mad at you, I just wish for clearance, closure.

Happy to make your acquaintance whenever you’d like.

Sincerely, Y/n.”

“Take the package with you, and make sure she’s safe” he ordered his shadow, who flew a couple days later to your doorstep.

A box, laced with a red ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw a radio inside, engraved with flowers and birds in the most exquisite wood that hell could offer. On top of it, there was a note that read “Play me”.

You sat by the fireplace, leaving the radio on the tea table, your shadow friend taking seat beside you while you push the button that was marked.

“One, two, three, testing? Can you hear me, my dear?” his voice was slightly different, there was a lot of static, but you wondered if that was his or the radio’s. “Yes, I can” yours was a melody he had yearn to be blessed with for years, “Wonderful, I had received your letter” your stomach was in tangles, awaiting his thoughts.

“I do wish to see you, but I have something to tell you first, that may be quite daunting” your breath was caught in your throat, “Go on” you inquired, “The reason why I couldn’t marry you is due my activities in the woods, I am a killer and a cannibal, bringing pain to others grant me pleasure like no other” he laid the truth as plain as it could be, giving that he couldn’t see your eyes directly.

“Oh thank god” he was taken aback by your giggly sigh, “I thought you a…you know, someone that fancy other men” he laughed as well, he found the assumption ridiculous, also he thought strange that you’re so unfazed by his confession.

“You are glad?” you took a moment to find an answer without sounding like you’ve gone mad, “Alastor, are you a man that stalk women down to alleys to feast on their screams?” he answered a firm no to your question, “Are you a man that defiles other women?” another no.

“Do you enjoy killing the scoundrels you hated so much, bullies, the ones that take advantage of the ones with fairer means?” he took a second to pridefully answer “Yes”, you took the shadow’s hand as if it was his, “Then your mother and I can rest in peace, as cruel as you may be Alastor, you still hold your morals high, I cannot say the same regarding your honor” he laughed at the mention of the latter.

“Did the cat caught your tongue?” he had fell silent for a minute, “No, I haven’t been at a loss of words in a while, is all” the shadow nuzzled against your hand, moving it so it could cup his cheek, “Can I pay you a penny for your thoughts? I think I might be saying it wrong; the young ones say it a lot” you giggled, adding to the ache in his heart.

“I didn’t expect you to be alright with it, it leads me to wonder, why are you down here?” you decided to be just as honest as he was, “I killed a man that had ill intentions towards me, and I liked it a little too much” his smile grew devilishly.

“Did he suffer?” if not, he was going to hunt him to grant the man a second demise, one he would ensure he would regret choosing you as his target. “The fear in his eyes, brought a smile to my face” oh he could not be more in love, he made a wise decision to send the radio, if he had you in front of him, he would’ve devour you entirely.

“How did you died?” he made a silent pray, with some hope that at least your death would not have been painful, “I was alligator food in the bayou, in an attempt to get rid of the body, September 4th, 1929” oh how that fact made a twist in his stomach, just like himself, you were eaten alive.

“I am sorry” you laughed, “For what? Your shed was the most convenient, I killed him with your hunting rifle, like you taught me” he remembered, it was the first time he felt actual pleasure in someone else’s warmth, “I can now stop regretting introducing you to the art of the hunt” the shadow placed a kiss on your temple, “Very much so”.

He felt your skin on his lips from within the connection with the sentient, “Will you join me tomorrow, for tea? I’m helping to rise a hotel with hell’s princess” oh so that’s where he was hiding around, you thought, “Fancy, I must be the one warning you now, I do not look…pleasant, I died in a swamp so I wear that fact in the form of my skin” you admitted.

Water nymphs were pretty, you were somewhat that, only more inclined to an eel. You had a long thin fin for hair, red-yellow spotty skin, sharp teeth, light brown scales covering your hips and torso, not to mention your clear blue eyes, not a choice of color but rather a blind looking hue, much like an eel.

“Mon coeur, rest assure, I am more concerned of your reaction towards myself” he was to the limit of nearly arranging an emergency visit to Rosie’s for a new wardrobe, “I cannot wait to see you” until you spoke that lovely sentence, “Nor can I, my dear”.

The next day, without a wink of sleep, Alastor creeped behind the princes, after making the many preparations up in his personal bayou. “Charlie, I have a request” he purred, attempting to mask his excitement, “Sure Al, what is it?” the question pinched a curious itch in the princess, “Yeah, you rarely ask for things” added the fallen exterminator.

“I’ll have a guest today, one that I hold in high regards, so I’ll be excused to my room” excitement also brew in the princess itch, “Sure thing Al, no worries” she cheerly smiled at him. It seemed the fact he had company also touched the spider’s curiosity, or rather, surprise.

“Smiles got a date?” he looked in quite shock towards the feline bartender, who could do nothing more than scoff, “That’s impossible, it must be another soul he wants to own” he soon swallowed his own words given that Alastor materialized next to him, “Husker! Your best whiskey please” the way he utter the name of the former overlord was a warning laced with a threat.

Later that afternoon, a knock made Charlie sprint towards the door, outrunning Niffty. “Hello, I’m Y/n, lovely to meet you, I’m here to see Alastor” you courtesy at the sight of the princess of hell, “Of course, come, come” who eagerly took your hand and pulled you inside, “He’ll be down in a minute”.

She had you sat in the lobby, with the company of Angel and Vaggie, “Sorry if I’m too curious, but how do you know Alastor?” Charlie began the small talk, ever so politely, “If he’s as mysterious as he was in life, your curiosity is well within your right, he’s a dearest friend of mine” the princess was impressed to know her host had more friends than that sleazy woman, Mimzy.

“Aww, how nice!” she also told you that there was no need for any more manners towards her, though you insisted giving the way you were taught ever since you were a child.

“Y/n” your name rolled off his tongue like the beginning of a poem, “Alastor” you turned your head around, before standing up, watching closely as he would not break eye contact with you, as he made his way around the couch.

“Now those two were not just friends” Vaggie had a sly smile on her face, “That sexual tension is delicious” Angel added watching just how slowly Alastor brought your hand up to lay a kiss on your fingers. Your chest rising noticeably from your tight corset, the excitement was palpable indeed.

“Well if I must atone to the intrigue, she was my fiancé” an audible gasp filled the room, “Now, if you’ll excuse us” since never let go of your hand, he was able to swiftly place it on his forearm as he guided you to the stairs, “Princess, bye friends” you curtsied as you followed him along.

He had arranged a white set of garden table and chairs, an ensemble of various sweets and meat treats displayed, along with a set of cups and plates in a remarkable shade of blue.

“Oh, Alastor this is exquisite! You shouldn’t have” you knew the meat was for him, he was never a fan of sweets, but you were, “Of course I had, please have a seat” he pulled your seat for you, pushing it ever so gently when you were already seated.

“Always so gallant” pride rose to his face in the form of a subtle rose color, he managed to hide it when his shadow came from a corner to give you a hug, “Oh hello you, he’s so cute, how come he doesn’t have a name?” if you didn’t knew better you would’ve thought that Alastor had gone green from envy, seeing his shadow receive more pets and attention than himself.

“It didn’t cross my mind, he wants you to do so” he sat in front of you as his tone grew bitter, “Alistair would be repetitive, I think William is the best bet” it intoned a purr, your hands caressing the base of its ears, “He likes it”.

He took the time you were distracted to prepare your cup of tea, adding just the right amount of sugar and mint leaves, that gesture brought your attention back to him, “You remember how I like my tea?” he had done that almost as a reflex, “Somethings never leave the mind” he admitted almost impressed with himself.

“You don’t look half as bad as your warning” you scoffed at his confession, “Don’t lie” you rolled your eyes earning a laugh from him, “I’m not”, but even with his sincerity you were conscious of your appearance, “Alastor, I’m part fish, I have scales, for crying out loud” from across the table he took your hand in his, “And I’m a deer, so? Could be worse” he had a point, you had seen the dreadful appearance of some rat demons, “Uhm, maybe you’re right”.

“Why did you leave?” after a long silence, accompanied by the sounds of the bayou, you decided to break the peace, addressing the ‘elephant in the room’. “I was afraid I would hurt you; you knew my step-father and now, my affairs” you were aware he had been raised by the end of a whip due to the monster his mother married, who you briefly met when your mother had tea with his.

“Alastor, you could never” he may be a killer, but you were certain he would never raise a hand to harm you, “You don’t know that, I am this, Y/n” it was your turn to give him a reassuring squeeze to his hand, “Did you loved me?” his eyes, quite more honest than the permanent smile he wore, widen to your question.

“I would’ve done anything to prevent harm from coming your way” you scoffed, “Yes, but did you loved me?” he let go of a breath he had trapped down in his lungs when he finally admitted the truth: “I still do”, but there was more to it, “I feel as…as if I had a debt to you, one I have no idea how to repay, nothing I think is enough” and indeed he had a mental list, burning hell to the ground was the top one choice.

“Is your hand one of the options? Your heart, perhaps?” the wish to wipe his head on the pavement had vanished a long time ago, forgiveness was perhaps the toughest thing to accomplish, but your pride wasn’t that big.

“Is not enough” he shook his head, believing that his heart was either too small or nonexistent, “It would, with time, you do owe me a century” you didn’t wanted to let go of his hand, it was the first long contact from him on years, “I’m…not worthy of you” he tortured himself ten times more than hell already did, but you just shrugged, “Who is then, if it’s not you?”.

“You didn’t marry anyone after I left?” you certainly didn’t, “No” he had imagine you at least could love someone again, be happy, “Why?” but you held him in your heart until the very day you died, “Silly hope” that broke him, if he had a choice, his smile would’ve fade in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry” he pulled gently of your hand, leading to sit across his lap, “Water under the bridge” he delight himself in your hand caressing his cheek, lightly, almost asking for permission, when unknowingly he was yours.

“Not for me” he pressed his ears to the back of his head, allowing you to caress him, as his arms hugged your figure close to his chest. “We have eternity, if you’ll have me” he was so glad you mentioned that option, it gave him the opportunity to pull from his pocket a beautiful diamond ring, rose gold.

“Your mother’s ring?” you were in shock at the same time as excited, yet scared as well, “Will you leave again?” he cupped your cheek, placing a kiss near the corner of your mouth, “Hell will freeze over first” you imitated his gesture, “Then, you can ask” his smile softened.

“Y/n, will you marry me?” just as he slipped the ring on your finger, you whispered in his ear, “I’ll have your head if you leave again, yes” sending a shiver down his spine, “Please do” a kiss sealed the engagement just like the first time he had ask.

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pauking5 · 5 months

Text

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 1

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Synopsis: There's no place for women in the world of racing. Let alone rally. Until you show up - the daughter of a racing legend who lost everything out of nowhere - ready to stir the pot of competition and throw fuel to Naozumi's fire, burning wild in more than just one way. Just how far will you go to take your rightful place in the world of rally, restore the team to its glory and change things for the better?

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, dating in secret

Word count: 4.5k+

A/N: Here it finally is. I can't believe I got to write about one of my passions in this way. Though I love rally, getting the technicalities right was rough but I researched as much as I could on it so it feels like the real thing, though there might be some minor inaccuracies, not really affecting the story.

This one has been in the works for a good period of time and though this first chapter is short and fast-paced, there's so much more coming. Trust the process cause god knows I do. I hope I can make Naozumi justice and I can't wait for you to read the next ones. Enjoy lovelies.

Now Playing: Edge of Seventeen - Wuki

Next Chapter 3 Chapter 4

It's not about how fast you go.

It's about how long you go fast.

Fast like-

A knock reverberated against your helmet, interrupting the pre-race mantra before you even finished reciting it, bringing you back to the chaos prior to the race start.

Chaos you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Blinking your eyes open, you took in the smell of burnt rubber and the atmosphere, fully packed with the deafening roars of the crowds in the stands soaring over the music heard all the way to your station. Another voice joined in the noise, demanding your attention.

"Raiko, are you ready?"

Letting out an exasperated breath, you waved off whoever spoke to you and closed your eyes again.

"Give me a minute, will you?"

Okay, where was I?

It's not about how fast you go-

A drilling noise came from your right, annoying the living daylights out of you.

Ah, fuck it. Since we keep getting interrupted...

How about I tell you a little bit about me.

Name's Raiko Suruki.

Yes, that Suruki. Here we go again.

I'm the daughter of the famed Hiro Suruki, five times Japan World Rally Championship winner, consecutively if I may add.

Proud podium sitter for thousands of times.

Also kind of a living legend of the primetime of the rally world.

The same Hiro Suruki that started one of the best teams in the history of Japanese rally, snatching six more titles under his directory. WRC'S Golden Boy.

After his personal fifth title, he decided he wanted something more. Something that would fulfill him, beside his love for driving at the most insane speeds known to man and having his first and only child - that's me, in case you didn't know.

Anyway, without any second thoughts or doubts, he retired from the sport out of nowhere, changing the fireproofs for the laid-back team principal shirt and a cheap very 'dad' baseball cap. At barely 35 years of age, he took the biggest leap of faith of his life and Suruki Racing was born out of fuel and passion for rally.

He poured everything he had into the team and built it from scratch, taking it so high in his prime that everyone wanted a piece of it. Be it driving in a seat for the team, changing parts as a mechanic or simply having shares in it.

It was basically the shit. The pinnacle of rally in the whole of Japan.

The team became a national sensation. So many influential people, from mere businessmen to politicians, even foreigners were so interested in it and helping it expand. It genuinely felt like the only way for him was up, flying like a rocket towards the legends' hall of fame.

It went like that for a while. He was beaming with happiness, unable to understand where all that luck came from. But like everything good, it didn't last. Once he started to question it all, it was like a switch flipped inwards and it all fell to ruins.

Everything started going wrong.

All of a sudden, the cars started missing parts the night before races. They had engine failures mid-race in almost every stage, followed by DNF's on every scoreboard.

And those aren't even the most shocking things that happened. You name the disaster and it definitely happened to Suruki Racing at one point. Disastrous, life-changing, career-ending type of things.

The mess piled up more and more and it showed despite dad's efforts to stay afloat.

Contract deals with sponsors started falling through, losing funding for a lot of parts and investments in equipment. Then the drivers got fed up with the constant failed races and blamed the car or the team if they felt like it. They terminated their contracts way before their terms were up under the pretense that they wanted different things... which were not related to Suruki Racing. The mechanics chose to stay, well, a few of them anyways, but it wasn't enough.

The team ripped at the seams and slowly but surely ran into the ground and dad couldn't find at least one reason why it happened.

It was like a curse you couldn't get rid of and I saw it happen first-hand.

The late nights he would spend in the garage trying new parts that kept failing with every test on the car. The way he would go as low as begging the drivers to come back offering them money he didn't have because no driver, rookie or experienced, didn't even bat an eye once the name of the team was mentioned.

Lost, penniless and with a heavy heart, he had to watch the one thing he loved the most on earth rust little by little, no matter what he would do to prevent it.

Mom called it karma for his reckless racing days because as talented as he was, the road forgives no one. That you can be God's favourite and still lose everything. And he didn't want to understand that. He never did.

I was too young to help back then. Too young to understand what Suruki Racing meant to him. Too young to do the only thing I could to save it.

Until now.

So, let's try that again, shall we?

Name's Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing 2.0.

Another knock to your helmet, echoing in your head louder than the first, brought you back to the real world for good this time. Mechanics rushed around you to finish the set up on the car before you were called up to take your spot in front of the race marshal, which from a quick glance at the scoreboard would be soon.

Looking to your left, you were met with a set of dull brown eyes, messy jet black hair, a funky moustache and an extremely creased forehead for his middle age, all belonging to your co-driver, Don Tanaka. He's another legend of the sport.

Former training coach for some of the current biggest teams in the WRC, with a CV of experiences surpassing most people that have been in rally for longer. On top of all that, he is an even bigger friend of your father's. When he called him up asking for an old favour to train you, he couldn't say no.

But if it was up to commenting, you'd say he was one of the biggest fools for giving up a lavish salary with so many perks for one favour, especially for your old fart of a father.

Driving with him was great, but training with him was hell on Earth.

"I was doing my mantra," you reasoned, trying to get him off your case.

"Your mantra sucks."

He is an absolute joy to be around, isn't he?

"Well," you turned to him in your seat with a tight-lipped smile, "you're the one choosing to be co-driver to a young adult at your ripe age of 40. If I was you I would've picked something more calming, like gardening."

Bringing his hand to his chin in thinking, he sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"That doesn't sound so bad right now," he went on trying to push your buttons.

"Oh, shush," you waved him off, turning back to the wheel.

If there was one thing he liked doing, it was keeping you in check by poking fun at you. He was like that one uncle you could always go to with your secrets or to ask for extra pocket money, but in return he liked to tease the fuck out of you for it. Every. Single. Time.

As much as you hated his antics, you did kind of owe him a lot. He was the one who caught your talent for racing early on, back when you would drive plastic mini cars made from scraps around the team garage like you had years of experience. A few drifting maneuvers around old tires done like a pro at the cool age of 8, and he was sold on you and your potential.

Amongst all the teasing and the pain of having to train like a man, you've spent enough time with him to know you could count on him for literally anything. He was the best co-driver you could ask for and you wouldn't want anyone else in that seat directing your fate for the world.

He knew what it took to annoy you greatly in order to deliver on the dirt track and prove yourself. Especially now, since you were the only woman on highly occupied male territory.

Racing is a man's world. With as many female advancements in motorsport as there were today, the majority of the community was still not convinced that a woman could drive better than a man or even compete alongside a whole grid of their species. They can regard you, acknowledge your existence, but they would never accept you.

Your father knew your entry to the championship would stir up a lot of unwanted attention, besides the fact that he was basically reviving a cursed team and you happened to be the poster face for it this time around. It sounded like a catastrophe in the making.

Frankly, you were ecstatic to get to drive an actual race car outside of the junior series and helping the team get back to its rightful place, restoring its deserved glory. But you knew it wasn't going to be easy work. Especially, since public enemy number one - the press - was going to try and tear you to sparkly shreds for a lot of reasons. An attack that they started before any official information was out.

A few months ago, when the announcement of Suruki Racing's comeback after ten years of inactivity hit the WRC, the media had a field day with it.

They criticized your father for being a nutjob that didn't know when to quit. They smeared Don Tanaka's name like he didn't make most of the drivers currently selling their dying papers. They even tried to get paid scoops from anyone involved with the team in the slightest.

But the team had one wildcard left to play before pulling the curtains for good and giving them the satisfaction that they ruined it.

You.

The press didn't know about you. No one in the other teams knew about you. Thanks to your father's extremely private life, no one even knew of your existence.

The only people that did were your team in the garage, from the mechanics to your PR agent.

Even walking into the circuit grounds this morning, long hair down over your shoulders, sporting the team gear in plain sight, no one batted an eye at you. Even if they did, they would think you were involved with technical or marketing - though even that was a rarity in this universe - or worse, just another groupie looking to get one of the drivers under your hood.

Your father wanted to give everyone a show they'll never forget by having you drive the first race in the calendar without a proper introduction. No car reveal. No interviews. No pre-race press conference. Just a car and its driver.

This way they would judge your driving before they actually got to judge you for being a woman at the wheel of a three hundred horsepower beast. He trusted you and your judgement on the track far more than the lousy press setting you up for fail. They would get a proper car show and speech after the race anyway.

It was out of the ordinary but that kinda summed up Hiro Suruki and his bipolar personality.

The distorted sound of a megaphone, followed by the voice of the race marshal called you to the start line.

"Car 7, Rai Suruki for Suruki Racing, you're up next!"

You could already see everyone turning their eyes to your station, booming cheers going quiet, turning into sharp murmurs.

Time to get this show going.

Rolling up your windows to block the world, you put the car in gear and drove to the start line, waiting for the green light. Looking out at the lines in the road ahead of you spotting the first hazard ahead, the nerves climbed up your spine faster than your engine could pump the pistons for pressure.

You prepared for this for most of your life, but if you were being honest, it all got a little too real now, sitting with your foot hovering above the gas pedal ahead of the moment that could make or break your career before it even started. The very moment that could be a step forward to restoring your father's name, getting the team back on track in a new age of rally racing. The moment for a change.

No pressure, right?

"Raiko," your co-driver called your name, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the road, gloved fingers tightening on top of the wheel with a small snap. "Do you remember the course?"

"Yes."

"Good. All set?"

"I think so."

"Raiko, look at me."

"You're not my style."

"Raiko," his voice turned more serious and deep with warning. With another sigh into the small, cramped space for breathing your helmet provided, you turned to him.

"You've got this. Let's prove everyone wrong."

He was right.

Let's prove everyone wrong.

The race marshal started the countdown, walking from the front of your car to the side, each number in the count descending with your nerves. You loosened the hold on the wheel, stretched your legs to the pedals and let out a deep breath.

"3."

It's not about how fast you go.

"2."

It's about how long you go fast.

"1."

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

A soon as the lights went green, you hit the throttle and took off into the dirt, raising the dust behind you. You skidded off to the side a little due to the gravel but you got control of it before anyone could notice.

Tokai was a pretty difficult course to rally depending on which stages got picked for the day. More forest terrain gave way to hard roads, receding in wheel control, gaining insane suspension pressure. This one was more of an open valley terrain, which was a bit safer, but the later you got the okay to race, the more dust and gravel from other drivers would pile up in front of you, making visibility dangerously low. The corners were way too tight and one second off from Tanaka's directions or a mishap of your footing could cost you and put your car on the sidelines.

"5 left over crest," Tanaka paced you for the upcoming hill and you prepared to release the throttle.

"1 left 100."

Wheels back on the ground, you resumed pressing the pedal as a hairpin portion came into view. The cloud of dust in front of you was chalky and you had to get through it before it raised higher. Putting the car in second gear, you got ready for the drift portion.

You had to be extra careful here. The mechanic in chief told you to go easy as the rear could send you into oversteer, throwing off the balance of the car and fuck up the race completely.

Listening to your gut, you waited for the right time then tapped the brake, cut the wheels and pressed the throttle, sliding across the portion. Loud cheers and whistles erupted as the crowd in the stands got up to watch you complete a perfect drift.

"3 right don't cut."

Reduce pace and prepare for a possible road hazard.

You slowed down and sure enough a bump in the road came up. If you missed that one and took it at 120 kmph, it would've projected you off the track, crashing the car hard into the rocky wall like a cereal box. Thankfully, you swerved around it, feeling the car lift off the ground on the left for a bit before it fell back down.

"6 right very long."

Hard left into a tight corner.

"Cut 8 left."

Tight corner requiring you to follow a straight line in the curb.

This was the last and worst corner on the track. You were lucky it didn't rain because this is where your car can skid off into the stands. You caught the straight line pretty fast, cutting a few seconds off your lap time without slowing down.

Following the rest of Tanaka's directions and focusing on the rest of the road, the race finished before you knew it. You liked the state you were in as you drove, mind clear of everything else because as soon as the adrenaline in your body decreased, your brain got bombarded by all kinds of issues.

Did I push the new suspensions too hard? God, I hope I didn't scratch the rear in the hairpin. Was my timing too off on that last corner? I should've practiced it more.

Driving back to your team's station, you sent all those worries at the back of your head and got out to watch the screen showing the score board just as it updated to display the new track times since you were the last to go.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing Academy - 1.23.40

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 1.23.59

3. Rai Suruki - Suruki Racing - 1.24.25

"WE BAGGED THIRD PLACE?!" you yelled throwing off your helmet onto the car seat.

"WE SURE DID," Tanaka high fived you, beaming with energy just like you.

"That's 15 points on the first stage! Well done, lightning strike," he ruffled your hair as you snickered, nose scrunching up with a smile at the gesture you were already accustomed to.

"The car held up a lot better today than in testing. Maybe we lifted the curse," you wiggled your eyebrows at him at which he flicked your forehead. "Ow, what did you do that for?"

"Don't jinx it. We still have two more stages to go."

"But-"

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by angry shouting coming from the station next to you.

"I told you to not touch the third gear," yelled a strained voice.

You walked to the side of your station, peeking your head by the team banner, and watched the heated exchange between one of the drivers and his mechanic. Your eyes wandered to the car sitting in the middle, not one hand touching it for the regular post-race check up. From the different strokes of sky blue layered over stark white, the red and blue sponsor stickers and the carbon spoiler, you recognized it to be Spica Racing's.

"It doesn't matter now," shouted another voice, so annoyed and sure of themselves as if they owned the place. "I got a good lap record this time."

"What would you do if you had to retire in the middle of the race?" shot the mechanic, chastising the driver for being careless.

He got up in his face, towering over him though the other was much taller than him.

"We won't win if I don't attack!" he yelled back, throwing his hand in the air to make a point. "The moment I think of being scared I will lose. I won't make that mistake. So just do your job and fix the car."

With that final remark, he rounded the car to walk away from the station until he noticed you in the corner, now standing in full sight just at the line between your stations.

Quickly replacing the scowl on his face with what was probably his natural smirk, he came to you, stopping short of the barrier separating you.

"I don't do autographs, but for you I can do more than that," he added a daring wink, flashing his cocky smile at you.

Ew.

Taking a small step back hoping his vibes wouldn't envelop you, you uncrossed your arms from your chest and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I don't want your autograph."

Taken aback at your response, he backed up slightly too and looked you up and down, taking in your deep blue and dark gold team fireproofs and the suit tied messily around your waist. The old, way out of fashion colours seemed to ring a bell.

"Suruki Racing...," he started doubtful, "the shithole that revived from the ashes? Are you a mechanic, a co-driver or something for them? If you are, why don't you jump ships? I wouldn't mind having you on my team instead," he finished his speech of intent with another shit-eating grin.

Who the fuck was this guy?

The audacity that wafted off him must definitely make him popular with the ladies.

"I don't think we've met before," you extended your hand out to him, curt and polite, like a normal person would do, introducing yourself.

"Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing," emphasizing your role in the team so he got it through his head that you weren't some bimbo.

If you were, you'd make sure your fist decorated his face in pretty red tones before anything else.

He straightened back, smirk gone from his face in all sense of the word. It got replaced by some kind of curiosity. Looking between you and your palm hanging in the air he looked confused to say the least. He's heard about female racers before and seen some working in technical around the place, he's just never seen one stand against him on track.

Tired of being polite to someone who obviously has never heard about manners, you were about to retract your extended hand when he caught it in a firm grip and pulled it towards him, just holding it instead of shaking it. The move sent you forwards, almost barreling into him when your reaction response kicked in to steel you a safe distance away.

Maybe Tanaka's intense survival program pays off sometimes.

"So," he began and you wondered if he was about to say something intelligent or spew more shit with that mouth of his. He decided to choose the latter. "You're the one driving the Beetle dupe right there?"

Eh, come again?

Your eyes widened at him, looking at where his finger was pointed to confirm that he was pointing at your car and not anywhere else, then you whirled your head back at him appalled.

"B-Beetle dupe?!"

"I thought you were a guy."

Wouldn't be the first time I heard that one.

You took your hand back from his hold, wiping it on the sleeves of the suit hanging on your hips in the hopes that it would wipe off the disgust you were feeling too. It didn't but it was worth a try.

"It's the name," you replied through gritted teeth.

He backed up some more to scan you again, though more attentively this time, like you were some kind of illegality, cooked up from the pits of his imagination. You gave him your best front, hardening your jaw and rolling your shoulders backwards, proving you were more than a pair of boobs and a vagina, which was apparently his deranged first impression of you.

You deserved to be here. No amount of stares from the male specimen, surprised or with sinful intentions, could ever make you back down from this. This was yours to take on. No man could take this from you. Not him anyway.

So, you stared him down too, trying to find something else beside the extreme big dick energy and unsurmountable lack of scruples surrounding him. Struggling to see anything else but some disdain in the way he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a rich prick attitude from how he shifted on his legs like the world owed him golden lingos every time he breathed, and some leftover rage from the screaming match with his mechanic still present in the tick of his jaw, you let your eyes meet his own in conclusion of your very own analysis.

Yeah, there's nothing else in there. An ambulant douchebag. Just like I thought.

Flashing cameras were suddenly thrown in your faces, interrupting the intense stare-down between you. The press and some people, potentially fans of other teams by their t-shirts, surrounded you from every corner of the plastic barrier around the two stations, pushing each other over the race marshals that tried their hardest to keep them away. It wasn't long until they pushed over the barrier.

Too absorbed in the chaos, you didn't notice he leaned down to your ear but when you did, you stilled in your shoes, all blood draining into your pounding stomach. He spoke close and low, so only you could hear his words.

"Don't get too comfortable around here, rookie," he whispered, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear making shivers run down your extremely clothed spine. "Let's see how long you last in here because this season might just be your first and last."

Pulling away with another one of his smirks that were starting to get on your nerves, he regarded you once more before he walked off in amusement to his cool-down room, giving you a full view of his broad back.

Oh, just you wait -

A reporter shoved into the human barrier of orange and green safety vests reaching the railing, yanking it back and forth repeatedly until the poor plastic seal broke off, letting everyone else pool in around you.

Uh-oh. This wasn't good.

They packed around you like wolves on their prey, all shouting different things at you while shoving their big cameras, recording devices and phones in your face. The flashes blinded you, turning the world white and too bright for it to be natural light from the clouded sky above.

Your hands shot up on instinct to cover your eyes from the flaring lights as your ears focused on filtering through the blaring sounds of camera clicks and voices. Then the countless questions registered clear as day, hitting you like a truck at full speed.

"Are you Rai Suruki, daughter of Hiro Suruki?"

"Where did your father get the money to restart the team?"

"Is your car even going to last a season?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

I guess that was it for mystery, dad.

Some of the other teams passed by the ruckus, sparing quick judgmental glances or sending disgusting sneers your way like that was the way they initiated your welcome ceremony at the gates of the jungle.

If this was any other series, you would've been so welcomed by the rest of the grid and treated somewhat better by the media and the fans. But this was the World Rally Championships.

Driving was dirty.

Talk was filthy, full of disrespect and unspoken trials of envy between each driver.

The press competed to see who would get your head on a pike first and parade it as the story of the century.

Respect was fought for, not earned.

It was a different game. One where you needed to play even if you didn't want to so in turn you wouldn't get played. Survival of the fittest truly.

You steeled your gaze, waving the reporters off and digging a hole through the crowd, successfully escaping away to your pit crew. Helping with packing up bits and pieces and taking your own stuff, you headed back to your team quarters, aware of the intensifying stares belonging to the rest of the teams still around their stations, talking about the first day in this season's calendar being an interesting one.

You had a feeling you and the team were the hot topic of conversation since you could feel their eyes searing deep holes into your back, burning hotter and doing more damage than flame-lit arrows aimed straight at you ever could. Tanaka wrapped an arm around you giving you his curled moustache smile, sympathizing with you.

Looking up at the sky darkening in mauve and pink, you let a small smile grace your lips. At least today was done. Your rally racing career has officially started. The team was back in business.

However, this first stage was just one of the many challenges still to come. Who knew what else was on the way?

As you trudged on the warm asphalt, warmed by the mid-spring warmth of March, there was one thing you knew for sure.

This is gonna be a long season.

Thank you for reading :) As always leave a like, comment or reblog!

#Runaway #Naozumi Hiyama #Naozumi Hiyama x reader #Naozumi Hiyama x you #Overdrive x reader #Overdrive x you #racing au #Overdrive Mackenyu

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emry-stars-art · 1 year

Note

tell us about the royals au!!! (im on my knees. please.)

Ohhhhh my friend you have started me on a RANT I hope you’re ready!!!

I don’t know that I’ll ever actually write it so I’m not too worried about spoilers, and the wonderful people in my dms (which are still open btw) bouncing ideas with me are always going to come up with great ideas so I’m putting WIP in big red letters, things are subject to change! But for now, some ideas. Most of what I have will be under the cut, but if you want to know more about a specific part/have any questions please I’d love to chat :D will link to the art/posts I have so far!

(In this au I’ve been referring to Neil as Nathaniel at first and then Abram (hello names as a plot device), and everyone else right now is some version of their name)

Kevin and Nathaniel were raised at Evermore castle, Kevin to be in direct competition to Riko/see which of them might claim the throne (not thought out yet), and Nathaniel as the Moriyama’s attack dog, born and raised to take his father’s place as such. The two never met in person, but Nathaniel knows and recognizes Day because of course he does, and Day knows the name Wesninski means a very, very dangerous person. Essentially the top assassin on the continent.

But as we do, Day decides he can’t/won’t handle the treatment anymore, whatever the last straw may be, and runs off to Palmetto in a kind of desperate chase of the stories his mother used to tell him when he was little. He knew she loved that kingdom. Somehow he finds Wymack - the twin’s royal advisor - or Wymack finds him, and once Wymack realizes who this kid is and has reason to believe he’s not here on Evermore business, he puts Day’s incredible talent and training as a tactician/commander to work as his pupil.

Meanwhile Nathaniel is still at Evermore, mistreated and learning from his own failures and mistakes until he’s nearly as good as his father at the family business.

I don’t know how long Nathaniel plans it, but he either plays the part for long enough or his skill is so undeniable that when the Moriyamas have plans for the Palmetto Kingdom, they send him and one other accomplished fighter to kill the king. Nathaniel goes quietly and decides he’s not coming back if he can help it.

So instead of killing the young king, Nathaniel’s panic has him turn on his partner at the very last second, stopping them just before they can get to the king. He takes them somewhere far away and does what he does best, leaving no one to report back to the Moriyamas. From then on it’s a waiting game to see how long the family will wait before they send someone after him.

Day’s followed them, and Nathaniel turns around from the body and sees this man he hasn’t seen in years, alive and safe away from Evermore. It’s as elating as it is crushing - because Day heard his partner call him by name, and there is no way Day will ever let a Wesninski walk away alive. Not if he knows what’s good for all of them.

Except Day doesn’t kill him, even when Nathaniel asks him to. (Better Day than Riko, Nathaniel knew that even when they were all stuck at Evermore). Instead, he takes Nathaniel back to the twins/Wymack, gives him a little bread, and they sit until he can pry out an explanation. (See the comic of this first meeting here.)

Day and Nathaniel spend most of their time together because Day refuses to let Nathaniel out of his or Wymack’s sight until he proves not a threat to the royal family, which proves an issue because between Andrew’s rotation of personal guards (he never gets along with them well enough that they stay/aren’t fired) Day is Andrew’s guard, which sometimes means Nathaniel is stuck a lot closer than Day would like. But after a long, long time, Day and Wymack decide Nathaniel was serious about the whole “runaway” thing and isn’t playing spy (maybe there’s some dramatic event/Nathaniel protecting a twin that convinces them or maybe it’s just a lot of little things over time). Andrew, after a rough spat with the latest guard, is again in need of a new one. Finally Day just asks “is there ANYONE you could possibly pretend to get along with that can do the job” and Andrew knows Nathaniel is dangerous he just doesn’t know exactly how or why (but oh he is curious) so maybe he just straight up says. “Wesninski.” And Day has to go “…. Fine.”

So boom. They knew each other superficially before, but now Andrew and Nathaniel are spending most of their time together and miraculously - no arguments. No spats. Day thanks the gods there’s no physical altercations (that’s probably what got the last guard fired so quick). Nathaniel is just a mystery with shady ability to tell the truth and Andrew can’t help his curiosity. Good old fashioned andreil :D

From here the timeline becomes essentially nonexistent, I have no idea when these things happen in relation to each other but so far they’re all things I like and want to include!

1) there’s plenty of games and competitions at Palmetto, we love a good tussle, and Nathaniel usually does quite well - he’s not good at playing fair, but his underhanded methods are not technically illegal and usually he can use his preferred weapon - dagger rather than sword. He does well except for the one time an opponent accidentally says/does something that was constantly said or done to Nathaniel while “training” at Evermore, and he comes back to Andrew and the tent he watched from in the beginning of a panic attack. Andrew doesn’t know anything about Nathaniel’s past at this point, but he knows a panic attack when he sees one. In trying to talk him through it, Andrew realizes that yes Nathaniel is scared of being hurt, but he’s more afraid of hurting others. Nathaniel won’t let Andrew call him by name, he flinches every time Andrew says it. After, Andrew asks what he should call him instead, and Nathaniel finally asks to be called Abram.

2) Balls! Masquerades! Abram doesn’t have many outfits, he wears the regular issued uniform to every event. Andrew will not stand for this. Abram always wears clothes that cover him fully, which is fine, Andrew can work with that. He’s still seen Abram in a tight shirt or two. So he commissions one of the most knowledgeable people in the court (we’re thinking it might be Allison, she’s a noble but she’s great with textiles/embroidery/etc) and gets Abram a new outfit. It still covers him, its still protective material, but it looks better. (Find Abram in a corset here). Andrew handles it totally normal and rational in his head when he sees Abram actually wearing it of course.

3) Day probably assumes for a little while that Andrew and Abram have got a more or less normal guard/charge relationship, even thinking it’s slightly antagonistic considering this is Andrew we’re talking about. (This doesn’t fit the timeline, but here’s a mini comic of one of Day’s misunderstandings hehe)

4) king Aaron! He became king at 18/20/whatever age we decide this universe deems old enough because he is in fact the elder twin here. I imagine their parents have both been dead and gone for at least a few years at this point. Dan is Aaron’s guard and she and Abram hit it off great as coworkers and friends. More on the uncertainty of the twins backstory later. (Drawings of Aaron and his queen Katelyn here!)

5) the angst. The Moriyamas should have heard from the Wesninski boy months ago - something somewhere went wrong. So, naturally, they go to collect their property. If they get away with it, we can imagine how it goes. What I don’t know is if the twins, Day, and Wymack know for sure he was kidnapped or if they have a little nagging in the back of their head that wonders if he’s only run away from the castle or if he’s run back to Evermore with everything he’s learned.

When he’s recovered, Day doesn’t let Andrew too close too often for a while. If Abram forgets where is for even a second too long - waking up from a nightmare, having a flashback - it’s long enough for it to be fatal to whoever might get too close to Abram. It’s already almost proved fatal for Andrew, after Abram played normal so well that Andrew let it slip - he forgot Abram was taken back to Evermore for them to finish making him into a thoughtless weapon, and they’d nearly succeed. He wakes Abram too quickly and ends up extremely lucky Abram recognizes both his voice and the way Andrew didn’t call him ‘Nathaniel’ or ‘Wesninski’. There’s really a huge amount to possibly be covered about this point so I won’t go into detail here - but if you like hurt/comfort you know where to find me 👀

6) the biggest thing we haven’t figured out is Andrew. Either he was kidnapped at a young age and only recovered in his teens, or the elder King Minyard didn’t much care for his second son. Though I’ve always liked the idea of Mr. Minyard being a good man who died shortly before the twins’ birth and their mother just couldn’t handle the grief or knowing that the twins look like him. Anyway a lot of the twins’ issues after both of their parents are dead are the advisors or other people around them that try to take advantage of their youth and inexperience for their own gain, without realizing that both Aaron and Andrew have had to grow up much too fast, each for their own reasons. They can usually see right past the tricks. It’s why they both trust Wymack so much - he’s one of the few adults that are truly there to help them, and not make decisions for them.

Im sure there’s more I missed, but this is long enough as it is lol. People have asked about the Trojans/Jean in this au, and I’d love to include them! My brain’s instinctive response is that Jeremy is some sort of high end noble/royal of a faraway kingdom, and Jean (always last to leave the nest, im so sorry baby) somehow gets over there, but I don’t have an idea of his or anyone else’s roles yet. Renee could even still have a hand in him getting there if we really want.

So I’m still writing snippets and drawing over here lol but i promise I don’t bite if you want to talk :D

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leftythehelpingtankengine · 3 months

Text

The Princess, the Pea, and the Beast

Chapter 1: Grief

Word Count - 1.1k

Also available on AO3 & WattPad

Summary: In an attempt to provide aid to a runaway princess, Luigi gets himself mixed up in an arranged marriage to a prince of a neighboring kingdom, what he doesn’t know is that a certain evil king also plans on having the princess’ hand in marriage regardless of whether or not (s)he’s partial to it. Will he find a way out of this, or will he end up falling for one of them? (or both >;))

Content Warnings: none yet

It took Luigi about half a day to reach the castle, the sun could be seen along the horizon peaking over soft, lush green hills that seemed to stretch on forever. His attention was on the castle ahead of him. Princess Peach and her handmaiden, Toadette, were already at the gate waiting for him. They wasted no time ushering him inside, leading him to an empty room. Peach walked to the center of the room while Toadette closed and locked the door behind them.

“Alright Princess, I’m here, can you please, tell me what’s going on now?” Luigi said following the princess to the center of the room.

“I need you to attend an upcoming ball for me, I must leave the kingdom posthaste. I’m needed elsewhere, some personal issues have arisen and can no longer be delayed. Toadette will help you make sure you’re well-prepared for the ball and any other situations that may occur in my absence. I will be writing you as soon as I arrive at my first stop, the Flower Kingdom, in Sarasa Land, as I promised to keep you and Toadette updated.”

“Princess, you’re still keeping us in the dark, why can nobody know about what we’re doing?”

She was nervous, so she took a second to think before responding, “Mario would try to stop me, he wouldn’t approve of it. I cannot risk anyone preventing me from doing what must be done. I apologize to both you and Toadette for being so vague, but please, trust me.”

Luigi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Going against his better judgment, he decided to trust her. He dropped his stuff onto the ground and turned towards Toadette who was now approaching him.

“Alright, what first?”

Toadette spoke up, “We need to get you fitted to Her Highness’ garments, we have also prepared a wig and a cover for the lower half of your face. Follow me, Sir Luigi, the Princess will wait here for when we’re finished.”

Toadette took him by the hand and hurriedly led Luigi to the Princess' chambers. The garments Luigi needed to try on were lying on the bed, seemingly prepared before Luigi’s arrival. Toadette instructs him to change into the chemise and she’ll take his old clothes to his other belongings and then lace his corset. Luigi went behind a dressing screen in the room and handed Toadette his clothes.

He was left alone to think about what he’d gotten himself into, getting himself in the chemise and stockings. He was beyond embarrassed, he couldn’t bear looking at himself in the mirror on the opposite side of the dressing screen. He knew he would have to at some point but chose to wait until he was in the full disguise. Unfortunately for Luigi, Toadette returned motioning for him to sit and lift his arms. She made quick work getting the corset on him and then promptly lacing it.

“So, what do you know about the ball, Toadette?” Luigi asked, breaking the silence.

“I know that it takes place on the Winter Solstice and it’s held in Her Highness’ honor. And… that we’re going to need to do something about that mustache…”

“Absolutely not, this is where I draw the line-”

“Sir Luigi we don’t have a choice, you can’t use a fan all the time to conceal the lower half of your face.” Toadette was stern.

“I want answers from the princess before we discuss this any further.” Luigi stood up and marched to the door, irritation and fear plastered to his face.

Toadette chased after him, calling out in a vain attempt to get him to slow down or stop. Luigi threw open the doors to the Princess’ bedroom and found she was nowhere to be seen. His face paled and Toadette, panting behind him, was confused until she caught up to him.

“Oh… oh no.” Toadette gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

Luigi turned towards Toadette fighting tears, “Toadette. I’m done playing mind games with you tell me EVERYTHING.” Luigi’s voice cracked.

Toadette shrunk, “All I know is that since she was pulled aside and notified of the ball, she hasn’t been the same. I don’t know what about it has got her so worked up, she said the ball was celebrating the Winter Solstice, however, I doubt it now. I swear I know nothing more, she’s been unusually distant as of late. She was just here! She was here when I dropped off your clothes.” she sounded like she was one second away from crying.

Luigi frantically began looking for the belongings he had brought with him. Gone. All of it was gone.

Luigi is overcome with panic, “She deserted us… She-”

“Sir Luigi, we must get back to the fitting now that the princess is no longer here.” Toadette regained her composure, the gravity of the new situation donning on her.

Luigi did not attempt to resist and followed her to put on the rest of his new clothes.

He looked at himself in the mirror while Toadette laced the back of the bodice and adjusted his wig. It was uncanny how much he resembled the princess.

“Sir Luigi, we must remove your mustache now. Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find out we let the real princess disappear?” Toadette’s tone is stern and serious.

“How are you going to explain the nose?” Luigi scoffed, folding his arms.

“We can say you were stung or bitten by something if anyone asks, now hold still, I don’t wish to nic your face.” She responded quickly.

It seems she had thought everything through, she turned him to face her and began to prep his face for shaving. Luigi was still fighting against it until she brought out a blade. He froze and she took the opportunity to shave his mustache off in two flicks of the wrist.

Luigi whipped around and began mourning once he saw a clean-shaven face staring back at him. He crumpled to the ground clutching his face, silent sobs racking his body.

“I do apologize, Sir Luigi, it had to be done. I’m hoping you will not have to do this for too long. The princess ordered me to make you look the most like her, including mustache removal.” Toadette apologized, her voice was sincere and remorseful.

She took this as her cue to leave as Luigi didn’t respond. After hearing the door click shut, he couldn’t silence his sobs any longer. He moved to the bed, his crying filled the now empty room.

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AN: hey sorry its been so long I'm working on the requests and the next chap, ive been super sick and busy ;( I hope you all are having a great day/night <3

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thievescanted · 21 days

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yaaaay i finally fucking wrote something lol. have some pre-campaign kova content. for an audience that knows next to nothing about kova lmao oh well. read it if you like and if you dont well then i will see you again another time. or whatever

Night had been settled over the Vorona for some hours when Vitya found it, holding a shorthand in small, shaking hands. It was another hour before anyone in the crew noticed him, so busy where they with their preparations to embark from the little port town that had been their temporary home this past week.

They had disguised the Vorona as a merchant ship like they always did whenever they arrived at a respectable port. To that end, Ma Suvai had been spending her time in her cabin, hidden from view. Kova had seen her only at mealtimes and just before she went off to sleep every night, but even in the limited time they spent with her they could tell she was growing increasingly restless. Ordinarily she would have gone about the town disguised, glamoured by the bard Pietro. Pietro, however, had either very recently died in a particularly gruesome manner when Kova wasn’t looking, or decided upon making land that a pirate’s life was not, in fact, for him (accounts varied, and Kova was as yet unable to decipher sarcasm or lies for children), and they hadn’t gotten around to replacing him. So Ma Suvai was stuck in her room, writing letters or memorizing poetry or whatever it was she did when she didn’t have any orders to give. She was clearly growing restless, which made the crew restless, which made them work all the faster to finish their work and get themselves back to sea.

Four days of summer rains had broken only recently, though its smell still lingered in the air. The seagulls were out in force making up for lost time, and fallen hibiscus blossoms had been turned to a blueish paste along the roads leading to the docks, soaked by the rains and trampled by uncaring passersby on their way to or from their ships. It had begun to seem to Kova that they were doomed to be perpetually damp, whether from rain or from an oppressive humidity that almost made breathing feel like drowning. It was a welcome relief when the clouds finally lightened and made way for the meager sunlight that had dimly lit the day’s proceedings.

Kova spotted the boy when they stepped onto the deck to enjoy the newly-cooled air; they watched him for another half of an hour before they finally pointed him out to the crew. The whole while he simply stood there, staring up at the ship and waiting to be noticed. From afar he could almost have been mistaken for a statue, if not for the motion of the wind through his hair.

He was a few years older than them, or at least taller, with blonder hair than Kova had ever seen. At first that was all that they could take note of – they always forgot how tall a ship was until they were looking at the ground from the deck, and from here the boy was little more than a blond speck. So they turned to Briar and declared, “There’s a boy down there stood in front of the gangway,” and scrambled down to get a better look before the first mate could stop them.

He was older, Kova thought, and half-human, and clearly reaching the limits of his patience. He seemed annoyed to be greeted by a seven-year-old girl rather than literally anyone else on the ship, but he composed himself quickly enough. “I’m here to speak with your captain,” he said, then glanced down at his sword and added, “now, please.”

Up close there was something frighteningly beautiful about him, something both commanding and cornered. He might have been a runaway prince from the stories Ma Suvai sometimes indulged Kova in telling. His eyes were a cold blue, and he shaped his mouth around his words exactly the same as Ma Suvai. Before they could think any more on what that could mean, though, the boy shoved their shoulder and said, “What, you don’t speak common? Cap-tain. Now.”

Kova scowled at him and, in the bright, clear, loud voice that Ma Suvai had implored them to use only in emergencies, yelled, “He says he wants to see the captain!”

“That would be me,” came Briar’s reply from the deck. Briar could make herself heard from pretty much anywhere, in Kova’s experience, using some trick of magic that she refused to teach to Kova. Briar was, in Ma Suvai’s necessary absence, currently the “captain,” a task that she didn’t seem to enjoy nearly as much as Kova knew they would if given the opportunity (they had asked, and been assured that Ma Suvai would most certainly think about it next time).

The boy stared hard at her, then shook his head. “No you’re not.”

“He said you’re not!” Kova yelled back up at the deck. The boy winced, barely, at the volume of their voice.

Briar threw her hands up exasperatedly. “Okay,” she said, “well, sure. Captain’s busy. We all are. Maybe you’ll get your chance next year, kid.”

Kova was turning back to relay her response, as though the boy hadn’t heard, when he grabbed them around their waist with one arm, held his sword against their throat with the other, and began walking them both up the gangway without another word. It was an awkward maneuver, given their difference in height – he had to stoop a little, and each of them stumbled to match each other’s gait – but Kova was nothing if not cooperative given the proper incentive, and together they made their way up slowly but surely.

Zirei, the Vorona’s navigator, lifted his crossbow and asked Briar a question Kova couldn’t hear but could assume went something like, “Should I kill him now?” But Briar shook her head without taking her eyes off the pair of children slowly, resolutely approaching the deck. Kova wondered what business this boy could possibly have with Ma Suvai, or if he even knew that that was who the true captain was. She’d never talked about any children she may have had, and anyway the boy’s parents had clearly been a human and an elf. But then, she’d never really told Kova about anyone who wasn’t already with them on the Vorona. Sasha – who was, at 20 years, closest to Kova in age if you didn’t count the cat they kept aboard for good luck – had told them that Ma Suvai was like that with everyone.

“Don’t try to run off once we’re up,” the boy muttered into Kova’s hair as they finally set foot on the deck. “Or I’ll – ugh, you know.” Kova supposed they did know, though his refusal to make the threat directly to them didn’t exactly inspire confidence in his ability to carry it out. Then, looking straight at Briar, he spoke louder: “I mean to speak with your captain. If she doesn’t make herself available for a conversation, I’ll kill this one and throw her overboard.”

Briar’s responding silence filled a moment, then two, then more than Kova could keep track of as she assessed this child that had been bold enough to take a hostage in exchange for a single conversation. If she was worried at all, she hid it well. She only seemed deeply focused, the way she often got watching the helmsman navigate the ship through a reef.

Kova was not afraid. It was not the first time somebody had threatened them with a blade (as it turned out, children make excellent hostages in a fight, if one was not familiar with the consequences of invoking Ma Suvai’s ire in that particular manner), and even now they imagined it would not be the last. Each time before they had survived it, and could see no reason they would not survive this as well. They stood patiently in the grip of this stranger, secure in the knowledge that no harm could ever come to them beneath Elae’s bright, just moon.

Also, they could feel the boy’s sword arm beginning to shake, whether from nerves or from the exertion of holding a sword one-handed, and figured he couldn’t be that much of a threat.

Whatever Briar saw in him, however, must have told her differently. With a quick hand gesture, she directed Zirei to Suvai’s cabin, her mouth set grimly and her eyes still fixed on Kova and the boy. The remaining crew atop the deck watched with her; seemingly taking direction from her, the rest looked afraid to make any movement that might provoke this stranger.

Above them the moon shone resolutely, appearing to enjoy its sudden freedom from behind what had felt like an endless parade of grey clouds. Still, the air in Kova’s mouth tasted somehow electric, as it often does just before a storm. Kova felt the familiar thrill which accompanied the sudden knowledge that something important was about to happen. It was the same feeling they had gotten the very first time they could remember watching the sails of the Vorona crest the horizon from Villanuestra’s beach.

After a moment, Ma Suvai – no, Kova thought, in that instant she was Captain Morkane – emerged from her cabin, followed closely by Zirei. Suvai Morkane was not a tall woman, but it was easy to forget that when her gaze fell upon you. She commanded the attention of everyone on that ship without a word. She glanced coldly in Kova’s direction and they felt themself shrink back, even knowing all the venom in that look was for the boy behind them. His grip slackened for a moment in the face of her regard, before he brought his sword to their throat again, more confidently than before.

“I understand you’ve requested an audience with me,” said Captain Morkane. Her voice, slow and even, brought to mind a river frozen over, still and shining in the light. Kova felt him nod briskly. “You’ll have it, then, since you insist. This way. Just you, thanks,” she added, seeing that he was beginning to shepherd Kova towards the cabin with him.

The boy hesitated, clearly loath to lose his one bargaining chip.

At that, Captain Morkane smiled cuttingly. “Or you could go on and kill them, and see how far you get down the gangway before someone here shoots you down. I don’t like your odds in that scenario, personally. You’ve got this far already – at the very least I’ll hear you out. But it’s my ship you’re on now, and hostage or no, it’s my rules you’ll abide by while you’re here. Fair?”

After a moment’s thought, he threw his sword to the deck; Kova leapt away as it clattered noisily near their feet. Then, not sparing them another glance, he followed the captain into her cabin. As soon as the door clicked shut the crew returned to motion, thankful that the tension had dispelled for the time being. “All that fuss over a couple of kids and now we’re even more behind,” Kova heard someone grumble.

Almost immediately, Briar was at Kova’s side. She checked them over gently but perfunctorily, anxious to know that they hadn’t been injured. Not that there was any way they could have been with everyone’s eyes on them, Kova thought irritably. No attention was bad attention as far as they were concerned, of course, but they would much rather be eavesdropping, and that was made impossible by all of Briar’s fussing and worrying.

“I’m fine, Briar,” Kova huffed, trying to peer over her shoulder at the cabin door. They were still shorter than her, but they hoped that wouldn’t be the case for much longer. They had been told that within the next few years, they would “shoot up like a weed,” whatever that meant. They didn’t like being compared to any plant, but at least it meant they would be growing soon.

“Well,” said Briar, “I’m glad to hear that. You’re going to stay put for the moment, though. I know what you’re angling for, dear.”

They had thought they were being subtle, but according to Sasha, that wasn’t at all their strong suit. So, pouting, they planted themself on the deck and waited for someone to emerge again from Ma Suva’s cabin.

Someone did, fifteen minutes later (nearly an eternity to Kova, who by now had almost managed to lose interest). Ma Suvai’s head poked out from the door, and she met Kova’s eyes. “If I could have a moment,” said Suvai. Kova leapt to their feet and joined the two of them inside.

The boy stood beside Ma Suvai’s desk, where he’d clearly been instructed to stand and not to move since he entered. Kova didn’t quite know how to read his expression – he looked almost relieved, but the set of his mouth betrayed an anxiety that he wasn’t out of the woods just yet, whatever those woods may have been. Kova found themself wondering again what could have compelled him to go to all this trouble, just for a conversation with Ma Suvai. Even so, he seemed at home here in a way that unnerved Kova. With Ma Suvai behind them, out of sight, Kova could picture the boy – or a version of him that was older, taller, and certainly better-dressed – sitting at this desk poring over maps or letters by lamplight. He belonged here, they thought dismally. Maybe even moreso than you do, said some traitorous voice in the back of their head.

And so they weren’t entirely surprised when Ma Suva sat back in her chair, gestured to him, and said, “This is Viktor. He’s going to be crew starting today. I wanted you to meet him formally before I make introductions to the others, given the… unique circumstances of your initial meeting.” “He tried to kill me,” Kova protested, though they couldn’t muster very much fight in the face of the knowledge that Ma Suvai’s decision was made. The crew could disagree, of course, but they rarely did – they trusted her to know what the right call was, and in the two years Kova had spent on the Vorona, she hadn’t proven them wrong yet.

Viktor gave them a sour look. “Did not. I only threatened to kill you.”

Seemed like you meant it, too, Kova didn’t say.

Their stomach turned as though the world itself had been upended like an hourglass. This was it: Ma Suvai had found someone better than Kova. Smarter, more capable – or was it just that he was taller, or a boy? Kova had spent the last two years quietly convinced that eventually the Vorona would tire of them and return them to Villanuestra, or drop them off at the nearest port and move on with their lives, freshly unburdened by a child who was near constantly underfoot. They had clung all along to this fear that they did not want but could not figure out how to be rid of. What had planted that fear in them? They had had no shortage of love in Villanuestra. They worried, perhaps, that they would one day be punished for leaving all that love behind.

“Why?” Kova asked around the lump that had formed in their throat.

“Because he needs to leave here,” said Ma Suvai, “and because he can be useful.”

Kova scowled. “What can he do that I can’t?”

“Hold a sword, for one thing.” Ma Suvai pointedly ignored Viktor’s scoff. “And he can help you learn, too, eventually. And,” she added, “it could be nice to have someone closer to your age here. Less lonely.”

“I don’t get lonely,” Kova snapped, embarrassed to realize that just days ago they had had a similar thought. It was hard to hear everyone call them crew, and yet to struggle to keep up with all of them the way a proper sailor should. The crew used words Kova was still learning to understand, and made jokes that went right over their head. They wanted to be useful, but they could never quite believe anyone who assured them that they were useful when they were just barely tall enough to hold a mop.

Ma Suvai smiled. “Well, then now you’ll be even less lonely. At any rate, Viktor has something to say to you before I drag him out before the rest of the crew.”

“I don’t think I do,” said Viktor. He suddenly seemed very interested in a shell on Ma Suvai’s desk.

“He does,” she insisted sweetly, “and we’ll wait as long as it takes for him to remember what it was. We have all night, really, though frankly I thought he was in quite a rush to get out of here.”

Viktor scowled between the two of them, as though he thought he could frown his way past them and move the ship from port himself. Kova found themself shrinking back; Ma Suvai only widened her smile, showing off a row of very sharp teeth. Finally he said, “Yes, sure, I’m sorry.”

“For?” Ma Suvai prompted.

Another, briefer, battle of wills took place.

“I’m sorry, Kova, for taking you hostage and threatening to kill you with a sword,” he ground out after a moment.

“There we go. That didn’t kill you, did it?”

Viktor looked as though it might kill him yet.

“Well,” Ma Suvai continued, “time to introduce you to the rest of them. Given the manner by which you earned this conversation, I expect you’ll get a similar reception from the remaining crew, to be perfectly honest. Shall we?” She gestured to the door, the handle of which Viktor reached out and turned without hesitation.

Kova watched him straighten his back and raise his head to meet an assortment of people that he knew had very recently contemplated killing him, and understood him. In these small gestures they recognized the same determination that had brought them to the Vorona two years ago; that had driven them to stow away belowdecks and refuse to leave once caught; that had compelled them to say that if Captain Morkane returned them to their island, they would chase this ship if they had to in order to return to her, even if they had to swim for days, even if they had to drown. The same determination that had made Ma Suvai believe them.

They watched him step outside the cabin, Ma Suvai close behind. She looked back only once as she stepped outside.

“Kova,” she said, her voice soft in a way they rarely got to hear, “you should be out here, too.”

“I will. In a minute.”

She nodded and shut the door behind her. From inside the cabin, Kova heard the indistinct chatter of introductions, and arguments, and welcomes, and then more arguments. They sat down at Ma Suvai’s desk and felt small in her chair, and contemplated what it might mean to share their life with someone else the way they might with a friend, or a brother. Viktor could be neither, but Kova resolved to be at least as kind to him as they were to the cat Andrey, who had ventured out from under Ma Suvai’s bed once the cabin was a little emptier, and now hopped contentedly into Kova’s lap. Tomorrow was a new day, and tomorrow Kova would not forget how willing he had been to kill them, but they would try to forgive it.

Tomorrow was a new day, and tonight they could still indulge the childish desire to mope pathetically in a parent’s bed. They carried Andrey onto Ma Suvai’s bed, shoes still on, and let the cat’s purring lull them into tomorrow.

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babygirldabi · 1 year

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Runaway Part 6

CW: MDNI, smut with some plot, implied PTSD, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abuser, female reader, implied kidnapping, Daddy kink, creampie, Dabi is a dick but it’s fairly justifiable, I wrote this in short bursts in the past four months so the editing is probably rough, I think that’s all, let me know if i’ve forgotten anything- also this is my first time back writing so it’s not as long as I’d like it to be but I wanted to give y’all SOMETHING

I also want to say thanks for your patience, I haven’t released any writing since my friend’s unexpected death in February and I appreciate everyone who waited so kindly for me to get my shit together. It’s taken me a lot to pull out of this funk and start writing again but you all make it so worth it and ily much

Tags: @kierewrites @osamusriceballs

“Should have apology fucks more often,” he murmurs into your hair, and you roll your eyes.

“I thought you said you’d never make me mad again?”

“Oh, I’ll definitely make you mad again at some point, baby. I’m a fucking idiot.”

You start giggling, quietly at first before wheezing out a breath, and Dabi’s shoulders shake as he laughs with you.

He nuzzles your cheek, plants a soft kiss on your temple. “But I promise, I won’t mean to.”

“Appreciate that,” you whisper, feeling him settle against you as his breathing slows, drifting off. And then, impulsively, “I love you.”

Dabi’s eyes fly open.

“What?” His voice is a hoarse whisper in the dark.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you rush to say, almost at the same time. “It’s okay if you don’t say it back-”

“I…I-” You can feel him hesitating, stiff and uncertain before he sits up. You rise quickly with him.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to say it.” In the shadows, you can just barely make out his eyes, wide and staring at you.

Dabi is stunned. Nobody’s ever said this to him. Maybe his mom, when he was a little kid, but even if she did, he doesn’t remember. He’s not even sure he knows what love is. What he feels for you is strong, absolutely- but love? Does he love you?

“I… can’t?” He whispers miserably, gaze sliding down to the sheets. “...Know that’s probably not what you want to hear, I don’t wanna make you sad-”

“I’m not sad,” you say, almost too quickly, but you reach out and touch his arm softly. “It’s okay. Really. I just needed you to know.”

Dabi is silent for a few seconds, trying to discern the truth in your voice, assuming you’re just trying to make him feel better for being an emotionless piece of shit, but when he raises his eyes to face you again, he doesn’t see any sadness, or anger… no sign that you resent him.

Of course you don’t. You’re a goddamn angel.

You tug his arm downwards gently. “Let’s lay back down. Really, it’s okay.” You sink back down into the sheets, waiting for him to join you. Dabi swallows hard but follows your lead, slinking back down and pulling you towards him so that your back is to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and you stroke his arm gently.

“I promise it’s okay.” And it is. You knew this was a 50/50 shot, given Dabi’s mysterious background and intolerance for sappy things. You know how he feels in other things that he does for you, the way that he treats you. And that’s enough for you.

Meanwhile, Dabi is once again feeling like a piece of shit, thankful for your graciousness, but a piece of shit nonetheless. He knows you wanted to hear it. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Anything he’s ever thought he’s “loved” has left him. He feels like the words are almost a curse, ensuring his perpetual loss. He doesn’t want to feel like that again, if you decide to walk away. Dabi lays there, considering all this, until your breathing slows and deepens. Only then does he close his own eyes, and gives in to sleep.

He can worry about it tomorrow.

You wake up earlier than Dabi the following morning, slipping out of bed as quietly as possible so that you don’t disturb him. Dabi mumbles in his sleep and snakes an arm across the mattress in your direction, but otherwise doesn’t wake up.

Tiptoeing, you gather some clothes and slip out the door, heading for the shower.

The League’s bathroom used to be a fucking nightmare before you were hired. Dust and dirt had filled the drafty space, the checkerboard tiles, clawfoot tub, and outdated toilet all going unwashed for who knows how long…long enough to be a biohazard. In your “Bitch Duty” days, you scrubbed the everloving fuck out of it, and have made it a point to reclean at least once a week. Dabi insists you don’t have to, but you’ve explained to him- several times- that if a bathroom isn’t shiny, you cannot bathe in it.

How can you possibly feel clean if you’re bathing in a dirty tub? You’d asked him, when Dabi argued that your weekly ritual was ridiculous. He’d shrugged and muttered something about how it didn’t matter to him. Well, it matters to me, you’d responded primly. He’d rolled his eyes but smiled, and never brought it up again.

The room begins to fill with steam as you crank the hot water up, stepping out of your clothes and hopping in. If it weren’t for Toga, you truly believe there would only ever be a single bar of soap and maybe a two-in-one bottle on the shelves. Shaking your head at the thought, you reach for the strawberry-scented shampoo you share with Toga and begin to wash your hair; the most taxing part of your shower. Your hair is long and thick and takes a long time to work though. Somewhere in the middle of this, you think you hear the bathroom door open and then quickly shut again.

“Hello?” You call, praying you’re not gonna have to have a conversation with one of the boys about using the toilet while you’re in the shower again.

Yeah, it happened. You don’t want to talk about it.

It was Shigaraki.

Getting no response, you shrug and go back to what you were doing. You’ve just reached the ends of your hair when the shower curtain flies open and Dabi jumps in, making you shriek.

“Baby!”

He grins at you wickedly. “You didn’t wake me up.”

“I wanted you to get your rest!”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I’d rather be in here with you.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be in here with me, the least you can do is help me with my hair,” you sniff, feigning annoyance. Dabi chuckles, swiping one big hand across your soapy scalp.

“Looks like you already took care of that, sweetheart.”

You huff. “I still have to rinse it and then condition it. Make yourself useful, damn it.”

He snorts. “Whatever you say. Lean your head back,” he instructs, and you comply, closing your eyes as the warm water, accompanied by Dabi’s careful hands, rinse the suds from your locks. When he’s done, Dabi pulls the conditioner bottle down, squirts some in his hands, and smoothes it gently through your hair, humming absentmindedly.

His hands are so gentle that you shiver despite the warm water. “That feels nice,” you half-whisper, and Dabi chuckles.

“Any time you want, doll.”

You turn to wind both arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. After a long minute, he breaks the kiss and steps back, only sparing your pout a passing glance.

“Sorry. It’s my favorite part.” His eyes gleam as he squirts body wash into a washcloth, rubbing it into a foam, and steps back towards you. Gently, his hands push against your shoulders, encouraging you to lean back against the tiled wall.

You allow yourself to relax completely, melting under Dabi’s touch, warm cloth roaming the expanse of your skin, rubbing you into a lather. You practically purr with content. “D’you do this for all the girls?” You tease him lightly, cracking an eye to gaze at him.

Dabi cocks his head, genuinely considering. “Nah. First time, actually.” He sounds surprised. “It’s almost like you’re turning me into a fuckin’ simp, or somethin’,” he adds in a half-grumble, making you snort.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He stoops his head briefly to kiss your sudsy shoulder. “Should,” he mutters, then directs you under the stream of hot water and begins to rinse you.

You close your eyes and lean into his chest, relishing in his long fingers running through your hair, washing away the conditioner, then skirt down your body, assisting in washing away the soapy trails. His cock twitches against your hip, and you hide a smile as your lips drift up to kiss his neck. Dabi inhales sharply and responds by abandoning his task to grip your ass with both hands, massaging your plump cheeks as his cock hardens against you.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes, as you give him a devilish grin and turn to press yourself against the wall, offering your ass. His hand trails down your spine, pushing on your back to force you to arch higher for him. “Are you sure? Last night…”

You glance behind you, biting your lip at the sight of his lust-blown eyes sliding down your back. “Please?” You ask, so sweetly he groans in response.

“Yeah.”

With that, he seizes your waist, pulling you back against him and grinding his hard dick against your damp folds, teasing. You sigh, pushing back against his hips, encouraging him.

As you feel him lining up with your entrance, you brace your hands against the wall as well as you can, then close your eyes as he sinks into you. You’re still so sore from the previous night’s three rounds, but Dabi just…does something to you. The ache and the stretch feel delicious.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, just as he sighs a quiet “Shhhhit.” Gently, carefully, you begin to push back against him; small, tentative pushes that only sink him in deeper. You are rewarded by Dabi’s quiet gasps, the feel of his fingers pressing into your waist so hard, you know he will leave bruises. You don’t mind.

In response to your little pushes, Dabi begins to match your thrusts- how can he not, with the way you’re sucking him in? “Goddamn, baby,” he breathes, pushing one hand into your back to keep you arched as he begins to fuck you harder. “Doin’ such a good job for me, sweetheart.”

“F-feels good,” you whimper, allowing him to take over, his thrusts nearly pushing your face into the wall.

“Yeah? You feel good, baby? Whose pussy is this?” He demands roughly, digging his fingers painfully into your hip.

“D-Daddy’s,” you whine, scrabbling against the tiled wall, trying to hold yourself up against the relentless pace. “Daddy’s pussy.”

“Yeah,” Dabi groans, pumping still harder, “Daddy’s tight little pussy, creamy little pussy…suckin’ me in like this- f-fuck, gotta cum soon, sweetheart, I’m not gonna last-”

Hearing that you’re the reason Dabi’s so unraveled only tightens the coil in your belly, and you begin to push back against him in earnest, feeling yourself climb higher and higher as he whispers filth in your ear. You don’t feel your orgasm coming until it hits you like a train.

“Fuck-!” You cry out, knees buckling as you cum.

“Good fucking girl,” Dabi gasps, catching you before you can fall and holding you against him so he can fuck you through your high, chasing after you seconds later.

“Fuck- ah-ahhh,” he moans, loudly, hips stuttering against yours as ropes of cum paint your walls. He pumps once, twice, three more times before he carefully pulls out, chest heaving as he turns you around and lets you nuzzle into his shoulder, both of you still shaking. You remain there, wrapped around each other, until the hot water runs out. Before it can change to ice cold, Dabi swiftly leans around you and shuts it off, then reaches outside the shower to grab a towel.

“C’mon, insatiable beast,” he teases, helping you step out of the tub before he begins toweling you down briskly. “Can’t stay here all day.”

“I wish we could,” you grumble, and he barks a laugh, handing you a smaller towel to wrap your hair in before grabbing one to tuck around his waist.

Once you’re both dried and dressed, you head to the kitchen for breakfast.

Spinner and Shig are seated at the table, Spinner reading the newspaper and Shig digging into a box of sugar cereal. Beyond them, Toga stands at the stove, scrambling eggs. The coffee maker pops and sputters and steams, filling the room with a fragrant promise of caffeine. You blink in surprise at how domestic this feels, how cozy.

“Good morning!” Toga sings, turning to beam at you and waving the spatula. “You’re just in time. Sit down.”

You obey, sitting down across from Shig, who throws you a brisk glance before digging into his Froot Loops.

Dabi plunks himself down in the seat next to you, snatching a section of newspaper from Spinner, who rolls his eyes but otherwise doesn’t complain.

“What’s going on in the world today?” He questions mockingly, scanning the headlines.

“Maybe more of the country-wide reach for the missing ex Hero?” Shig grumbles, casting you an irritated look. You stiffen as Dabi sighs.

“We talked about this,” he reminds Shig, in a tone that could pass as a warning if he wasn’t talking to his boss.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re a homeless shelter now. Got it.” Shig snorts and digs a spoon into his cereal.

“Shut up and eat your breakfast, Shiggy,” Toga interrupts cheerfully, setting a cup of coffee down in front of him. “Y/N is staying and we are better off for it. That’s just the way it’s gonna be.”

“Or what?” Shig snarls, but takes a sip of coffee anyway, malice fading from his tone.

“Or I leave with her. And, I suspect, Dabi leaves too.”

Your head shoots up to stare at Toga in amazement. She throws you a wink over Shig’s shoulder. Beside you, Dabi raises a singular eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk as he stares unblinkingly at his boss, a challenge.

Shig’s already-grayish face blanches at this, opening his mouth to respond before thinking better of it and drinking more coffee instead.

“Now.” Toga claps her hands together expectantly and beams at you. “How do you like your eggs, angel?”

* * *

After breakfast, Dabi announces that Shig is sending him on a day mission. Seeing you scowl at this, he chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll only be a few hours, I promise. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Your scowl remains; you had wanted the whole day with him. You wanted every whole day with him, but after your hiccup last night, expressing this doesn’t feel comfortable in the moment.

“You’re pouting extra hard today. Why?” Dabi sits on the end of the bed in front of you, reaching out and tugging at your hips until you shuffle between his knees, arms crossed.

“I’m not pouting extra hard.” You raise a hand to your neck, scratching a nonexistent itch, avoiding his eyes.

“Yes, you are. Use your words,” he teases, sapphire eyes peeking up at you between long strands of black hair.

You sigh. “I just hate it when you go on missions without me. I never know if you’re safe.”

He rolls his eyes at this, pulling you down into his lap. “You really don’t need to be worrying about my safety, Princess. I can handle myself.”

“No, I know. I just wanna go with you. I don’t like when- when we’re apart-” for some reason, this admission, despite everything else, makes your face flush with heat. It feels vulnerable, soft.

Dabi smiles and reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before cradling your cheek. “It won’t be long.”

You sit on his bed and watch despondently as he pulls on his coat and his boots. “How long?” You finally ask, dressing the answer.

“A few hours, tops. I have to go uptown. I’ll be back before sunset.” He leans down to kiss the crown of your head. “I don’t know who else might be here today, so you might get bored, but you can watch tv or read any of my books. Make yourself at home.” You lift your face so he can kiss you properly before you go back to pouting. “It’ll go by fast, doll. I’ll be back soon.” With one last lingering look, he’s out the door and gone. You hear his faint footsteps cross the front room to the front door, and then that closes, and there is silence.

For a while, you try to stay busy. You really do.

You fold some laundry. You flip through a couple books, and watch tv listlessly. Finally, you wander around the house looking for Toga, or Spinner, or anyone- but the house is empty. Everyone is gone, out and about, to do whatever they need to do. Everyone but you.

You heave a sigh, padding back to your own bedroom, and throw yourself across the comforter. This is the price of the manhunt, the cost of staying with the League, and you get why they’re worried, but you’re just so bored.

I was a hero for years, and they act like I can’t take care of myself, you think resentfully.

Inspiration strikes.

You get up and hurry to the closet, rifling through soft clothes to find the hoodie you were wearing the last time you saw Hawks. Finding it, you seize it and plunge a hand into the pockets until you find what you were looking for.

Ah, there it is. Hawks’ number, neatly written on the folded piece of paper. You’re glad you left it in your pocket, you think vaguely, or else Dabi probably would’ve found it and burned it.

Flipping open your burner, you type the numbers into the message bar and shoot off a quick text:

Hey.

The response comes quickly, quicker than you expected.

Hawks: Who’s this?

Damn, I can’t believe you forgot about me so quickly. You JUST gave me your number.

Hawks: y/n?

The very same (: everyone’s gone and I’m bored.

Hawks: heard. I’m off patrol. wanna go get something to eat?

You begin to type a response, oh, no, I couldn’t, I’m not supposed to leave the house- - and find yourself erasing it just as quickly. You stare at the screen, chewing ferociously at your lower lip, considering.

This could be a good way to show the League that you’re okay on your own. Plus, you wouldn’t technically be leaving the house by yourself- you’d be with Hawks, and he’s working with the League.

But Dabi? A little voice whispers in the back of your head, causing you to hesitate, but only momentarily as you quickly shrug it off.

Hawks is my friend. He’s gonna have to get used to it at some point.

You open the burner and rapidly click out a response: sounds great. Can you meet me here?

Hawks: see you in twenty.

Hawks is positively beaming as you shut the front door, his wings ruffling excitedly at the sight of you.

“Nice disguise,” he teases, scanning you and taking in the black leggings, oversized black hoodie (Dabi’s), baseball cap, and sunglasses. “You look like an undercover celebrity.”

He’s one to talk; a black baseball cap covers his thick honey hair, and dark sunglasses have replaced his usual translucent yellow ones.

“That’s kind of how it feels,” you sigh, your tone expressing just how much you don’t want to be a celebrity. Ever. You switch to a lighter subject as you begin to stroll down the street together. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, I was thinking about a restaurant, somewhere nice, sit-down, but…that’s not really safe for you. So if you’re okay with some street cart food, I have the perfect place.”

You frown. “Sorry.”

Hawks looks surprised. “Sorry why?”

“You should be able to sit down and have a meal if you want. I make that impossible.”

Hawks snorts. “Please. Restaurants are a heroes worst nightmare, anyway. Everyone scrambling and scraping and asking for autographs. I’d rather do something lowkey, anyway.”

You’re not quite sure you believe that, but shut your mouth regardless and follow Hawks up several side streets, coming into a more populated area. People of every age fill the streets, laughing, arguing, chattering. Several food carts steam here and there on the sidewalks, releasing tantalizing scents into the air. You tilt your face back and inhale deeply, mouth watering. Hawks laughs.

“What do you smell?”

You consider this, sniffing more intentionally. “Dango…Korokke…Onigiri?” You look to see him nodding in approval, smiling.

“Which sounds best?”

“Onigiri,” you answer immediately, and he chuckles and leads you over to one particular vendor off to the right.

“Wait here,” he mutters, and you nod and step back as he approaches the vendor and places an order. You take the spare minutes to take in the street scenes before you, people watching nosily. You’re so focused that you don’t notice Hawks approaching until he’s right in front of you; you jump at his voice so close to your ear.

“Lunch!” He holds the rice balls up as proudly as if he made them himself. Handing one to you, he leads you to a bench a few feet up and pulls you down next to him to eat.

It’s nice to sit in a public space with a long-time friend, something you certainly thought you’d never get the chance to do again- and just talk. Hawk tells you about his work with the League, his working relationships with Dabi and Shigaraki, his unexpected fondness for Toga. You lose yourself in hours of conversation before your phone starts ringing.

Oh, shit.

You don’t need to glance at caller ID to know who it is.

Hawks doesn’t see your anxiety and smiles wryly. “Are you past curfew?”

“Well…the thing is…curfew is kind of nonexistent.” You swallow hard, still staring down at the burner.

Hawks looks back at you blankly, not understanding. “Meaning?”

“Meaning…I’m not really supposed to be out of the house, and I decided to go, anymore.”

“Aw, shit.” Hawks sighs. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be silly-” You go to answer the phone, but the ringing has stopped. Within two seconds it begins to ring insistently again. You gulp, then flip the phone open and hold it up to your ear. “Hi, baby.”

“Where are you?” Dabi’s voice is frantic, and a wave of guilt washes over you. You should’ve told him.

Hawks laughs easily in the background. “Sorry, man. We lost track of time.”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and when Dabi speaks again, his voice has gone cold as ice. “Where are you.”

“We aren’t far,” you say hastily, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to stand up, handing Hawks your trash and watching him amble away to discard it. “A few blocks up. We had lunch.”

Silence again. “You weren’t supposed to leave Headquarters.”

You sigh. “Baby, really-”

“Stay where you are,” Dabi instructs, and then the call ends, abruptly.

Fuck.

You turn to Hawks as he approaches, and he frowns. “You’re white as a ghost. Guess that didn’t go so well?”

“We need to get back,” you say shortly, turning on your heel and heading back in the direction you came. Hawks catches up easily, ducking his head and trying to read your face.

“Y/n, he can’t keep you in the house all day. That’s like…prison.”

“It was for my own safety. I shouldn’t have just left, I should’ve at least let someone know-”

“Y/n, hey, hold on-” Hawks catches one of your hands and turns you to face him, holding both of you up in the crowd. “Is he-is he hurting you?”

“What? No!” Yanking your hand out of his grasp, you stare at Hawks in horror. “He would never hurt me. Never.”

The winged Hero hesitates. “Then why are you acting so afraid of him?”

You open your mouth to answer, but you’re interrupted.

Hawks has finally been recognized.

Cries of, “Hawks!” “Hey, Hawks!” “What’s up, Hero?!” Begin to rise from voices in the crowd, a sea of eyes turning on you both slowly but surely. Hawks utters a curse under his breath, takes your hand, and pulls you away. “We need to go, now.”

Already, people are holding up cameras and cell phones, flashes going off in every direction as the crowd becomes more excited over spotting the high-ranking Hero in public, doing civilian things. You put your head down quickly, pulling your hood up and walking as fast as you can behind Hawks as he pushes through the crowd.

This is why, you realize. This is why Dabi didn’t want me to leave. Someone-anyone- could recognize me. Report it to the authorities. Report it to Inferno.

That’s as good as a death sentence.

By now, the paparazzi have joined the fray, clattering after you in the crowd, calling out. “Hawks, is this your new girlfriend?” “Who’s the pretty lady, Hawks?”

Hawks only moves faster, yanking you down a short alley and into another around the back of the first. You have tears in your eyes, just short of giving into a panic attack, huffing as you struggle to keep up with his much-longer strides. You open your mouth to ask him if there’s any way he can just fly you away when a burst of blue fire comes so close behind you, it warms your back.

You jump as the crowd screams and begins to scatter, fleeing in every direction. Dabi stands at the head of the alleyway, blasting blue fire from his palms towards the crowd. A distraction. Granted, a messy one for Hawks, but-

“Fuck, man,” Hawks groans as Dabi turns and strides towards you, his face cold and stiff with anger just lurking under the surface, “Now I have to handle this-”

“Then you should handle it, Hero,” Dabi spits out, not even looking at you as he grabs your arm and yanks you away. “Do your job, protect civilians after you’ve put her life in fucking goddamn danger.”

Hawks looks stricken, opening his mouth to argue and then faltering as Dabi’s words settle in. He’s right. You know it, Dabi knows it, and Hawks knows it.

“I’m sorry,” he mouths to you, and then turns to check in on the still-freeing crowd.

Your only choice is to turn around and try to keep up with Dabi.

“Dabi- I-”

“Not here,” he says shortly, not slowing his pace. “Home.”

“How did you find me so quickly?” You think to ask, still measuring his tone.

“Your burner has a tracker.”

“A tracker-”

“Yeah. In case you were in danger-” Dabi’s voice is sharp as razor blades, “and needed to be found.”

You don’t say anything else.

Breathlessly, you allow Dabi to lead you down the maze of streets that bring you back to Headquarters, not saying a word until he pulls you inside and shuts the door, locking all four of the locks silently behind him. You stand behind him, panting from the near-run he kept you at, and pull the hat, sunglasses and hood off your head.

“Thank you,” you finally begin, “I-”

Dabi whirls to face you, and you’re instantly alarmed at the anger on his face. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I-I was bored, nobody was here, I-”

“Do you understand the panic I was in when I got home and you were nowhere? You never told anyone you were leaving, you just left, if Shig finds out, he’ll kill you- I know you’re not this fucking stupid-”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach at the last part. Dabi watches the pain cross your face but doesn’t back off, plowing ahead.

“I thought you were dead- someone could have seen you, someone MIGHT have seen you, for all we fucking know, Inferno could be on his fucking way here right now-”

“Stop.” Your voice is small, but steady. Dabi doesn’t listen.

“...Do everything I can to keep you safe and you’re sneaking out behind my back to have a lunch date in public with a goddamn Hero-”

“STOP!” You finally shout, your anger waking you up at last. “Don’t speak to me like that, okay, I’m sorry that I made you worry, but-”

“OH, SHE’S FUCKING SORRY,” Dabi shouts, laughing mirthlessly. “I have all of one rule in this house and it’s-”

“Stay at home, cook and clean, obey,” You spit back, just as furious now.

“I never said you had to cook and clean-”

“You didn’t exactly stop me, either, did you?” You yell back. “Do you know how unhealthy it is to just keep me here, stuck inside all day- I’m lonely, I’m alone, I’m-”

“Alive.” Dabi’s voice is burning. “You are alive. But you would rather go risk it all, put yourself at risk, put us all at risk, because you’re fucking bored-”

“You can’t just keep me in the house all day!”

“Oh, would you rather go back to being Inferno’s punching bag, huh? Because if you pull this shit, that’s what you’re gonna be. That, or his first fucking charge.”

A silence falls heavy into the room. You stare at the floor, blinking back tears as hard as you can. Dabi’s chest heaves, trying to catch his breath over an anger he can’t quite get a gasp on, and he realizes it’s fear, fear is making him so hateful and mean and he can’t stop because you could’ve died-

Until you shove past him, making your way to the door.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to see Hawks. Since I’m apparently too much of an issue for you,” you hiss, unlocking the locks with trembling hands.

“Yeah, you go and fucking do that,” Dabi snarls as you swing open the door and step out. “Go see if he can protect you better than I can. See if he can save you. I’m fucking done.”

You don’t answer, just shut the door behind you, and then you’re gone.

Dabi stands in the open room, panting, staring at the door, and then sinks to the floor as his legs give out.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Hawks asks, sliding the card into the door and letting you into the hotel room. “I’m sorry, I wish you could stay with me but the paparazzi are always watching my place- there’s a lot of windows…”

“This is great, really.” You step into the room, setting a small bag down on the single bed, and immediately go to the windows to close the blinds. The hotel is a smaller skyscraper, and you’re pretty high up, but you don’t trust that there aren’t camera drones out there in the dark, somewhere. “You really didn’t have to do all this, Hawks-”

“I did,” he interrupts quickly. “I did. I got you into this mess.”

“No,” you sigh. “I got myself into this mess.”

After leaving Headquarters, you’d turned the GPS location off on your cell, then called Hawks. It had taken a few hours to find a hotel that was discreet, blending in with the city, and offered extra privacy. Hawks had brought you a small bag of women’s clothes- probably pieces saved and set aside from a number of one night stands, but they were clean, anyway- and paid the hotel extra in cash to ensure nobody would keep a record of him checking in with an unknown civilian. The hotel manager, probably thinking this was a lowkey hookup, had been all too happy to wink and smile and accept the wad of cash you caught Hawks palming him at check in.

You weren’t sure if this was a forever thing, or just for a few days to clear your head before you tried again with Dabi. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see Dabi again after everything that had gone down this afternoon, but the small ache in your chest that you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to process gave you the idea that you would be giving him a call sooner rather than later.

“So.” Hawks follows you into the room, firmly locking and bolt-locking the door behind him before turning to face you. “I’m on duty tonight. Will you be okay by yourself- do you need anything, food?”

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine. Go to work, please don’t worry about me, I really appreciate all your help-”

Hawks rolls his eyes but smiles gently at you. “What are friends for? Hey, also- there’s some snacks in there, some bottled water, brought you an extra phone charger if you need it. Toothbrush, toothpaste, you should be covered for the night. Tomorrow I can bring you breakfast and we’ll figure out what more there is to be done, okay?” Quickly, he strides across the room and wraps you in a feathery hug, ducking his head down onto your shoulder. “I really am sorry. I should’ve been more careful today.”

You return the hug gladly. “It’s okay,” you say sincerely. “It really is okay. Accidents happen. Thank you for all your help.”

He smiles at you, then slips through the blinds covering the glass door that leads to the balcony. You follow, leaning against the door to watch him ruffle his wings and put his yellow glasses back on. Tossing you one last smile over his shoulder, he nods. “Lock that door, too. I’ll knock in the morning.” With that, he takes off in flight. You watch him swoop gracefully into the night, towards the upper district, and then pad back inside, sliding the door shut, locking it, and covering it with the blinds again. Then you turn to face the large, empty room with a sigh.

For white noise, you click on the TV, but nothing on any channel seems to interest you. You take a quick shower, brush your hair and teeth, and settle into bed, plugging the charger into the lamp on the bedstand, and click off the lights, filling the room with the blue light of the TV. Impulsively, you grab your burner and flip it open, checking for any texts or missed calls from Dabi.

Nothing. Radio silence.

Tears fill your eyes as you gaze at the empty inbox, thinking back to the harsh words and violent emotions from both of you earlier in the day. Processing now, you accept your part, you shouldn’t have gone out, it wasn’t okay- but Dabi’s anger, Dabi’s harsh words, so like Inferno when he was disobeyed- it was triggering for you. You don’t regret standing up for yourself, but you wished you’d just taken space, not left entirely. If you had, you might have been in Dabi’s arms right now, made up already.

After today…you’re not sure you want that.

But you miss him.

Dashing the tears from your eyes in frustration, you toss your phone back on the bedstand and snuggle under all the covers, burrowing deep, and wait to get warm. You force yourself to drift off, before you do something reckless, like call him.

You wake up an indiscriminate amount of time later, confused. It’s still dark- too dark. Did I turn off the TV before I went to sleep? The monitor is off, it’s screen black and dead. There’s a breeze-

You turn and realize with abject horror that the sliding door is wide open, the blinds fluttering against the wind. What the fu-

A hand covers your mouth so that you can’t scream, something heavy and blunt hits the back of your head, and everything goes black.

#dabi #dabi smut #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #mha smut #league of villains x reader

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ettawritesnstudies · 1 year

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Thank You

If you’ll permit me a minute to be cliche: this photo would not have been possible without you. When I started university in August 2019, the sum of all my author-y potential measured up to:

No finished manuscripts

A pipe dream of ever publishing my work

A scatterbrained outline of The Laoche Chronicles

Forty-four phone notes full of half-witted ideas

A grand total of 3 followers on my brand-new tumblr account

At the time, I had no grand plans of marketing my work, though I knew it would be necessary if I ever wanted an audience. I chose a degree in chemical engineering because I knew my baby platform and half finished stories weren’t going to cut it as a career in their current state as an 18-year-old, and I needed to have a day job if I wanted to pursue my end dream of self publishing. I was just hoping to survive my first year of engineering school, pass my weed-out classes, and hopefully make some new friends. That fall semester passed with sporadic progress on my book, and halfhearted attempts at breaking into the writeblr community, until I decided to try my hand at Inktober and made my first few acquaintances: @siarven and @abalonetea, who have both featured on this blog since then. It was also at this point, sometime during a Calculus III lecture, that I invented my pen name:

All was going well, and I was pleased with my incremental progress until the world ended.

The less said about the pandemic, the better. Writeblr truly kept me sane through working full-time jobs and taking 18 credit hours during the semester. When I was truly close to dropping out of school, I kept going, knowing I had these online friends to cheer me up after brutal exams and long nights of studying. The tag games and community filled the dearth of interaction left by quarantine and an insane schedule. During my summer internship in 2020, I finally had the time to finish the first draft of Storge and the confidence in myself to start a website. Rereading my first post is a surreal experience, in part because I still see myself as a little kid as hiding under the blankets with a flashlight, notebook, and pen, thinking “I wanna write a book!”

I woke up the next day crying to the sheer volume of kind messages congratulating me on meeting this milestone. Instead of feeling burnt out after reaching such a lofty goal, this gave me all the more energy to keep working. Since then, I’ve been so blessed to grow this community and this website. It’s incredible to see how far I’ve come, now being able to claim:

A finished manuscript of Storge

A 3rd draft of Runaways after going through 2 rounds of Beta Readers

8 short stories and an audio drama

An active mailing list

Over 1000 followers on tumblr, but more importantly, a thriving community of writers who support each other’s releases through ARCs, leaving reviews, enthusiastic questions, and a welcoming space for new writers to share their craft.

140 posts on my website and regular readers who care about my ramblings ❤

Now I’m on my way to my new job – I’ll be doing research and development in my chosen field with a team I really like, and the freedom to listen to books while I’m in the lab. This next month will still be a hiatus for blog posts and new writing as I pack up my life for a cross-states move, but I’m beyond excited to enter change. My hope is that I can start saving for editing costs and devote more time to my craft thanks to a 9-5 schedule and NO!!! HOMEWORK!!!!!!!!! Really, I cannot say enough how thrilled I am to never have to take another exam ever again, thank GOD. With a bit of luck and no small amount of grace, I hope I can publish and share my stories with you sooner rather than later.

Thank you for all the support and camaraderie these past years. In a way, I owe this diploma to you as much as to my classmates and professors. The night before graduation, I said to my friends, “I’ve been waiting for tomorrow for eight years.” Now I’m living in the future, and I can’t wait to write the next chapter.

#etta rambles #graduation

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mimi-00s-world · 3 months

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The good and bad days

Hi, I'm honestly not really good at writing but I'm going to talk a little bit about living with anxiety and depression for a few years now.

Well I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in 2021 but before I was diagnosed I was having a really really bad time, I lost around 10 kilos or more in about 2 weeks, I was having really bad anxiety attacks, I wanted to runaway, i couldn't sleep, couldn't eat or drink anything, I couldn't concentrate and I just thought that I was going crazy.

I think that the most difficult thing for me was waking up and having to socialize with people everyday, I wouldn't leave my house unless it was necessary and I could literally sleep all day! I lost all of my friends and it got really lonely at some point, I wouldn't even talk to my parents that much and I was very socially akward.

It was really tough being in fight or flight mode all of the time, basically my whole life was put in a pause for a couple of years, even though I was diagnosed in 2021, I was living like that for a couple of years now but i didn't really understand what was going on with me until my parents and siblings decided to seek for help when I they saw me getting worse each day. I had a lot of help from my parents and siblings for which i'm very grateful.

When i moved to Leon I had a really bad relapse in which i had to start taking emergency medication and I even had to start drinking ensure because I was very malnourished. I think the change of being in a new city, not knowing anyone or anything triggered my anxiety really badly but thankfully my sister was with me through it all and she really pushed me to get better and get out of my shell.

Once I started working and meeting great new people, I started to get better, there still are some days in which I start feeling really anxious or depressed but I try to be stronger and not let myself fall again. I think that I personally try to see things differently now, I push my self everyday and now maybe you wouldn't even be able to tell that I have anxiety and depression, because even though I still feel like that somedays, I try to stay motivated and remember that I'm not alone and I have people who support me and love me and want to see me grow, not just as a person but also emotionally and that's also something that I want for myself and I also have a whole world waiting for me to explore.

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the-martyrfication-of-the-matron · 10 months

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Okay so my general mru timetravel saga phase thing. + how I’m doing the YA.

Since I think focusing on timetravel instead of the multiverse would have been a better next saga since timetravel was set up formerly.

Also, champions and Runaways will likely feature but I need to defamiliarise myself with the comics to feel more comfortable deciding on HOW. But I’ll get to it, just not in this post.

(Ramble below the cut)

First Phase:

I would make the first phase AFTER endgame extremely chill. More grounded, focus on a smaller group of heroes and the affects of the snap. TFATWS would be my preferred first project but obviously could change when I go to write it. Maybe seven projects in all? Keep it small. Six main solo projects, an avengers team up. I want to make it clear that things aren’t running as smoothly as they could be post-Thanos, there’s a lot of tension, the team isn’t quite… teaming.

Steve shows up as cameos in TFATWS and the avengers teamup, but not to take away from the focus of Sam being the new Cap. He’s more of an… advisor. He has experience, but that’s all he’s got to offer. He’s done with the fight. I don’t think he should’ve died in endgame personally bc I think people need a main avengers to continue showing up to really keep their investment until another character proves worthy enough for focus.

Eli is the first Young Avenger to be included, which would make a whole ‘oooo Young avengers maybe??’ But he’s played off like a cameo that’s there because Isaiah is there, no need to rush into the YA.

Kamala is also showing up. Ms Marvel wouldn’t be a MAIN solo project and would be kind of hinted to be disconnected until Carol shows up in the last episode.

There will also probably be a Hawkeye series but I don’t want any of the YA to be heroes before the YA. So Kate will likely cameo but I don’t want her to be a Hawkeye yet. That’s YA stuff. It can wait.

Second Phase:

A little more funky now. The Marvels is a good guide to take for the balance of funky and grounded. Sure it’s in space but it’s a pretty typical movie, nothing too big. Of course, the marvels = Teddy introduction. I’ve not watched the movie yet (literally on the way there now) so I can’t promise how I’ll introduce him, but it’ll probably be a small ‘cameo type’ thing.

The phase starts on a lighter note but slowly degrades, the avengers are slipping apart. It ends on a Loki s1.

Introduction of Kid Loki also. And I’ll probably do Sylvie differently. But with the demolition of the sacred timeline, there comes chaos in the storyline.

Introduction of the champions might occur here, whilst things are still light and dandy. Depends on what I can swing.

Third Phase:

House of M. Wandavision, obviously, introduces the Twins. They’ll probably remain toddlers though, to keep them little and cute, plus terrible twos + superpowers would make it obvious she’s crazy when she CHOSE that. They’re the two YA introduced this phase, no America until the multiverse unfortunately.

The avengers are slowly falling apart even further, Loki s2, and then, bosh, kangs. Not THE Kang, though. Other kangs. Fighting aaa. Some avengers probably die, Scott definitely does. They win and have to fight THE Kang, don’t win, Kang escapes.

Idk how to explain my idea for that film considering I haven’t properly planned it. But, basic idea is that he WILL come back.

Phase four:

No avengers. They fell apart, like they did for infinity war. If things like this keep happening, there’s no point anymore. Womp womp everything sucks. Some people, like Sam, are trying to keep everyone together but it’s so… hard. They wonder if they’re really just making things worse. They probably are.

Yeah there are solo projects. But it’s mostly pretty dismal. They’re trying to prepare to fight kang but they know they’ll lose. In the final solo project, there’s an end credit scene. Someone in a suit appears in dark streets and picks up a loose newspaper. ‘The avengers disbanded’. In a robotic-ish voice: oh no.

And then, final avengers movie of the saga. Except… it opens up to kids being assholes and oh wait this is just an adaptation of the first Young Avengers comic with some more emphasis on the avengers. Why have a huge crossover movie when teenagers can stab people? This isn’t to say there won’t be any closure for other storylines, I just don’t think every storyline needs to end in an AVENGERS storyline. The big crossover movie will probably be phase 3’s big Kang gang up movie, with everyone fighting their own time travelling war lord. But Kang’s death belongs to Nate. So that’s how it’ll be. Other superhero team ups will probably happen. But the big bad will be slain by those who now carry the avengers torch. It’s to me the only way to actually get people interested in the Young Avengers.

Some post saga notes:

There are some things that will be included. Like fantastic four and Xmen. It’s just a little difficult to try and explain how they fit it without going into masses of detail.

The next saga will likely be multiverse based. The Young Avengers are pretty well prepped for that kind of storyline. I’ll likely reallocate TLAT to this saga. Multiverse works better for god-based movies than time travel. It’ll probably include Children’s Crusade and YA vol2 for some of the avengers movies.

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mru #marvel rewrite universe #young avengers

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ingek73 · 2 years

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Why are women so marginalised by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame?

Courtney Love

Barely 8% of its inductees are female. The canon-making doesn’t just reek of sexist gatekeeping, but also purposeful ignorance and hostility

Fri 17 Mar 2023 08.00 GMT

Fourth time lucky? Kate Bush on stage in 1986.

I got into this business to write great songs and have fun. I was a quick learner. I read every music magazine I could get my hands on and at 12, after digesting many issues of Creem, I decided to base my personality on Lester Bangs, the rock critic raconteur; his abiding belief in the transformative power of a great rock song matched mine. (I also obsessed over his running arguments with Lou Reed – they confounded me, but I loved it.) Artists and their songs shaped my life, my beliefs, my self-conception as a musician – Patti Smith’s growling Pissing in the River, Heart’s Barracuda, the Runaways’ Dead End Justice, which I still know every word of. But what no magazine or album could teach me or prepare me for was how exceptional you have to be, as a woman and an artist, to keep your head above water in the music business.

The magnificent Chuck D rapped: “Elvis is a hero to most, but he doesn’t mean shit to me.” I concur. Big Mama Thornton first sang Hound Dog, written for her (and possibly with her) in 1952, which later put the King on the radio. Sister Rosetta Tharpe covered it, too, hers being the fiercest version. Her song Strange Things Happen Every Day was recorded in 1944. It was these songs, and her evangelical guitar playing, that changed music for ever and created what we now call rock’n’roll.

When the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame started in 1983, you would have thought they might want to begin with Sister Rosetta, with those first chords that chimed the songbook we were now all singing from. The initial inductees were Chuck Berry, James Brown, Ray Charles, Little Richard, Sam Cooke, Fats Domino, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley; not a woman in sight. Sister Rosetta didn’t get in until the Rock Hall was publicly shamed into adding her in 2018. (She was on a US postal stamp two decades before the Rock Hall embraced her.) Big Mama Thornton, whose recording of Ball’n’Chain also shaped this new form of music? Still not in. Today, just 8.48% of the inductees are women.

Long overlooked … Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Photograph: Chris Ware/Getty Images

The nominations for this year’s class, announced last month, offered the annual reminder of just how extraordinary a woman must be to make it into the ol’ boys club. (Artists become eligible 25 years after releasing their first record.) More women were nominated in one year than at any time in its 40-year history. There were the iconoclasts: Kate Bush, Cyndi Lauper, Missy Elliott; two women in era-defining bands: Meg White of the White Stripes and Gillian Gilbert of New Order; and a woman who subverted the boys club: Sheryl Crow.

Yet this year’s list featured several legendary women who have had to cool their jets waiting to be noticed. This was the fourth nomination for Bush, a visionary, the first female artist to hit No 1 in the UK chart with a song she wrote (1979’s Wuthering Heights), at 19. She became eligible in 2004. That year, Prince was inducted – deservedly, in his first year of eligibility – along with Jackson Browne, ZZ Top, Traffic, Bob Seger, the Dells and George Harrison. The Rock Hall’s co-founder and then-chairman Jann Wenner (also the co-founder of Rolling Stone) was inducted himself. But Bush didn’t make it on the ballot until 2018 – and still she is not in.

Never mind that she was the first woman in pop history to have written every track on a million-selling debut. A pioneer of synthesisers and music videos, she was discovered last year by a new generation of fans when Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) featured in the Netflix hit Stranger Things. She is still making albums. And yet there is no guarantee of her being a shoo-in this year. It took the Rock Hall 30-plus years to induct Nina Simone and Carole King. Linda Ronstadt released her debut in 1969 and became the first woman to headline stadiums, yet she was inducted alongside Nirvana in 2014. Most egregiously, Tina Turner was inducted as a solo artist three decades after making the grade alongside her abuser, Ike.

Why are women so marginalised by the Rock Hall? Of the 31 people on the nominating board, just nine are women. According to the music historian Evelyn McDonnell, the Rock Hall voters, among them musicians and industry elites, are 90% male.

The Rock Hall’s canon-making doesn’t just reek of sexist gatekeeping, but also purposeful ignorance and hostility

You can write the Rock Hall off as a “boomer tomb” and argue that it is building a totem to its own irrelevance. Why should we care who is in and who is not? But as scornful as its inductions have been, the Rock Hall is a bulwark against erasure, which every female artist faces whether they long for the honour or want to spit on it. It is still game recognising game, history made and marked.

The Rock Hall is a king-making force in the global music industry. (In the US, it is broadcast on HBO.) Induction affects artists’ ticket prices, their performance guarantees, the quality of their reissue campaigns (if they get reissued at all). These opportunities are life-changing – the difference between touring secondary-market casinos opening for a second-rate comedian, or headlining respected festivals. The Rock Hall has covered itself in a sheen of gravitas and longevity that the Grammys do not have. Particularly for veteran female artists, induction confers a status that directly affects the living they are able to make. It is one of the only ways, and certainly the most visible, for these women to have their legacy and impact honoured with immediate material effect. “These ain’t songs, these is hymns,” to quote Jay-Z.

The bar is demonstrably lower for men to hop over (or slither under). The Rock Hall recognised Pearl Jam about four seconds after they became eligible – and yet Chaka Khan, eligible since 2003, languishes with seven nominations. All is not lost, though – the Rock Hall is doing a special programme for Women’s History Month on her stagewear ...

What makes Khan’s always-a-bridesmaid status especially tragic is that she was, is and always will be a primogenitor. A singular figure, she has been the Queen of Funk since she was barely out of her teens. As Rickie Lee Jones said: “There was Aretha and then there was Chaka. You heard them sing and knew no one has ever done that before.”

Unworthy … Chaka Khan on stage in Toronto in 2018. Photograph: Rich Fury/Getty Images for Netflix

Yet Khan changed music; when she was on stage in her feathered kit, taking Tell Me Something Good to all the places it goes, she opened up a libidinal new world. Sensuality, Blackness: she was so very free. It was godlike. And nothing was ever the same.

But for all her exceptional talent and accomplishments – and if there is one thing women in music must be, it is endlessly exceptional – Khan has not convinced the Rock Hall. Her credits, her Grammys, her longevity, her craft, her tenacity to survive being a young Black woman with a mind of her own in the 70s music business, the bridge to Close the Door – none of it merits canonisation. Or so sayeth the Rock Hall.

The Rock Hall’s canon-making doesn’t just reek of sexist gatekeeping, but also purposeful ignorance and hostility. This year, one voter told Vulture magazine that they barely knew who Bush was – in a year she had a worldwide No 1 single 38 years after she first released it. Meg White’s potential induction as one half of the White Stripes (in their first year of eligibility) has sparked openly contemptuous discourse online; you sense that if voters could get Jack White in without her, they would do it today. And still: she would be only the third female drummer in there, following the Go-Go’s Gina Shock and Mo Tucker of the Velvet Underground. Where is Sheila E – eligible since 2001?

It doesn’t look good for Black artists, either – the Beastie Boys were inducted in 2012 ahead of most of the Black hip-hop artists they learned to rhyme from. A Tribe Called Quest, eligible since 2010 and whose music forged a new frontier for hip-hop, were nominated last year and again this year, a roll of the dice against the white rockers they are forced to compete with on the ballots.

If so few women are being inducted into the Rock Hall, then the nominating committee is broken. If so few Black artists, so few women of colour, are being inducted, then the voting process needs to be overhauled. Music is a lifeforce that is constantly evolving – and they can’t keep up. Shame on HBO for propping up this farce.

If the Rock Hall is not willing to look at the ways it is replicating the violence of structural racism and sexism that artists face in the music industry, if it cannot properly honour what visionary women artists have created, innovated, revolutionised and contributed to popular music – well, then let it go to hell in a handbag.

• Courtney Love is a singer, musician and actor

#courtney love #rock n roll hall of fame #sister rosetta tharpe #kate bush #chaka khan #big mama thornton #cyndi lauper #missy elliott #meg white #gillian gilbert #sheryl crow #nina simone #carole king #tina turner #linda ronstadt

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scribbleseas · 2 years

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XV: The Hand Of Karma

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

CHAPTER WARNINGS: insinuated sexual assault, drug addiction (opioids)

Author’s Note: Happy Holiday Season, everyone! I’m sorry this was so late. Final exams and final research papers actually obliterated all of my time and creativity. However, I was determined to finish this chapter and get it out before the New Year. I hope it was worth the wait-- I’m thinking this will be the longest you will have to wait for a while. I should be able to go back to my previous semi-regular updating schedule (like every other week).

ps. i had more than half of this chapter formatted before tumblr decided to not work and deleted my progress. fuck.

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

MASTERLIST

APRIL 13TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Ciel, what do you mean you were unaware that it is Marie’s birthday?” Lizzie’s smile faded, replaced by frustration in her eyes. In times like these, she most resembled her mother, attempting to keep a placid face despite her growing frustration. “Please, tell me you’re playing with me; you absolutely cannot be joking about this.”

When did Y/n decide to allow Lizzie to refer to her so casually? Ciel mused, but that was beyond the point. What mattered was that he now had to waste a day in celebration of a woman he had no desire to celebrate in the first place. He knew it was coming, more than aware where Princess Marie’s birthday appeared on a calendar. Unfortunately, that would be the same date as her vindictive twin, who had been impersonating her all this time.

Besides, Ciel had no way of knowing if Y/n even liked celebrating her birthday; he knew nothing about her childhood and teenage life. She could detest her birthday as he did his for all he knew. In all likeliness, he would never understand, given how closely she guarded her life’s complexities.

After all, Ciel’s birthday was the day of the fire that ruined his life, killing his family and destroying his home. The only present he received that year was a demon butler that he summoned from the pure hatred that poisoned his soul. Maybe Y/n’s birthday reminded her of the palace that was abusive enough to cause her to run away twice.

“Lizzie, what I mean is: I have much more important things to worry about. Such as keeping her alive,” Ciel replied, sighing at the drafted letter in front of him. He was in the middle of penning a response to the man he put in charge of the hiring process for all of his new steamship fleets. Each ship needed a captain, a sufficient number of workers to load and unload heavy cargo boxes, and operators to keep the vessels working. Ciel had just finished reviewing each of his manager’s selections and was writing to approve each one.

He lied, considering there was no real threat toward anyone besides himself. After all, the real Princess Marie was already dead, and all Ciel was “protecting” was her lying and bloodthirsty counterpart, sent to him as part of a ploy for his life. However, Ciel still had to remain consistent with each pretense. No one else could know the truth.

“How could you be this obtuse?” Lizzie asked incredulously, with a newfound bluntness to her words. Ciel appreciated her more for it. “It’s the woman you love’s birthday today! You cannot sit idly by! I allowed our engagement to go to rubbish; don’t you waste that by not making her feel loved!” Lizzie exclaimed, quick hands pulling the half-written letter from Ciel’s focus to force him to focus on her.

“Love her?” Ciel couldn’t fathom the idea of liking Y/n, much less loving her after gleaning the truth. It was a weakness, and if he hadn’t let himself grow so attached, he would not have needed the phone call to show him that Y/n was not Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. There were too many signs that he let go because she made his heart drum in his chest with such ferocity he could hear it in his ears. “I don’t--”

“Yes, you do love her,” Lizzie said with the same gumption Ciel noted during their private discussion at the wedding. They had a similar exchange; his cousin insisted he loved the princess, and he assured her he was incapable of all love.

“One moment of her dancing with another man drove you half-mad,” Lizzie said, laughing sadly, despite the tears in her eyes. She dabbed at them with a napkin carefully. “I could only wish you would care for me that much.”

“I do care for you.”

“It’s not the same. Think about it.”

And he had thought about it.

Y/n drove him half mad with her constant mimicry and her instantaneous sarcasm. Her relentless mind that formed such witticisms and strategy that either left Ciel defeated in a game of draughts or lying on the floor, writhing in pain. She hurt him. It was her mission to hurt him.

And yet, it was Ciel’s instinct to care for her-- beyond keeping her alive. Her smile painted his world. Her lips lit a fire in his stomach. When she laughed, shivers rolled down his spine. Even worse, Ciel would smile in response before he understood what he was doing.

While it was his duty to care for both Lizzie and Y/n, he never found himself searching for ways to go out of his way and bring a smile to his formerly betrothed’s lips. Ciel never found himself thinking about Lizzie so much he felt deranged. He never would have offered an extension of his first kiss to his cousin in a fiery moment of unconstrained passion. A culmination of his frustration and the sheer depth of what he felt for the woman who both drove him beyond insanity and pulled him back into what felt like the body of a living human being.

He’d been a corpse. And she’d brought him back to life, forcing him to feel emotions he’d never-

Enough.

He’d made himself blush. Damn it all.

Ciel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Days ago, he would never have allowed his cousin to see him so…vulnerable. But if not his cousin, who else? Ciel clearly couldn’t work through his emotions himself. Sebastian detested Y/n, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. If Ciel could feel himself changing, indeed, his soul was changing. It was brightening, and that wasn’t the sort of taste that lured a demon.

“Fine, fine,” he surrendered, ignoring his cousin’s delighted laugh. While he wasn’t sure he loved Y/n, there was some driving passion behind his feelings for her…despite her litany of deception and lies. “What do you reckon I do, then?”

A half-decent Guard Dog would do nothing of this sort. He should have been writing detailed reports of his findings over the past several months to turn Y/n into the Queen, torturing her to find the name of her employer. It wasn’t possible for her not to know. He needed to understand the whole of this ploy she’d forced him through like a pathetic chess piece.

But apparently, Ciel Phantomhive was ignoring his duties. He’d drafted that letter to Her Majesty over and over but discarded each attempt, unable to scribble the right words down. The right words to send Y/n to a probable execution.

Grinning broadly, Lizzie exclaimed, “we celebrate her birthday! You buy her a cake and presents, and make her feel like the most important person in your life, of course! I had Nadia make her the cutest dress,” she gestured to the delicately wrapped box in Paula’s hands. The pink bow atop the box bounced in the handmaid's hold.

“I will inform Sebastian to stop at the jeweler’s,” Ciel said as if he were making funeral arrangements rather than planning a birthday dinner. He shouldn’t be celebrating this woman. He should have her tortured by Sebastian until they could extract the answers they required from her: who wanted him dead, and why, and how did she survive all of this time? Was everything she said to him a lie?

Ciel was weak, and for that, unsure if he could forgive himself. But he could live with that sort of hatred. He’d lived with it every day for years. Besides, for every bit Y/n weakened him, he had the same impact on her; he was sure of it.

That being said, he had the perfect gift for Y/n; a far cry from a dress or jewels Marie would desire. Sebastian could quickly stop at the bladesmith’s while he was out. Ciel began to sketch.

. . .

Sebastian decorated the gazebo delicately, per Lizzie’s direction. Plush pink roses and vines twirled around each column supporting the roof, adding a graceful ambiance to the scene. The air smelled of flowers and sugary frosting as the demon walked the hitwoman’s birthday cake from indoors to the dining table; Y/n sat at the head, Lizzie forced Ciel to sit at her right hand, and she sat across from him. His servants filled the rest of the table, an oddity, but Lizzie wanted the celebration to be as meaningful as it could be on such short notice.

“Happy Birthday, Marie!” Lizzie was the first to cheer as Sebastian approached with the dual-layered cake decorated with intricate frosting patterns Ciel struggled to see in the dim light. A half dozen candles sat around each layer, each lit, casting an orange glow over Y/n’s face as Sebastian placed the dessert before her.

“Happy Birthday, Your Highness!” Mey-Rin, Baldroy, and Finny echoed, a little more reluctantly than Ciel would have liked. However, Lizzie failed to notice their hesitation, more fixated on the opulence of the frivolous cake Sebastian whipped together.

Y/n merely offered a strained smile in response, her eyes searching. He could tell; she was wondering why they celebrated her birthday after Ciel condemned her to her fate. She wanted to be anywhere else. She distrusted Sebastian, such was evident by the way she flinched at the miniature, yet brilliant, flames atop each candle.

Ciel had to admit, they made him a bit apprehensive as well. He focused elsewhere, returning his attention to Y/n’s skeptical expression as she listened to the exchange between Lizzie and Sebastian.

“Sebastian, this cake looks lovely! I cannot believe you’re such a talented baker,” Lizzie gushed, squinting at the complex designs, swirled eddies, and flowers made of frosting, all measured and perfectly symmetrical.

“You are simply too kind, my Lady. I’m no one deserving of such high praise; I’m simply one hell of a butler,” Sebastian simpered, basking in the complimentary glow Ciel’s cousin cast all around her. He never received such praise from Ciel simply because his ego was so inflated it hardly fit in the manor, to begin with.

“You really outdid yourself this time, Sebastian, yes you did!” Mey-Rin added, vehemently staring at her lap to avoid looking the butler in the eyes. Her face flushed red.

“Thank you, Mey-Rin,” the butler grinned slyly and bowed at the waist. He began preparing the Green Tea for the table, strategically picked to pair with Y/n’s favorite cake flavor. Or was it Marie’s favorite cake?

“It would be a shame to keep everyone waiting any longer. This cake does look divine,” Y/n puckered her lips to blow out each candle. Thankfully, the scent of smoke dissipated quickly-- it was causing Ciel’s heart rate to steadily rise. He swallowed the lump in his throat, soothing his stress with a short breath. Once again, he caught the overwhelming scent of sugar and roses.

The table broke out into applause and cheers, to which Ciel was late to engage, slowly clapping. Out of rhythm.

Across from him, Lizzie sent him a vexed look, purposefully looking between him and Y/n, who plucked each candle off the cake to keep the wax from dripping onto the frosting. She hardly flinched at any unbearable heat from touching the hot candles. A princess would have asked a servant to do this for her, unwilling to put her fingers at risk of burning.

These slight hints should have exposed Y/n ages ago had Ciel not been so utterly daft.

Wish her a happy birthday, you heartless fool! Lizzie widened her eyes at him, gesturing with her head.

Could she be more obvious? She might as well speak her mind at this point.

Ciel felt his cheeks warm as he returned his focus to Y/n, trying to create some semblance of fondness to appease Lizzie. He was a brilliant liar; smooth lying should’ve come easy, but the words died on his tongue.

With a final withering look Ciel’s way, Lizzie carried the table’s happy atmosphere. Clearly, she was the only one invested in the celebration-- Y/n looked like she was considering several exit strategies, and Ciel’s servants were still reeling from the brawl she brought to them over a week ago. She was a force to be reckoned with, indeed. Much like Finny had a bruised abdomen to show for it, the discoloration under Ciel’s eyes and wrist had only cleared up a few days prior.

“And Marie, did you know that it’s good fortune for you to make the first cut?” Lizzie asked, gesturing to the elegant, serrated knife Sebastian left aside the cake on the platter.

“I did not,” Y/n lied with a tactful smile, meeting Ciel’s eye as her nimble fingers wrapped around the knife’s handle. She was mocking him, reminding him of the damage she could do with such a blade. His stomach lurched in response to both Y/n’s sardonic look and the sense of dread that came from witnessing her with a knife.

Y/n used two hands to wield the knife handle and force the blade into the cake’s bottom tier. She made a show of pretending there was notable resistance from the layers of cake, frosting, and filling. Please, she was strong enough to nearly have broken his wrist. And his nose! Who the devil did she think she was fooling?

Be honest, Ciel. A few days ago, you might’ve been fooled.

After Y/n made the first cut into the cake, Sebastian did the rest of the hard work, cutting slivers for everyone at the table. The servants excused themselves to ‘help’ Sebastian with the cleaning.

Lizzie hurried everyone through inhaling their cake because she wanted Y/n to open her gift: a complex aubergine dress with puffy sleeves, understated and graceful. The deep shade of purple complimented Y/n’s sharp eyes.

Y/n didn’t have to pretend to be impressed by the dress; it was a decent selection. It showed ample thought on Lizzie and Nadia’s part, analysis of the deep and studious color palette Y/n favored, simple lace embellishments of the same shade, and a back that closed by a complex tying mechanism.

“I love it, Lizzie, thank you,” Y/n said, running her fingers over the expensive satin. So as not to ruin the dress, she folded it neatly in the box, for the most part, tugging a sleeve out of it to get a better look. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Nadia is brilliant.”

“I’m so pleased that you like it,” Lizzie grinned, “but I think Ciel might outdo me tonight. That’s why I saved him for last.” She smiled, but her eyes threatened him: you did get her a gift, did you not?

“I’m not sure I would say that, but I did pick something for you, Your Highness,” Ciel admitted, setting aside his pride for the sake of his plan. He needed to act seamlessly to keep his cousin satisfied and unsuspicious. If Lizzie suspected something was wrong, she would never leave and, inevitably, find out the truth. After all, he was a skilled liar, but not even he could keep his frustration at bay.

He pulled the velvet box from his pocket, the moment feeling annoying reminiscent of his impromptu ‘proposal.’ By the brief grim look on Y/n’s face, she drew the same connection but accepted the little box nevertheless. To her apparent relief, it wasn’t another ring but a pair of pearl drop earrings set in gold. Ciel didn’t know the intricacies of jewelry; he merely had his butler go to the jeweler's and pick something passable. Much like him, Y/n wouldn’t see the difference between freshwater cultured pearls from China (which they were) and glass imitation ones.

“Those are incredible!” Lizzie gushed, gaping at the earrings with approval.

“They are, yes,” Y/n agreed wryly, shutting the box with an air of finality. “Thank you,” she shifted in her chair as if she was fighting a suffocating desire to leave.

“My pleasure,” Ciel responded mechanically.

Naturally, Lizzie disapproved, watching the exchange with a frown. Of course, she was dissatisfied. And she wouldn’t leave if she was dissatisfied.

Ciel cleared his throat, “Your Highness, I actually…have another gift for you. But…I would prefer to show it to you…” it was excruciating to formulate each word. Alone. Without meaning to, he looked at his cousin pointedly.

Catching his accidental look, Lizzie took it as a cue to act. She forced a yawn, dramatically pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. She rolled her shoulders back in an exaggerated stretch. “You know, I am actually rather sleepy,” she said unconvincingly, “I shall go find Paula…and… take my leave! Goodnight, Ciel! Happy Birthday, Marie!” She said, slowly rising out of her chair, only to scamper away when she got to her feet.

“-- Lizzie!” Ciel protested, feeling as if his cousin had left him abandoned at sea. Left adrift without a lifeboat to take him out of uncharted territory: facing Y/n in disquieting neutrality. He stood to get a better look at his cousin as she grew further from his vision, calling for Paula.

“I’m retiring for the night,” Y/n lied, finally standing. “You didn’t have to do this. I’ve never cared much about celebrating my birthday,” she took a step away, but before she could continue, Ciel stopped her, his hand nearly missing the back of her shoulder.

“I had no choice. You know that.”

Y/n turned on her heel, combat-ready by instinct. “You did. She’s only your cousin now, it’s not like you have to maintain her happiness,” she shrugged her shoulder, frowning at Ciel’s hand. He refused to let her leave before he could finish his piece.

“No, I—” he started to explain.

“You, what? Did you have more questions to solicit me with? I’ve told you everything I know about the woman. I’ve given you my bloody word, what more can you possibly want from me?” She raised her chin, daring him to challenge her.

But Ciel knew what Y/n’s word was worth; he couldn’t trust her more than he could hope to fight her and live. Besides, the Undertaker said Y/n liked to have the complete picture of everyone she worked with; a sense of their backgrounds, grievances, and why they wanted someone dead. Without knowing the whole picture, she would not take on a mission like this.

Ciel couldn’t even recall killing a natively Spanish household and leaving a pregnant woman alive. Could Y/n’s employer be lying?

“Just…” stop being so bloody stubborn and come with me. “...I decided to get you another gift. For you. Not who you pretend to be. Do you want it or shall I have the bladesmith melt it down and use the materials for something else?” Ciel demanded, letting his extended hand drop back to the side. Y/n’s mouth opened to formulate a response, but he wasn’t finished yet: “I will be waiting in the drawing room. Meet me there, or refuse. Your childishness is not my concern,” he feigned aloofness as he passed her, showing himself back inside.

Ciel would have taken pleasure in saying that he genuinely couldn’t care if Y/n joined him. He wished his ego and heart were that fortified, but if he had claimed they were, he would’ve been lying to himself.

Instead, Ciel spent the next two hours glancing at the open door, using a copy of Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil to keep himself from staring at the door like an overattentive dog.

Even worse, he wished he could say he was comprehending the German words he was reading, but that would be another lie aimed towards himself that was simply too far. Lying to someone else was excusable-- Ciel did it all the time, every day, every hour.

Lying to himself would be weak. He was not weak.

He could acknowledge that as he waited for Y/n, she was in the front of his mind. Not Nietzsche’s thinking, not his responsibilities as a good and vicious Guard Dog. No, he was wondering if she would show. If she would like his gift. What she might say.

Perhaps he was weak.

“I would’ve assumed you retired by now,” her voice made Ciel straighten his back, tense. His mouth felt dry. He fought his instinct to stand as he would have for an active royal. She wasn’t Princess Marie. He knew that, yet his muscle memory preferred treating her as so.

“I am aware of how stubborn you are. My only option was to simply withstand your thickheadedness and you would eventually surrender,” Ciel responded coolly, satisfied with the way he kept the quiver out of his voice.

“In that case--” Y/n started, turning to leave. She’d hardly stepped foot through the threshold.

“Y/n,” he interrupted her with a cutting stare. One might think he was urging her to drink a poison chalice rather than sit and open a birthday gift from him. On the couch in the drawing room…where they haven’t been together in what felt like ages. It was only a little over a week, but when Ciel thought of how things were before the phone call… it could have been a decade’s difference.

“Fine,” she snapped, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. As far as she could get.

Really? She was the one who attacked him and nearly broke his nose!

“I thought you might like something more to your tastes,” Ciel said, reluctantly offering the pristinely wrapped box to her.

“You didn’t have to,” she inspected it before tearing the paper along the taped seams as if she wanted to preserve the wrapping.

I know that; I don’t have to do anything. I wanted to. Don’t ask me why.

She opened the box to reveal a dagger, the blade sharp and forged from steel. The handle was made of white marble, its quillion sculpted into gold swirls, matching the bottom of the handle.

This was one of the first times Ciel rendered her speechless, but her face told him everything he cared to know. Her eyes were wide as she took in the dagger’s every detail. Her face reddened, matching the soft pink roses Sebastian used to decorate the gazebo. Like one of Lizzie’s gowns.

Her dexterous hands tested the dagger, determining its weight and how the handle fit in her calloused palms. Ciel would know they were calloused-- he’s had the pleasure of holding them while waltzing. At the time, he’d presumed they were callused from the harp, not the everyday labor of an acting commoner and… the general toil of murder.

“I’ve always preferred to use daggers. Ever since I started…” she began, her words something adjacent to a thank you. His neutral frown nearly cracked.

“What caused you to start?” Ciel asked before he could help himself. For a moment, Y/n looked like she was considering turning her new blade against him and slitting his throat, but instead, she merely sighed. She watched her reflection in the flawless blade, her face clear of makeup, her hair out of its sophisticated braid.

Y/n moistened her lips, finally bringing herself to look at Ciel. Her thumb caressed the handle as she spoke, describing a day that took place… five years ago. March 1888.

She was a poor 16-year-old, homeless and alone. Entirely out of stolen jewels from the German royal family, starving. It was pouring rain, and she had no other choice but to huddle under the scaffolding outside the Undertaker’s shop. Cold, wrapped in tattered blankets, watching the world continue without her.

Nobody cared about her or the other homeless children living on the streets.

“My William did not deserve this. He was a good man. A good and honest man,” a woman’s insistent voice shook. Four children and another lady around the same age accompanied her. She cradled a baby in her arms while the other woman held an umbrella over her head as they left the Undertaker’s shop.

“I know, Edith. I know. It was a terrible accident-” the other woman began, only to be cut off.

“It was no accident! Armed bank robberies are not accidents,” Edith refuted, allowing one of her daughters, presumably, to hold her hand while she used her occupied arm to cradle the swaddled infant. “William, the father of my children, was murdered. And you don’t understand what I would do to his murderers if I--” she whispered forcibly.

“Those are not Christian thoughts,” her sister gasped, “you mustn’t think of the world in such a manner. God always has a plan, have faith in Him,” she urged, walking along Edith’s two sons.

Y/n listened intently, studying Edith, listening to her. Her husband was probably William Wagner, one of the four tellers murdered in a violent bank robbery the other day. Established newspapers printed their names and obituaries alongside their portraits.

William Wagner: survived by his wife, Edith Wager, two sons, and two daughters, William Jr., John, Victoria, and Ava.

The man had kind eyes and smile lines. Y/n couldn’t imagine the loss the family suffered…any more than she could imagine letting the scum who murdered him (and the other three men) live.

Edith wanted to cleanse the world of evil, a Christian thought, and you wanted to afford a loaf of bread. And, of course, be the hand of karma. Justice itself-- if all the government wanted to do was hold prisoners in jail cells for the rest of their lives, wasting tax money on food to keep them alive. Meanwhile, they ignored the homeless children on the street, refusing them any money or food.

Y/n could dispatch bank robbers for Edith and William. And she did, that night, using a trusty dagger that wasn’t much different from the one she held in her hands. She snuck into their holding cells under the guise of being one of their relatives, wanting to say goodbye. If they knew better, their guards didn’t care enough to stop her from killing them.

Afterward, finding Edith’s home was simple. Dodging her grateful hug was not.

“I am not a senseless killer, Ciel,” Y/n said starkly, practically challenging Ciel to second-guess her. He was reluctant to. “You are the King of the Underworld. Not many people know what that means. I do, and in my professional opinion, you need not think long and hard about why someone called me to kill you.”

Ciel frowned. He thought about his Madame Red, all of the broken children he ordered Sebastian to incinerate each time his finger pressed into his shotgun’s trigger.

She was a serial killer, Jack the Ripper. They were too traumatized to ever live a happy or decent life. Every time he shot, his bullet lodged itself into a criminal.

They weren’t the same. They couldn’t be the same.

. . .

APRIL 15TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Ciel started his work day writing a letter to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. Y/n and Princess Marie’s grandmother. His sovereign and employer. This was not the sort of inquiry he thought he would have to pen to the Queen of all individuals, but it was more time-efficient than sending postage to Germany. After all, the royal twins’ mother, Queen Helena, tended to spend most of her time racing around Europe to open charities. Any letter addressed to Queen Helena and sent to Germany would take ages to reach her desk.

Besides, no reasonable Queen would allow her daughter to marry below her social caliber and outside the royal family. No sensible Queen. Ciel stood a fighting chance, seeing as the Phantomhive family was in Queen Victoria’s service for generations.

Ciel’s bloodline was the closest to the monarchy without genuinely being a part of it. Queen Victoria would consider how valuable the Phantomhive line might be to her family-- particularly when she was already the Grandmother of Europe. A branch of her family tree ruled every established European country; there was no tactical advantage in Princess Marie marrying another German prince.

Thus, he reached above Queen Helena’s authority. If Ciel could gain Victoria’s approval, he would be unstoppable-- no one would undermine her authority, not even her own daughter.

Ciel uncapped his pen and began to write, his handwriting pristine through balanced lines and even loops:

Your Majesty,

I write to you with a request that might seem unfounded, but in truth, it has been months in the making.

As you are aware, I was previously betrothed to my cousin, Elizabeth Cordelia Midford, since childhood. Though recently, she has opted to end the arrangement with her parents’ consent as a result of my untimely courtship.

During my time as your granddaughter, Princess Marie-Louise of Schleswig-Holstein’s supervisor and protector, I feel that my…

The ill feeling in Ciel’s stomach stirred once more, threatening to reach his throat. He rubbed his forehead in a weak attempt to dispel his forming headache.

He detested almost nothing more than expressing his feelings and asking for permission. To have to do both in one letter was almost more than he could manage.

Almost.

He picked up his pen again:

…emotions towards her have grown much more intense than I might have anticipated, from a respectful acquaintance that a guard might have to a feeling much more intense than such professionality. I feel that my connection with Her Highness has grown undeniable; to the extent there is too much intensity to deny both in public and…

Ciel hesitated.

to ourselves. While I could never presume to ask for Her Highness’s hand while she is promised to His Highness Prince Aribert of Anhalt, I do feel it is sensible of my station to first appeal to you.

As per usual, I shall only act at your will and discretion. I am your Guard Dog, and I do put my duties to the Crown above all, including my personal feelings.

With Gratitude,

Lord Ciel Phantomhive

With that, he folded the stationary into itself and fit it into an envelope. He poured wax over the envelope’s opening and pressed his family cress into the steaming liquid, immortalizing his family crest: the widespread two-headed eagle with a shield in front of it. Under this shield was a banner with the Latin for power and rule. Potentia and Regree, respectively.

“Sebastian,” Ciel said, calling his demon back from the short errand he sent him on. His butler needed to deliver his outgoing postage and this newly drafted letter to the castle. Beyond that, Ciel was impatient to reap the results of Sebastian’s trip. And admittedly, he craved a decent parfait.

Without wasting a moment, Sebastian breezed through Ciel’s office door, holding a sterling silver tray with a notebook the size of a dictionary and, of course, the parfait that occupied Ciel’s mind. The demon’s expression was as placid as ever. A surprise, considering he’d spent his morning investigating Y/n, someone he may detest more than Grell Sutcliff. Or even Pluto, the demon dog Ciel took in with the sole desire to bother him.

“Yes, my Lord?” Sebastian chirped as he put a napkin on Ciel’s desk to avoid scraping from the glass's bottom.

“Tell me about your findings,” Ciel responded, trading the stamp with his family seal for the small spoon to dig into his snack. He gestured to the notebook with his spoon as Sebastian unloaded it from his tray, placing it on Ciel’s side.

Ciel opened the notebook, scanning over the first page. Sebastian filled every line with the victim's name in chronological order. He started at the top, looking for the first name he did not directly recognize.

Cooper Finley

Amelia Dyer

Felix Keating

“Tell me about Felix Keating,” Ciel ordered, vaguely recalling the headline that appeared in the paper several months previous. Shortly before Y/n arrived at the estate. The businessman’s servant found him stabbed in the back of his carriage. Ciel didn’t mind the death, considering he was visiting London to see a play. Any commoner’s rage might have been provoked at the sight of a rich man amongst them-- Ciel had disregarded the murder.

Sebastian obliged. “Mr. Felix Keating, a prominent iron manufacturing owner. Found murdered the night of December 17th, 1891 by his longtime coachman, Horace McLaughlin. Cause of death, blood loss due to a stab wound between his fourth and fifth ribs. All of this occurred several days after a legal court found Keating innocent of all dangerous workplace and child labor charges, following the death of Margaret Calvert, a young girl working in one of his factories. Poorly built machinery malfunctioned, causing it to combust and-”

“I understand,” Ciel interrupted firmly, having no desire to hear the gruesome details of a young girl’s demise. “And her parents?”

“Yes, I spoke to them. They were quite stubborn, but eventually, they came around. The husband, Eric, confessed to everything-- meeting Y/n, attempting to pay her, saddling themselves with an alibi-”

“Attempting to pay her?” Ciel said, ignoring Sebastian’s vaguely irritated look. The demon disliked when he interrupted him.

“She refused to take the full sum of her pay,” the butler clarified. “Quite…merciful of her, considering their living conditions,” he continued, as if the compliment was difficult for him to admit.

Well, of course. They are factory workers who live in Birmingham. They could use all the money they could get. If they were affluent, they would not have had their daughter working at such a young age in the first place.

“I never requested your opinion, Sebastian,” Ciel chastised, only to further irk his butler, “now tell me about her first murder.”

While Ciel already knew about her first paid killing, one could only assume Y/n’s first murder had to be a different circumstance. No one decided to make a hobby out of slaughtering others without having done so successfully beforehand.

“Gladly, my Lord. Investigating her first murder took me to the Dowager Baroness, Lady Cecilia Wright.” The demon smiled again, the look somewhere between fond and malicious. The same expression he wore after he extracted information from certain women. Like Beast. And that nameless nun. “Though we did have a meaningful discussion, she did insist on speaking with you, my Lord.”

Ciel fought the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. “Fine.”

“I thought you might agree, so I told her we would make a private appearance at her soirée tomorrow evening.”

. . .

APRIL 16TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

When Ciel considered Lady Wright’s history, it made sense that Sebastian’s investigation of Y/n’s early life led him to her. The late Lord Steven Wright was murdered the morning of February 3rd, 1888-- four years ago and a month before Y/n’s first paid murder.

There was a suspicious amount of mystery surrounding Baron Wright’s death. From what Ciel recalled, an armed thief broke into the Wright estate, resulting in the Baron’s murder. While the paper prided itself on the specific details it published, this case was particularly vague, leading the public to suspect there was something…more to it. However, it didn’t concern the Queen, and evidently, what was no concern to Her Majesty, was no concern to Ciel.

Besides, Cecilia Wright’s estate was now a popular destination for elegant and frequent parties-- no one missed the Baron, an avaricious man known for toeing the law with technicalities. Perhaps, Her Majesty was pleased with his demise.

“You’ve put together a lovely party downstairs. People seem to be enjoying themselves,” Ciel broke the leisurely silence between him and the Baroness. She led him from the intense party to a room that seemed to be converted from an office to a sitting room. Sebastian waited outside the door because Ciel could hardly tolerate the evident flirtation between Lady Wright and his butler. It was tough to watch, and Ciel had withstood even the most gruesome sights.

“It truly is amazing when your imbecile of a husband dies and you have no children to continue his ridiculous legacy?” Lady Wright’s smile spread slowly, a little deranged. Her forehead creased as she grinned, matching the smile lines on either side of her lips. Despite being a noblewoman, her cheeks were sunken in, matching the deep bags under her tawny eyes. Her pupils practically swallowed her brown irises, making them appear like twin black abysses.

Ciel’s first instinct would have been to express his condolences for her lack of children, but her maniacal smile said otherwise.

“Everything he owned is mine. All the money, the property… I love my life,” she rambled, her gloved hands fiddling with her gold bangles until she stopped abruptly, staring into Ciel’s gaze. Her smile melted. “And I did not murder my husband to achieve this life if that is why you are paying me this visit, Queen’s Guard Dog.”

Ciel found her face disarming whether she smiled or not. Her eyes still shone with a certain lack of sanity, whether she looked like the party’s hostess or a manic killer. He straightened his posture in response to her change in demeanor.

“Of course not. I know your husband’s killer, and I know you know her as well. I wish to question you about her.” Ciel corrected her, his words causing her to relax once again. “Y/n Y/l/n,” he added to prompt her into speaking since the girl probably asked (threatened) her to keep her mouth shut.

“Yes, that was her name,” Lady Wright hummed, a hyperactive hand coming to twirl at one of the adlib strands of hair that framed her face. Her auburn hair was graying at the roots.

“Would you tell me exactly what happened the night of the Baron’s murder?

She raised a thin eyebrow, “and why would you need that sort of information? Are you meaning to apprehend her for a murder carried out four years ago?”

“Not at all. I would only like to…understand her history more,” Ciel answered truthfully. If he was to live with someone who lied to his face repeatedly, slowly reeling him into an inappropriate relationship without imagining a bullet between her eyes, he had to understand who she was. He deserved to understand who she was. In total-- beyond what she chose to disclose.

Lady Wright was unconvinced.

Ciel took a hurried breath in, growing frustrated with the Baroness. What else was he supposed to say?

I need to know everything about her. She’s an unending mystery, and I want to understand her. Put all of the pieces together. I need to justify not turning her into the Queen for who she is. I need to justify why I thought to press my lips against hers when I had a knife to her throat.

He must have looked more tortured than he meant to because Lady Wright smiled. She laughed warmly, a quivering hand settling over her heart.

“I understand, Lord Phantomhive,” her eyes sparkled. “Your face tells me everything I need to know. You love her.”

“Love is not an emotion I understand nor feel,” Ciel’s frown deepened. Y/n drove him to the very brink of sanity. He detested her, yet, he could never force himself to drive her away. Love couldn’t be this maddening. An emotion made to bring people together couldn’t hurt this much.

“My Lord. No one understands love,” Lady Wright corrected. “Stop fooling yourself trying to understand it. You must be wiser than that.”

“Fine,” Ciel mumbled, his gaze casting off to the side. “I understand.”

“Now let me tell you about the girl I met four years ago,” Wright started, sitting back in her chair. “Y/n broke into this estate through the servant’s entrance and found our quarters in the early morning. I only caught her when she started crying afterwards, wailing on our carpet…getting blood all over it.”

“And the sound of Baron Wright bleeding out next to you failed to-”

“Yes,” Lady Wright interrupted Ciel crisply, “I am a heavy sleeper. Your darling butler knows this. Now would you let me speak? Incredibly rude to interrupt a lady.”

Ciel nodded once, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes.

“I asked her why she killed him and she told me he sent men to her home and they killed someone important to her over an inane plot of land. Then they tried to…hurt her,” Lady Wright said meaningfully, her fingers returning to the gold bangle that hung around her skinny wrist. “She killed all three of them. And my husband, which I took no issue with- I was sure that the bastard was cheating on me, anyhow.”

He considered her words: three men dead, a close friend dead. From conning Steven Wright for over some land. The most common land scam in the business world was claiming to have purchased over acres within a foreign country, making a fake contract, and selling it for money before the buyer could go overseas and validate the claim made. Ciel imagined something of that caliber took place. It would have been much too easy to pull off, considering Y/n was fluent in German.

“She took me to that shack of hers and it was truly gruesome,” Wright reminisced with the same sick grin. “Four men. Dead. I had to ask my most loyal staff to help us clean. You know, I wanted to take Y/n in and raise her, but she refused me. Heaven knows why.”

Because you are 59 and wearing elbow-length gloves to hide the wounds from your opioid addiction. What 16-year-old in their right mind would want to be ‘taken in’ by you?

“And you are certain that your husband caused harm to her and killed her friend?” Ciel asked, holding onto his very last shred of hope that Y/n was a serial murderer with no motivation. They simply could not be of the same occupation because that would mean Ciel had significantly less of a reason to dislike her.

“Yes, completely,” Lady Wright answered. “Insurmountable proof of personal violation and her friend…I believe his name was…Bernard? Benjamin?” she hesitated, unconvinced by the names that surfaced to mind before her face lit up, “Baxter! Was a corpse on the floor. She was clearly distraught over the man.”

And that revelation nearly made Ciel the same level of ill that he felt when he stared into Amelia Dyer’s dead eyes. When he realized that the girl he knew as Princess Marie was a killer set to make him his next target.

Only now, he realized that perhaps…this killer might have been better than he was.

After all, Ciel dispelled evils that worried Her Majesty. Y/n worked to dispel evils that caused direct harm to the underrepresented- a pair of factory workers from Birmingham. For less than half the sum of her pay! Ciel took generous compensation from the Queen, no matter how insistently he told her he required no payment for her bidding.

Y/n was correct to say it didn’t take a lot of thinking to understand why someone might wish Ciel dead.

In truth, she was better than him.

. . .

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xandyuna · 10 months

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When Poets Dream

she grew out of the shell and witnessed life filled with chaos and clashing claws. like every eldest she remained at that cottage, unlike her younger sister never had the guts to went back and lived with their parents. the toxic tradition infuriated her, from the two generations before her. she had fun manipulating fantasy at her own dimension because she's trapped with the reality. the instructor gave an impromptu speech topic which is “if you could choose one item inside your backpack to compare on the steps or progress on how to achieve your dreams, what would it be?” she's that one girl on the first chair, first row. she shyly stood up, casually held a pen, never knew what to wanted to say. all eyes were on her, imagined they knew about what she gonna say “she writes, of course, it's a pen!” after little tiny deep breaths, she was given a two minutes to speak, no preparations. for her, the pen's purpose was to squirt ink until it can't anymore. as a dreamer, to achieve her high dreams was to keep going until you're last breath. she can't lose in this game, her every tries has own worth. after elaborating it more she stopped, even she still had a minute left, the girl decided to sat down because she had nothing more to say. unimpressed she watched every person stood in front doing speeches; some were clueless, some were off the topic, some bring lots of items, until this one girl at the back on the last chair on the left side. this girl in front had been always her support system on every group activities they were teamed up, a bubbly, expressive, and a sunshine. they aren't friends but they got closer. she didn't make the cut at first try since she bursted into tears and at the second try with wet eyes she spoke. “I bought charger because to achieve dreams one should muster lots of determination and strength. Like how this charger, make phone function, my family, my friends, my boyfriend kept me inspired to achieve my dreams. especially my family, I love them so much and as their first born I wanted to achieve these dreams so we all could move forward to a better future.” she talked much more and joked around which made the class happy. but her, she was stucked by her not-so-called friend's first sentences. why exactly she is dreaming? for who? and for what? all these and that lingered on her thoughts. she was programmed to do things so others wouldn't belittle her by all those cruel people labelled as her family. they are waiting for her to mess up and her father's ego is at sake whether she makes it or not. it's all on her dreams, was it really hers? back in the days she used to love her youth because she had the different angle of it when she hung out with few friends but the enjoyment just ends there. writing is a wild coping mechanism she was so fond of, finding peace on a shattered art was the proudest thing she ever invented to heal herself. She Doesn't Have A Dream, She Just Want To Get This Over With.

#joy #red velvet #prose poetry #kwakfltrs #solemngrace #Spotify #CUPIDARTS

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feathered-serpents · 1 year

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I had an extremely dramatic Succession based dream the other night that I gotta write the summary of so it'll get out of my head. I'm warning you now: This does contain mentions of miscarriage (thanks brain)

The whole thing was that Shiv and Tom had decided to renew their vows, and Tom had taken full control of the whole thing. Shiv was just going along with it, humoring him, humoring everything, it was very unclear whether or not she was going to actually go through with it. I vaguely remember (probably) Roman making a lot of deeply unfunny runaway bride jokes. Very Succession

But the day comes and Shiv does show up. She talks to Tom and Tom says how this time they're gonna "do it right." The wedding will go perfectly. No exes are invited. She's not gonna ask him for an open marriage at the end. They're gonna "do it right." Shiv still hasn't told him she's pregnant btw, and she doesn't then either

So Shiv goes to her dressing room and she's in there alone and puts on her wedding dress by herself. It's the same dress she wore before, a big long, very white dress. She's having some trouble getting on because, pregnant, but eventually she manages it. She's wearing the dress, looking at herself in the mirror, very obviously on the verge of tears.

And then she just starts bleeding

There's a moment where there's a little stain on the skirt of the dress that starts to turn more and more red and it just grows and grows and grows until it's going down the whole front of the skirt. Pristine white dress, covered in blood.

Shiv panics. She stumbles over to her dressing room door and locks it. She clearly doesn't know what to do. Her hand is on her stomach. She's in clear pain. Sobbing. But after a while, the panic in her eyes settles, finally she just sits against the door and. Waits

Finally, Kendall, Roman, and Tom notice it's time to start and Shiv is nowhere to be found. Kendall's annoyed, Roman thinks it's funny, Tom is angry. All three of them (mostly Tom with the brothers following him) go down to Shiv's room. Tom tries the doorknob and it's locked, so he starts to bang on the door. Then tries to talk to Shiv, but is doing so very condescendingly. He asks the brothers to "help" and they join in. They all comment on how the day is already about her and she doesn't need to do this. She's had her moment. Say what she wants, it doesn't have to be this serious

Finally, Tom has enough and just breaks the door in (somehow. man would not be strong enough to do that but this is a dream) and finally, they find her, curled up at the base of the door covered in blood. She's not conscious, she's not moving. She's just there

They panic, obviously, Tom gets on the phone and calls 911, the dispatcher asks what's going on but they don't know. They don't even know where she's bleeding from. They don't know what to do.

While Tom is on the phone, Kendall and Roman, still not knowing why she's bleeding, now try to wake her up. They start off just shouting, but after a while start to say things they think will get her attention "You were dad's favorite." "You're why we got anything done" "You're my sister. I love you"

Finally, Kendall says, "You can have it. Just wake up and you can have it."

She does not wake up.

The EMS gets there and puts her on a gurney and wheels her away. Tom goes with them, but Ken and Roman still stand there in her dressing room. Covered in their sister's blood. Roman starts to walk around. He finds her wedding ring on the dresser, she hadn't put it on, so he puts it on his bloody pinky. He finds a bottle of undoubtedly $5000 of perfume, sprays it once in the air, and then takes off the topper and pours the liquid on the carpet.

Finally, Roman just looks at Kendall and says "What did we do, man? What did we do..."

And then I woke up

So goddamn subconscious. That was a lot

#succession #hbo succession #pregnancy tw #miscarrage tw #pregnancy loss tw

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aria0fgold · 2 years

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Small break intermission from writing cuz im also bored. So have some fun facts i thought about my aus instead!

Re:Painting AU was first known as Painting AU until I made another AU with a similar premise, it was only meant to feature Hero until I decided to add Kel and Aubrey. I was supposed to write this for my 3rd fic but I didn’t know what else to do with the plot now that I added Kel and Aubrey so it’s just been waiting in the back.

I have 2 scrapped android omori aus because I have no idea what to do with them storywise. The first android au was set post-true ending and was meant to feature adult Sunny who created an android version of his old friend Omori. Strangely, the android seemed to have gained sentience and even some memories of Headspace, it’s very incomplete which made android omori feel as though he was abandoned so he’s quite the troublemaker (he doesnt remember certain events such as the fight) and so Sunny asked his friends to help him take care of one rebellious android.

the second android au was inspired by this video’s opening scene, my brain immediately thinking of a storyline before the song even started (the song tells a story in three parts. Two breaths walking, android girl, and two breaths walking [reloaded]) its a love song with a pretty neat story. In this au, androids are in production in the city but none are a success, Sunny’s dad has a friend that did manage to create a proper prototype and she owes the Saezawa for helping her with funds so she wanted to create the prototype in the image they want. The dad told her to use Sunny’s appearance (evil intention behind it, he wanted to have a son that’s perfect unlike Sunny that he sees as a disappointment.)

Sunny named Omori and they’re best friends until his parents started giving Omori the attention Sunny had been wanting and he grew jealous and started pushing Omori away. Argument in the stairs still happen but the one that took that blame is Omori instead so he was sent away. The story for this is meant to start 4 years into the present (Sunny at 16 basically)

This also has two violins (one for Sunny and one for Omori because the dad sees Omori as Sunny’s replacement so even with a violin broken, Sunny still managed to use one) This AU was also meant as Patch’s origin story (The woman that made the android is his mom, her name is Enmei.)

I have another AU that was meant to be a short story titled “It’s a small world after all.“ Featuring Omori as a runaway orphan (au was inspired by how some people gets to meet someone else that looks exactly like them!) It’s a found family trope (it’s my favourite trope pls it makes me melt so much) But well, it got scrapped cuz I don’t know what to do with it.

#aria rants #omori au #ariau funfact jumpscare!#ngl i only remember bout the last one #when going through my notebook and saw its draft

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mayhemproduces · 2 months

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Joshua Bishop (c) vs Tom Lawlor- MPW World Championship

Throughout MPW history so far, Tom Lawlor and Joshua Bishop have already faced off a handful of times, with the men having almost an even record against one another. These two former MPW Atlas Champions, former AIW Absolute Champions, are no strangers to one another, and we’re ready to write the next chapter of their rivalry here tonight, this time for the MPW World TItle!

The two men began to circle one another, before locking up in a collar and elbow tie up. Bishop quickly got the advantage and pulled Lawlor into a headlock, which Lawlor quickly got out of by sending Bishop off the ropes. Bishop came back and knocked Lawlor down with a shoulder tackle, being the larger of the two men, one would assume he would have the power advantage in this one. Bishop waited for Tom Lawlor to get back up again, and ran off the ropes, looking for another shoulder block, but Lawlor dropped down, and Bishop hit the ropes again, this time on the rebound Tom tried to leapfrog Bishop, but Bishop stopped short before he could, before attempting to throw a clothesline, which Lawlor ducked, before Lawlor ran off the ropes, and caught and dropped Bishop with a shoulder block! We were all even here in the early going!

Lawlor ran off the ropes again, and this time it’s Bishop who drops down, mirroring what Lawlor did before. Lawlor stepped over and on the rebound, just like how Lawlor had done, Bishop tried to leapfrog, but rather than stop short, Tom caught Bishop in midair, before driving him to the mat with a powerslam! Bishop got up clutching his back, and Tom hit the ropes again, before charging Bishop and sending him over the top rope and to the outside with a clothesline! Lawlor didn’t stop his momentum, hitting the ropes again all without stopping, and dove underneath the middle rope, taking Bishop out with a low suicide dive to the outside! Tom Lawlor launched himself like a missile and took Bishop right into the guardrail! Lawlor was quick to get back to his feet, and grabbed Bishop by the hair, pulling him back up as well, before leaning him against the steel guardrail. “You asked for this, kid.” Lawlor taunted, before blasting Bishop with a chop to the chest, putting so much force behind it that he nearly knocked Bishop back over the guardrail and into the laps of our fans! Tom Lawlor went to try and climb over the guardrail, but Wes Barkley comes up from behind and tries to grab Tom. Tom spins around and catches Wes with a couple of right hands, dropping Maserati Wes!

Tom turned back to Bishop, but the momentary distraction cost him, as Bishop had recovered and blasted Lawlor with a chop to the chest of his own! Tom fired back with another chop, and Bishop answered back in earnest, and now we had these two men trading chops on the outside! The chop fest continued until Lawlor decided to break it up with a headbutt, sending Bishop stumbling backwards. Tom then grabbed Bishop and whipped him right into the steel guardrail again, Bishop’s spine connecting right with the solid steel bars!

Tom walked over and gave Bishop another chop to the chest, before telling all of the fans sitting behind where Bishop was right now that they’re going to want to move. All of them made the smart choice and grabbed their shit, moving out of the way, before Lawlor began to back up, giving the ring apron a few rhythmic pounds to work the crowd up into a clap, before raising his arm in the air, measuring Bishop….

Tom gave his fist two pumps before charging at Bishop, looking for a Runaway Train Clothesline, trying to send Bishop over the rail with it, but Bishop managed to instead turn it into a backdrop, sending Tom Lawlor over the guardrail, and crashing and burning onto the chairs sitting at ringside! Tom may have just had his entire spinal column rearranged! Joshua Bishop gets back up, and drags Tom Lawlor back into the ring, before Bishop got back into the ring himself, and took a moment to stretch out and crack his neck before going after Lawlor again. However, when he tried to pick Tom back up, Tom suddenly came to life and slipped behind Bishop, before tossing Bishop overhead with a release German Suplex! Bishop folded over and rolled to the corner, where Wes hopped on the apron and helped Bishop get back to his feet. Lawlor charged Bishop again, but Bishop got the boot up and Tom ran right into it. Tom stumbled away, and Bishop grabbed Tom, before tossing Tom overhead with a release Belly to Belly suplex! The strength of the Intense Icon was unreal! Bishop hooks the leg!

1….2… Kickout!

Tom Lawlor out at two. Bishop tries to get Lawlor back to his feet, but Tom Lawlor answers by peppering Josh Bishop with a couple of chops to the chest. Bishop answers with a chop of his own, and Tom actually walks to the corner, and lets out a very visible “OW!” in response to that chop. Bishop catches Tom with an axe handle to the back, causing Tom’s knees to buckle, but Tom turns around and catches Bishop with a boot to the gut to get Bishop to back up. Tom grabs a handful of Bishop’s hair and slams it into the turnbuckle, causing Bishop to stumble back into the ropes. Tom tries to go after him, but Bishop catches Tom with a boot to the gut. He follows it up with an elbow to the back of the neck, dropping Tom to his knees! Bishop tries to pick Tom back up, but Tom responds with two stiff forearms, before Bishop tries to send Tom into the ropes, but on the rebound Tom manages to spin and drop Joshua Bishop with a Rolling Elbow, taking the champ down and knocking him out of the ring! Tom hits the ropes as Bishop gets back up, and takes Bishop out on the outside with a Suicide Dive! Tom Lawlor has the Atlas Champion reeling!

Tom grabs Bishop and rolls him back into the ring, before trying to pick the massive Atlas Champion up for what looks like a Doctor Bomb, but Tom can’t even get Bishop up off his feet! Perhaps an ill-advised attempt as Tom grabs at his back, perhaps having strained something in his attempt at lifting Josh Bishop. Bishop grabs Tom around the waist, but Tom drops down and rolls Bishop forward into a surprise pin!

1….2… Kickout!

Bishop out at two! He almost just lost the Atlas Championship again! The crafty veteran Lawlor pulling out all the stops tonight! Bishop gets up to a knee, only to be blasted by several forearm shots by Tom, before Tom mimes shooting a pistol at Bishop, before spinning for another Rolling Elbow, only to spin around and get BLASTED by a Pump Kick from Joshua Bishop! Tom might have just gotten knocked out!

Bishop falls into the ropes and takes a few seconds to compose himself here, as Tom still hasn’t moved. Bishop goes over to retrieve Tom, stomping on him as he does. Bishop forces Tom into the corner, before nailing him with a back elbow, and then a stiff right, before Biel Throwing Tom all the way across the ring! The air time Tom got on that was astonishing! Tom tries using the ropes to help himself up, but Bishop comes over and uses his knee to choke Tom with the ropes. As Carr pulls Bishop off and reprimands him for this. Bishop comes back over and catches Tom with a boot to the gut, and then a knee lift to the gut as well, sending Tom stumbling into an adjacent corner, just trying to get away from Josh Bishop’s onslaught. Bishop walks over and peppers Tom with a right hand, and then a chop to the chest, but Tom answers back with a forearm of his own! Bishop stumbles back but kicks Tom back into the corner, before nailing Tom with an elbow over the top of the neck, once again dropping Tom! Bishop signals to Wes to throw him a door, that he’s gonna “Put the old man down”, and Wes Barkley goes under the ring, looking for a door. He produces one, and Josh Bishop sets it up in the corner, before picking Tom up, looking for a Choke Toss Suplex, but as Bishop goes to lift Tom, Tom catches The Intense Icon right on the nose with an elbow shot! Tom quickly rolled through, and rolled Bishop up, but before referee Tom Dunn could drop down to register a count, Tom pushed Bishop through the pin, and quickly grabbed him, going for that powerbomb again! Bishop this time managed to counter with a backdrop, before grabbing Tom Lawlor in a fireman’s carry, charging the door and looking to put Tom through it with a Death Valley Driver, but Tom managed to slip off of Bishop’s shoulders! Bishop turned and tried to catch Tom with a clothesline, but Tom Lawlor ducked it, slipped behind Bishop, before tossing Bishop right through the door with a Release German Suplex! The door exploded in two as Bishop’s head and neck were driven right through the door!

Tom Lawlor got back up to his feet and grabbed the other door, only to turn around and release that Bishop was already up on his feet! Bishop was already up after being suplexed through a door! Tom swung the door at Bishop and caught him in the head, causing Bishop to stumble back into the corner, and for there to be a hole the size of Bishop’s skull in the door. Tom propped the door against the opposite corner and turned around, only for Bishop to launch himself at Tom Lawlor and drive him through the door with a Spear!

Both men struggled to get back to their feet, and Tom Lawlor had to resort to rolling out onto the apron. Bishop followed him out there, and the two men used the ropes to help themselves back to their feet. Bishop caught Tom Lawlor with a chop to the chest, before trying to lift him up for a Death Valley Driver, but Tom managed to escape it, catching Bishop with a chop of his own, before attempting to drop Bishop with a Piledriver on the apron, which Bishop managed to block. Bishop tried to lift Tom up into the Death Valley again, but once again Tom slipped off his shoulders, and back into the ring. Bishop turned around, only to be caught by a Rolling Elbow from Lawlor, knocking Bishop off the apron and right into the guardrail! Tom Lawlor hit the ropes, going for the low suicide dive again, but this time Bishop moved out of the way, and Tom crashed and burned into the guardrail! Tom might have gone into the steel head first!

Bishop grabbed Tom and quickly tossed him back into the ring, looking to seize the opportunity! Bishop gets back up, and looks to put Tom away, trying to set up the Bishop Bomb, but Tom manages to wiggle off of Josh’s shoulders! Tom waits for Bishop to turn around, before stunning Bishop with a forearm, before Tom turns and hits the ropes, looking for a Lariat, but on the rebound, Bishop catches Lawlor, spins him, and PLANTS Tom into the mat with a Black Hole Slam! Josh Bishop quickly gets back to his feet, and brings Tom Lawlor up with him, lifting Tom Lawlor high up into the air, before putting him down with a Bishop Bomb! Bishop folds Tom Lawlor up, good night BONEJOB!

1….2….3!

“Here is your winner, and STILL MPW World Champion, Joshua Bishop!”

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