#cannot believe this is real. and yet. damn

[laurrelise]

once again rambling about five and lila because i’m fucking pissed. enjoy

“five and lila were perfect for each other because they had so much in common” yet so many perfect couples have absolutely nothing in common???

they could relate to each other in ways that made them hate each other and that’s why they were SUCH good foil characters, i don’t understand why the romance had to be necessary.

there is absolutely no reason that this romance plotline should’ve been created. it was so ridiculously off-focus from what the plot was (AND should have been) and it literally only made the season so much worse.

do writers understand that not every single character has to fall in love with one another? i mean genuinely?

personally i don’t believe five is aro (though he could be ace) because i can’t help but love five’s love for delores (even if she wasn’t real) but i completely understand five aroace truthers because he truly can be independent romantically as we saw in the show.

i cannot wrap my fucking head around the fact that the writers saw two awesome, dynamic, badass characters with arcs and goals outside of love and attention and decided to turn their personalities inside out and upside down for a dumbass dead-end romance that makes zero sense.

five and lila were the only two people on god’s green earth who could understand each other and hated the other for it. why couldn’t they just be frenemies and call it a day?

god fucking damn it i’m so upset

shoutout to 13 year old 58 year old five hating lila and 29 year old lila despising the fuck out of little five !!! <3

fuck you to the worst, most nonsensical couple of all time and space ❌❌

[vero-niche]

canon bi rep?????? in MY anime???????????

[peppermint-whiskers]

Oh shit I just realized that Sir Pen is gonna learn that Alastor sold his soul. Cause I'm assuming that people who sold their souls look different then those who didn't. THAT'S gonna be a reaction. Or he's gonna assume "Eh, it's Al. Maybe that's just what it looks like normally."

How dare you look at my mental notes-

I imagine he'd be too scared to look at Alastor's soul at first because "what if he can tell I'm looking at his soul?? 😭😭"

And then he gets the balls to do it and just goes "HOLY SHIT YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL??" because y e a h, sold souls look quite distinct compared to souls who still belong to their mortal bodies! the chains may look different but they are still there nonetheless

Rip penne, you were a real one pfffff-

[anantaru]

WORKING OVERTIME — WRIOTHESLEY

synopsis. fucking your boss is not to be taken serious, correct?

cw. boss! wriothesley x employee! reader, slight mention of power imbalance, office sex, fem! reader

this is no serious matter. snap out of it.

this is sex, nothing more and nothing less. you can view it as releasing stored steam with your, well, boss.

wriothesley wasn't always the kindest boss to you, for whatever reason you might add. he could be severely strict and serious and couldn't stop pointing out mistakes, especially yours.

come a little closer now because there's a rumor going around— but some believe he does it on purpose to you, only when it's you and it doesn't matter how good you finish your tasks, he's very much aware of the fact that it gets you going.

it riles you up and makes you wet whenever he's rough with you.

alas, no matter his searing kisses that brand into your skin and practically scream you're mine, the candid words of endearment that drop from his lips like sticky honey on ones hands, the heavy look in his eyes whenever he exhales from his mouth upon pushing inside, admiring your face and calling you beautiful in his mind, this moment means nothing at all.

it's not real. it cannot happen.

it's sex, that's what it was, good fucking sex.

once, twice, thrice, endless— each thrust hits your nerves and spill everywhere, your bare breasts long since shown to him as his balls repeatedly smack against your ass. he's vicious— a duke in charge of everything and he breathes so heavenly when you squeeze around his shaft and let him feel for a moment, let him forget his duties just for once.

one warm palm twists around your breast and tugs on your nipple hard— call it a silent reminder, an aggressive prompting of why the duke was your boss and that you're under him.

in every way imaginable.

another reason as to why he didn't find it necessary to discard of his clothes other than hastily tugging his pants down to his knees, fully dressed while you're all naked for him to indulge in.

this is why he's in control and you aren't. remember your place.

a delicious roll of hips bounces your breasts up and down as your legs tighten around his waist, his leaky tip nudging deep against your sweetest spot with sweat making itself visible at his chiseled chest as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts until you cry out in heavenly screams, pathetic cries and fuck, how good it felt to be practically tossed back and forth against a desk, impaled by a thick cock like his.

no matter which words you'd attempt to use to describe your filthy sounds, be it wailing or screaming and even whining out his name, wriothesley makes it sure to add a hidden promise between every single thrust that he'll make you cum even better than last time, and he's allowed to cum inside, correct?

hey, but again, this is nothing. nothing at all.

a galvanizing memory, call it a photograph or a printed picture prettily put in a golden frame, a delicious scene that the duke will take and put inside the most important parts in his brain, so he'll never forget and can always use such memories to make himself feel good whenever you aren't there.

until he never searches for those fantasies again, until he's fucked you out of his system and the creaks of the wooden desk screeching against the cold floor would cease to exist.

wriothesley leans against your body shaking on top of the cold desk, a distant roughness towering on top of his voice as you cry out one more wail of his name, the sticky feeling of his chest pressing against you being the least of your worries as he attempts to kiss you when you messily lick across his jaw instead, bypassing the kiss wriothesley wanted, no, needed to give you.

no kisses allowed, that was the deal, right? yet he still tries it. every damn time.

this is nothing. it's a helping hand for when either of you was too frustrated to concentrate on work, a willing hand and a willing cock, a hidden favour from employer to employee.

it's nothing with an explanation required, nothing that needs a specific name nor was it important enough to be called anything at all, because while you sure knew what it was, he knows what it's not.

you see, wriothesley wants more, he wants this. he wants you.

not only your addicting cunt sucking him in but he wants you to kiss him just kiss me already damn just do it please.

just once.

he drags his teeth against his bottom lip in agony and jerks his hips further into your squishy cunt, grunting at the throbs and shocks of arousal tensing from your walls and branding into his aching shaft.

but don't forget wriothesley was in control.

wait, was he? he won't risk it. he knows he can't. you're his employee.

because he knows it's not serious. he knows he's not that weak to fall for someone.

he cannot start having a crush on you, in fact, it was only possible to start from the beginning and not when you're already heads over heels for somebody— at last, breaching the line of a healthy work relationship between boss and employee.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[bipercykin]

new year’s resolution: stop drinking altogether bc the anxiety is too awful to just put up w any time i want to drink rip to myself i am not built different i am built frail and tiny

[hkthatgffan]

I really did not wanna talk about this stupid topic, but with so many people falling for it, I figured I should; THE DIRECT ARTICLE ABOUT A GRAVITY FALLS REVIVAL IS A FUCKING LIE!! Lemme explain below why!!

Ever since this article by The Direct was published, way too many people are thinking Gravity Falls is really coming back and the usual season 3 belief is spreading yet again. And of course, YouTubers who should know better made videos on it and other "journalists" are spreading this lie. Here's the real facts! The executive in the article NEVER alluded to a revival. All they said is that Alex is publishing a book (The Book of Bill) and there's some shorts being made. All this article is basing its claim on is the phrase, "Never say Never!" Alex has had a deal with Netflix since 2018. Under that deal, he cannot make new cartoons for other networks, including Disney and Gravity Falls. He can voice on non Netflix shows and help in small ways like he did on TOH, but he cannot make a new show outside Netflix.

The shorts they are alluding to are confirmed to be likely stuff like the Broken Karaoke series on Disney Channel's YouTube page or theme song takeover stuff. Disney TVA News, while not 100% the most reliable source, has suggested that as the case and given Alex was at DTVA in April recording something per an Instagram story he made, it makes the most sense. What's more, there is a rumoured short being made for The Book of Bill which this could be meaning. Notice how it has no indication of a revival? Alex Hirsch has said he has ideas for GF stories, but they are more book centric. Heck, in me and Hana's interview alone he alluded to Stan and Ford stories he'd wanna do if given the chance to make another graphic novel. That is all!

And speaking of Alex…he's not said shit on this! He's not tweeted about it or liked any tweet about it. And Alex has said in the past to not believe anyone claiming Gravity Falls is coming back unless he says so himself on Twitter. So, take a guess what I did? I messaged him!! I was in talks with Alex recently for another video I'm making later in the future and asked him about this article during it. Without leaking our DM's, Alex said straight up, this article is all "just talk!" It's clickbait! Alex Hirsch confirmed it is clickbait!!

Direct is lying to you and so is anyone else saying this is real or that Gravity Falls is coming back! It just isn't. The only person who you should believe about this stuff is Alex Hirsch himself and he clearly has said it's not. And even supposing Direct is telling the truth about this executive saying something is possible, it's just gonna be book or small shorts stuff…NOT a season 3 or reboot, or revival or spin off series. I know that stuff is pretty popular to talk about, hell, I'd kill for a Gravity Falls prequel story myself. But it's not happening.

But with that said, I hope this post helped you better understand what is up. This article is a sham and a joke to the field of journalism. Do your damn job and tell the truth instead of making clickbait shit that will get you ad revenue! People who write articles like this are a joke and I feel bad for anyone who falls for their BS! These articles will never stop being made, so it's up to you all to be smart and not fall for them.

Remember, if Alex Hirsch doesn't say anything about it, it's not legit!!

Stay informed properly out there! New videos coming soon :)

[sunnami]

the marauders as. . . whatever these love languages are (ii).

“i’m so fucking tired, please god just let me rest for five minutes.”

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 sees a monster staring back at him in the mirror—you tell him that you see a kind, gentle soul deserving of all things beautiful. he wants to bury himself beneath the ground, where the earthworms burrow and the primroses bloom one day. the mornings after the full moon are always the hardest. a new scar to his growing collection and fresh blood spilt on his wretched hands. he is a monster and there is no better word to define him than that. so why do you burst into his room, much like the morning sun—without a care for the moon’s sorrow—and smile at him like you actually care?

he doesn’t believe you’re real—only a mirage sent by his darkest nightmares to torment him. yet, how can torture feel so delicate and forgiving? still, you insist on seeking him out despite knowing he is a cursed man. you see the bloodied tips of his fingers where claws have grown the night prior, the crimson smudges in the corner of his mouth, teeth stained with the lives of innocent creatures he’s taken. he is a killer, and yet you stay by his side.

don’t you see?

he’s trying to keep you safe by pushing you away. one day, you’ll tire of him just as he has grown weary of living in his own skin.

why do you look at him as though he cannot rip you apart, limb by limb, with just a flick of his hand?

“because you are remus lupin,” you say, a cruel whisper in his ear, holding his head close to your heart, and shouldering his burdens, aches, and pains. “i will be here when the sun rises, and i will be with you until the earth knows the taste of our existence, when the vines creep over our legs and arms, and until you understand that love is not strong enough to explain why my soul calls out to yours.”

ah, remus sees it now.

he needs you just as a canary needs their wings to fly. his tears soak the fabric of your shirt, and you hold him closer until he feels you—and only you. you are the reason his heart still endures, hammering inside his ribcage as though it knows you are nearby. his body is but ruined flesh—even so, if the gods think he is deserving to bear witness to the innocence in your eyes, then perhaps he is not so much of a monster as he thought.

please, he begs to all the deities listening, do not take this pure creature away from me.

he would never ask you to share the weight of his damned fate, but he grieves at the thought of losing you—for remus might know true death, then.

a/n: did i go overboard with this one? probably. . .

[celestie0]

MASSIVE gojo x reader fanfic rec (no spoilers)

ok i know a lot of my followers are gojo girlies and i just need to put yall onto this fucking fanfiction because i just read the latest release for it and i’m genuinely tweaking rn🧍🏻‍♀️

@lostfracturess ‘s amazing work called “symptoms & causes” - a medical au

[image pulled from her masterlist]

let me just…let me just try to even gather the reasons why you need to add this to your tbr lists (weekend is comin up too so perfect time)

characterization of gojo satoru.

gojo in this fic is characterized so fucking well, from chapter one. there are so many distinctive ways miss lostfractures goes about building his aura (word of mouth/reputation, dialogue, expository, primary interactions, secondary interactions, etc.) it reminds me of the show where gojo just has this energy to him that you can't tear yourself away from i picture him in this fic to be unrelenting, unforgiving, morally grey, with an undertone of softness yet still feral through it all,, basically gojo during shibuya arc LOL. i looove reading cute silly boy gojo fics sm (he’s so baby) but THIS fic explores the borderline wicked side of him that is so thrilling, unique, and rare to find i think in this fandom’s collection of works. it’s just so fucking good.

forbidden romance.

UGGHH i love stories w forbidden romance. in this one, it’s med student reader x professor gojo (additional power dynamics in that he’s a senior surgeon in her field and also a research mentor in her study of interest…TRIPLE THREAT DAMN). i love how miss lostfractures doesn’t shy away from reminding the reader that it’s wrong, and that they shouldn’t be doing this. that’s my fave part of forbidden romances like yesss remind me again why this is all so wrong but let’s still do it anyways LOL <333

reader’s voice.

i’ve LOVED reader since the beginning, so relatable, emotionally mature, all her flaws are so believable & her strengths are shown seamlessly. it’s just so much fun to read because i’ll literally have a thought like “hmm…that (something a character said/did) doesn’t sound very convincing” and then the next line will be something like “he didn’t sound very convincing” like!!! me and s&c reader?? we’re locked in like this fr🤞🏼 like gojo’s domain expansion fingers

escapism.

everything in this story feels so damn real it’s insane. the pacing is stunning, love the utilization of stacks of scenes that are sort of short but so concise, enough to be a smooth read but still descriptive enough to entirely transport you into the world that’s being built. cannot praise the writing in this story enough. also the variety of ways that scenarios are made that pull characters closer to one another?? so creative. as someone who works in a research lab, studied bio in college (some of the fkn biochem stuff that comes up in this fic gives me heart attacks lmfaooo pls im traumatized), and has worked in clinics/hospitals it just itches my brain so damn good. you’ll be convinced you’re a brilliant med student while you read this fic.

writing.

the writing is just. so. good. it’s so good. better than most PUBLISHED works i’ve read. i really can't say much other than that, you just have to go see for yourself.

—

if any of these reasons speak to you, i highly recommend you check the fic out. just a note tho it does have some dark themes but you can find all the tags/warnings on her page!

OK BYE

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Making the three vampire women into the "brides" of Dracula is a real downgrade from his wife and daughters. Jonathan believes that they likely followed Dracula into vampirism out of love. And yet Dracula scorns them, treats them like annoying pests to be sated, and even hurts them when they get between him and Jonathan. When Mina faces the women, she's not looking at her own fate should this fail....she's looking at Jonathan's, damned forever and chained to someone who cannot return that love.

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 9 * mv1

max finds out you'd gone to the club with alexandra, making him wonder if it’s really over when pictures of you and another man leak

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings:

notes: nah when i finish this, i WILL be milking the whole series because this is my only breakup outlet left like damN

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

max could not stop thinking of you all day - all week, in fact. ever since a rumour had started going around that he's moving on with another woman, he could only have imagined what it's like for you to see that.

it sucks because he'd just been doing nelson piquet a favour - bringing kelly into the paddocks for a race under his pass. but nothing more ever went down between them.

he could only think of how your hands go cold at the rumour and heart absolutely shattering. he admits that he thought of sending you a text that night, but cowered away at the fear of your rejection for his explanation. maybe you no longer cared about what he's doing with his life.

he knows that because you unfollowed him on instagram and every other social media platform alike. you have even taken it upon yourself to unfollow his private account, his profile riddled with pictures and memories of the two of you together that he has not had the courage to delete just yet.

the only reason that he is aware of your sudden decision to distance yourself from him after the breakup is when he was confused about the notable lack of you on his timeline. when he checked, you were just another account he is now a stranger to.

he believes it was brought about by the dating rumours. because he used to stalk you all the time.

all. the. time.

"max, mate," daniel's voice makes him lift his head, eyebrows raising as a response. daniel's lips carve into a smile before it quickly disappears without anyone else noticing. "i said do you wanna grab some drinks at the bar? charles is already there."

max hesitates. the urge to be alone in his hotel room is real; curling up in bed while he listened to his mellow playlist while he debates once more if he should reach out. but against his better judgement, he nods with a small smile on his face as he starts to follow behind the older man.

"so, how are you feeling?" daniel asks, turning to him with a polite smile as they walk. "better, hopefully?"

with a halfhearted smile, max shrugs. "a little."

"progress is still progress," daniel reassures him with a pat on his shoulder, "it will still get better from here. you know that."

max nods. but there's still a yearning for you that he can't explain or get over. while he can understand that time is needed apart from you, things are not seemingly going towards his favour, or at least the way he wants it to go.

his chances of getting back together with you are slim. he really wants to, but he cannot bear the thought you having to say goodbye to you a second time.

but if he had the chance to do it all over again with you, he’d try to change the course of time if it meant having you back in his arms.

he tries to get you off his mind by moving on to other topics of conversation. but all he can think about is how you could have been here, arm around his waist as you leaned into his body while giggling over something daniel said to you.

you should have been at parc ferme following every race finish with your arms opened wide, welcoming him in for a wide smile and a tight hug.

but you never are.

and it doesn't help that now he's at the bar, there's charles and alexandra exchanging loud conversation about an event she attended back home.

"oh yeah," alexandra laughs unknowingly as they approach, "she was wild that night! she took body tequila shots from this guy! and we'd just met him that night. it was insane."

daniel pops his head between the couple with a lazy smile on his face. "who took body shots from a random guy they met at the bar?"

alexandra whips her head around, locking eyes with max. she laughs nervously as charles puts his hand over her knee. "just my friend back home."

max looks at her knowingly, taking his seat in the opposite booth. "it's (y/n), isn't it?" he asks, looking at the menu. everyone falls silent as he scans the menu for something to drink, prompting him to look up, slightly annoyed. "else, why wouldn't you elaborate to daniel when he asked?"

"hey," charles says, exchanging a glance with alexandra next to him. he squeezes her hand and sits up, leaning towards max. "what's your problem?"

"nothing," max answers in the calmest tone he can find within himself, "it's just odd that she tried to cover it up when it's so obvious." he turns to daniel. "wasn't it?"

daniel stares at him, visibly gulping and then glancing at the couple that sits across them.

"i didn't know you were already here," alexandra explains, dropping her head low. "i would have stopped way earlier."

"why would you?" max smiles, albeit halfheartedly, then looks down at the menu again. "we've broken up, right? she can do what she wants - i'm not her problem anymore."

"right," alexandra nods, pressing her lips together and sinking into her seat. she gives daniel a small smile before taking a sip of her cocktail. "sorry."

"hey," charles says again, putting both hands on the table. "you fucked up. don't take it out on alex that you're upset (y/n) is no longer with you. weren't you the one who let her walk out?"

max looks up immediately, mouth agape as he tries to process the words that charles just spoke. it's true that max let you walk out, which is what hurt the most. and it's, in fact, unfair that he is being like this.

max just sighs. "you're right." he turns to alexandra. "i'm sorry, alex. i shouldn't have taken it out on you."

alexandra just smiles, nodding understandingly. "it's okay. breakups are hard, max. i shouldn't have been talking about it knowing you'd be here any second, anyway."

"okay," daniel finally speaks, hands held up between the three of them. "let's just have a peaceful dinner, alright? no more breakup talks - this is an enjoyable evening."

they murmur in agreement with a nod. but the tension is the air never lightens up, and neither does the churning in max's stomach which is increasingly getting harder to ignore.

there's something about the phone in max's pocket that's making him itch to check it.

so after they send their orders in, his friends immediately fall into a conversation and he fishes for his phone in his back pocket. there's only one notification.

one that told him he's justified for feeling sick.

don't react

they're just pictures

it's from victoria. he opens the message, received about 10 minutes ago when he left the paddocks with the older alpha tauri driver. he can almost imagine the pictures, even if victoria hadn't taken the liberty to curse him with the pleasure of seeing them.

so he opens instagram.

just as fate would have it, you're at the top of his timeline from some f1 gossip page that he had no idea he followed. in the first one, your face can be barely made out, crouched down as you step out of the backseat of a car with alexandra still in the car. but he recognises the dress - it's one that he got you a couple of years ago, after winning his first race with you as his girlfriend.

the sheer will you've got to be on a night out in a dress that he got you is something he has to give to you. that's absolutely one way to get back at him after the pictures of him and kelly.

something tells him it's about to get worse. and it does, because when he swipes to the next picture, it's you visibly looking intoxicated, he assumes from all the body shots you took. and his heart skips a beat in his chest as his mouth runs dry.

there it is, some guy holding the car door open for you. in the next, he's seen scooching in with you in that backseat.

"are you alright, mate?" charles' voice makes him look up as he drops his phone into his lap.

max takes a deep breath, unable to force a smile to his face. he just nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.

charles' stare on him lingers before he nods hesitantly and resumes the conversation with daniel. max's eyes shift to alexandra, now staring at her phone with parted lips.

she looks up, meeting his eyes with a worried stare.

max just shakes his head before she can say anything. he just leans back into the seat and folds his arms over his chest.

guess it's really over now between you.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever @lokigoeschoki @cherry-piee @telengraph

[katakaluptastrophy]

"I’ve already pretty much revealed that Alecto begins with the descent of Christ into Hades." - Tamsyn Muir

That's right...it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where Western liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Holy Saturday. So Jesus died on the cross on Good Friday. He rises from the dead on Easter Sunday. But what happened in between? His body lay in the tomb...but his spirit was otherwise preoccupied. Because on Holy Saturday, Jesus went to Hell.

But why would Jesus go to Hell? Because the resurrection was not just about saving the people who came after it - it was a bit more...wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.

To be a bit more specific, he didn't visit Hell Hell. The place Jesus visited isn't Hell in the sense of eternal punishment of the damned, but Hades or Sheol or the Underworld or Limbo - a place for those who were mostly good but lived before Jesus' resurrection had made salvation possible. So before his resurrection, Jesus went to make that salvation retroactive. Particularly, according to tradition, to major figures from the Old Testament, including Adam and Eve.

So Nona the Ninth ended with Harrow walking off into the River in search of theological truth. And Alecto the Ninth apparently begins with Harrow in Hell:

Alecto the Ninth, ACT ONE HARROW IN HELL CHAPTER 1 At a point in the slit she was carving through life, Harrowhark Nonagesimus woke to find herself lost in a dark wound. She had been walking when it had all gone black– any path ahead or behind was blotted out; now she was here.  - Tamsyn Muir reading at TorCon

This is riffing heavily on the beginning of Dante's Inferno:

"In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost." - Dante Alighieri, Inferno

But lots of people go to Hell. What's so special about Harrow going there? Because the traditional name in English for Jesus' chthonic salvation adventures on Holy Saturday is "the Harrowing of Hell." "Harrow" comes from an Old English word meaning to attack or despoil - a very martial way of expressing the idea of Jesus as the victor over sin and death.

Harrow ended NTN realising that she cannot trust John's account of metaphysics. That she needs to discover the reality for herself. The faith of the Nine Houses and John's own styling as god rests on the foundation of the Resurrection - John is the "ransomer of death, scourge of death, vindicator of death", his power is understood to be absolute: "Let the whole of everywhere entrust themselves to him. Let those across the river pledge beyond the tomb to the adept divine."

And yet even that prayer - "let those across the river..." - introduces doubt. Magnus jumps in to silence Abigail when she expresses her heretical belief in the River beyond, and Harrow herself scoffs that "it has been thousands of years since anybody bothered to believe in the River beyond." Abigail believes that John knows nothing about what exists beyond the River. And what about Hell? In HTN, Ulysses the First is described as "languishing in Hell" after his run-in with a Resurrection Beast. John himself describes the stoma as "the mouth to Hell", "a portal to a place I cannot touch - somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless."

In the Book of Revelation - the Bible's account of the end of the world - Jesus holds "the keys of death and Hell". John may have resurrected the dead, but he does not comprehend what is beyond it. Both the destination of the good, the River beyond to which the souls of little Isaac and Jean should have traveled lightly after their short and brutal lives, and the Hell that lies beneath the stoma are outside of his power. He is a few keys short of the full divine bunch. He can manipulate death, but he is not really its master.

And so Harrow walks off into the River to look for something or someone she can call god. Harrow, who shares a name with the defeat of death across time and space. Harrow, who is of the unbroken line of Anastasia. Anastasia was kind to Alecto, who like Eve is the mother of all and like Adam walked on the empty earth with god.

In Orthodox icons, the Harrowing of Hell is depicted with Jesus triumphant, leading Adam and Eve by the hand from their tombs. The traditional term for this image is an anastasis, the Greek term for resurrection. Adam and Eve, whose sin broke the intended shape of reality, are restored to wholeness with god.

How will Harrow answer her questions about god? What really is beyond the stoma and what would it mean to conquer it? What does it look like, metaphysically, to restore the world of The Locked Tomb to wholeness, and what will it cost?

[animeficsworld]

I Thought I Knew You

Warumono x Reader

Summary: You get kidnapped and soon you realize your kidnapper is someone you already know.

The day you were kidnapped you were told they were going to bring you to their boss.

But currently, he was off.

Apparently, even the big boss of an army had days off... who could have thought?

One of the mignons told you that you were being kept to study humans so they could easily destroy humanity.

You were a gift for their leader basically.

How rude these mignons were.

Even if they fed you well during the weekend, even if they kept you company and even brought you a TV, you wanted to go home and cuddle with your boyfriend.

He must be worried by now.

You met your boyfriend months ago at the ZOO. He seemed to be obsessed with the pandas and you started a conversation. 

And now, you were here, locked in a cage, watching TV while eating snacks.

It could be worse.

But then, Monday came around. The big scary boss was back.

And they brought you to him almost as soon as he came back.

As you were brought in with chains around you, you looked at the scary boss.

You decided to show no fear in the hope he would let you go.

"Sir! We've abducted a human to study them so we can easily destroy them!" one of the mignons said but you and the boss were both frozen as you looked at one another.

It was a silent two minutes before you spoke up.

"EH?!" was all you could manage.

You two were left alone, with you now sitting in a chair in front of his table.

You looked at him as he avoided eye contact.

"So, you were dating me so you could destroy humanity."

Damn. You went straight at it. No sugar coating.

"Not at all. You caught my attention and before I knew... I..." you knew he hardly ever talked about his feelings. 

But now you were very conflicted. 

"I love you." he said and your eyes snapped up at him. You could imagine how difficult it was for him to admit his feelings, let alone in a situation like this. "I'm sorry." was the next thing he said.

You almost didn't want to believe that he just said those things. But you could tell it was all true.

He was genuinely sorry.

"I will need some time to think." you ended up saying and soon, you were hope.

You wanted to sleep, you wanted this all to be just a bad dream, but sadly, it wasn't.

It was real, and you had to deal with this somehow.

One week passed, and you felt like you were put in turmoil.

Every time you thought you came up with a solution, you were right back at the drawing board, back at square one.

Because in all reality, your boyfriend was a villain who swore to destroy humans.

And yet, you loved him.

You loved him and his curly hair, you loved him and his panda obsession, you loved him and his overdramatization.

You loved him.

And he confessed his love to you.

Which would have baffled you, to begin with.

He sure showed his affections but he never spoke of them.

One Saturday, you finally decided to go over to his place and talk.

So, on your way you went.

You found him at home and soon, you sat on one and of his sofa while he sat on the other, avoiding your eyes.

"I have decided to leave humanity." you suddenly looked at him as he was watching the floor. "I have realized how I broke your heart, it was never my intention to meet you, never my intention to fall in love and to hurt you as a result. It just... happened. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to leave." you replied rather quickly. "I understand you never meant for all of this to happen but it did. You cannot just come into my life, make me fall in love with you and then leave! How is that fair?"

"I thought... you came to break up with me?"

"No, I wanted us to talk about this. But I didn't want to leave you. I was hoping, you would... take me with you when you have your plan..."

"You would... join me?"

"Yes."

You made your decision, was it a bad one? Possibly. But you didn't care, you saw him with his hair pulled back, everyone scared of him, a true villain, and you lost right then and there.

"Would you truly?" he asked and you nodded and smiled.

For the first time ever, you saw his smile.

You saw him smile and you knew you would never be able to let go of him. Whether he is a villain or not.

You soon moved over to him and allowed him to hug you.

"My Queen." he whispered into your ear as you let out a long sigh of relief.

You made the best decision. 

[thera-daydreams]

SCARLET & SHADOW

ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ

[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]

Warning: This will be very canon-divergent, considering that it will be a fix-it fic for the Darkling's story. Will contain elements of violence, manipulation, and gore present in the series. Plus, mentions of depression, trauma, regret (as W. Maximoff) and the inclusion of possible adult themes in the later chapters.

Majority of this will also be based on the Netflix show since I haven't read the entire books yet. There may be inaccuracies and a whole lot of changes. You have been warned!

Otherwise, proceed and enjoy! ♟️🌹

(Sidenote: So... okay. I'm deciding to write this and make it a formal fanfic—as per previous post one and post two—because I seriously cannot sleep with the overwhelming inspiration I'm getting from shipping these two characters. Aleksander and Wanda are practically the same person in different fonts. They both did shitty, selfish things but I need to give them a happy ending. Together. Somehow. And hate it or love it, I firmly believe this idea should be shared to the world. If you know my other JJK fic, you'll know Wanda is an obsession of mine. Also, also, also! Please bear with me if updates are scarce. I'm juggling my academic review, work, another unfinished fic, and my daily fangirling. 🥹)

1. once upon a dream

Aleksander had dreams of you long before he even knew you. Maybe it was the stress of this neverending war. Either way, you weren't real anyway... were you?

(3.9k words)

2. coincidence

The Black General finds himself magnetized by the seemingly inconspicuous gardener in the Little Palace. He gets to know you, contemplating life. Just when he thought you were just a strangely wise, young otkazat'sya woman, he finds out why exactly you decided to work in the Little Palace.

(2.5k words)

3. reflection

You are confronted by a certain Shadow Summoner about your motives in bringing the kids to the Little Palace. He realizes that you've loved and lost so deeply, eerily the same as he had. Perhaps that's the reason why he was so drawn to you; he could see his reflection in your eyes. But the more answers the Darkling got, the more questions he had. Unfortunately for you, Aleksander was a patient and persistent man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

(4.8k words)

4. haunted

You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.

(6.0k words)

5. ?

(tba)

... more chapters?

Synopsis:

"No more magic." You swore to yourself after the madness that you'd spiraled into; the chaos you'd wrecked upon the Multiverse under the influence of the Darkhold. Now, you had destroyed the Darkhold in every universe.

The last universe that had a Darkhold? Safe. Book of the Damned, gone. It was a land with no heroes, gods, or sorcerers... just... normal people and... Grisha? Either way, it was time for your atonement. Your repentance for your mortal sins.

But when you save and bring three orphaned Grisha children to the Little Palace, working as an otkazat'sya gardener to secretly keep an eye on them, it turns out that a certain Shadow Summoner begins to have his eye on you, instead.

taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird @pearlstiare

[aetherghouls]

I personally believe that Simon's gods awful father would use religious guilt and religion in general against young Simon.

The same man that doesn't care for any god, that breaks all the commandments and laughs at Simon for even believing; he'd absolutely weaponize the very religion Simon's mother, Tommy and himself use as an escape.

It's not like Simon has ever been very religious in the first place, but their local church was a respite from his father and it was something. His mother had been taking him and Tommy there every week, sometimes more often, because it was the only real place where they could be a family without him.

Don't get me wrong though, Simon as a child? He absolutely did believe, he prayed every damn day, begging God to save them, so they wouldn't have to suffer by his father's hand any longer, because they all did. Their life was a living hell and gods, did they suffer.

The older Simon gets, though? The longer his father uses his own religion against him and his family? The longer he says things along the lines of "what would your god say, kid? Disobeying your father? You listen to me and do as I say, isn't that what your God would want from you? Isn't that what they preach in this church of yours?"

It's either threatening the rest of the family because Simon is the oldest child and he feels protective over the rest of them or using the church against him. Two ways to get him to obey and don't say a fucking word, because Simon wants to be a good son for his mother, he doesn't want to be like his father and he needs to protect them.

Because other than fear, this man had nothing to hold Simon by. He is Simon's father by blood, but nothing else and Simon Riley had known that since he was old enough to comprehend what was going on around him.

So the older Simon gets, the more he just cannot stand anything about the religion because why is it constructed in a way that allows abusers to use it against their victims? And why doesn't God hear them out? He has been praying every single day, begging for it to get better, for a life that isn't just a constant suffering, yet it never comes.

Why does a god who's supposed to love His creations just leaves them to suffer this fate?

By the time he joins the army, he is not a believer anymore.

He prays one more time in his life though, the day when he tries to get back to his home before them, to make sure his family is safe. He hadn't prayed even once when he was in Mexico, when Roba had him, never did pray for his own salvation after he stopped praying for his father to be gone. But them? His brother, sister in law, nephew and mother? He prays for them to be fine, because that's the only and last thing he cares about in this world, even his own life doesn't hold any meaning anymore. He's here to make sure they are safe.

And God fails him one last time that day, for Simon Riley never has a real reason to turn to Him ever again.

Because he doesn't trust that God could keep Johnny safe, because all God did so far was disappoint him, fail him and those he loved.

And to be fair, he's afraid. That if he even thinks about praying ever again, he will lose Johnny too, the same way he lost his family; because the catholic God is cruel.

Also catholic guilt this catholic guilt that, Simon never feels guilty for killing, not in the way catholic guilt eats away at someone; God doesn't care about any suffering, so He cannot care if people kill one another, that's not where the catholic guilt comes in

It's Johnny. It's always Johnny.

Because for the first days, weeks, months, it feels wrong.

It had with any other man ever before that, but it's always passed with them. A temptation that didn't last for too long, the priest's and his father's words ringing in his ears whenever he even considered anything like that. But John MacTavish? It doesn't pass. It's always present, God, it gets stronger every fucking day he has to work with Johnny, so when they are in Las Almas and Graves betrays them, while he doesn't know where and how Johnny is? Before they meet up again? Simon has enough time waiting to realise that it's not just an infatuation that can pass as soon as it comes, because he's in love and he doesn't know what to do, because the wave of guilt that overcomes him, guilt caused by the very God who took away everything from him, it's nauseating, makes him feel small in a way nothing has since he got out from his father's claws. He has to take a moment to just breathe and pull himself back together, otherwise he would fail; fail the mission, himself, Price, Los Vaqueros, but most importantly, he'd fail Johnny.

And that, he cannot allow himself to do.

hello hello I am heavily projecting my own religious trauma onto Simon Riley in this one 🫶

as if bro didn't have enough trauma of his own lmao. Please don't eat me it came to me in a dream last night (not really in a dream) and after I made my friends suffer I came to a conclusion that I need to make more people suffer 🫡 bye

also I may or may not be cooking the other side of this for Soap haha (aka how I personally think Johnny sees religion)

[kisses4kaia]

‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON… .ᐟ

synopsis—you visit your hometown for the holidays and the man who’s smile you’ve been missing has been missing you, too.

pairing—highschoolsweetheart!billy x reader

a/n—merry christmas !! happy holidays !! plz enjoy this rushed christmas special with our favorite cowboy. ❤️

—

“NO FUCKING WAY,” are the first words you’re met with as billy wearily opens the door you pounded on just moments ago. his expression, once groggy and obviously sleep-ridden, now wide awake at the sight of you.

“well, are you going to let me in, cowboy, or are you gonna leave me out here in the snow?” you tease, nose a dusty shade of maroon, bitten with the brutal winters cold, and billy cannot believe his eyes.

he picks his jaw up and nods quickly, opening the door wider for you and rendering himself speechless.

he never thought he would see you again, not after you moved to california to pursue your dreams of becoming a writer. he’d reckoned you would’ve been married by now, had children of your own. children you and billy had planned to have two of. a boy and a girl, a quiet life—and save for scarce letter from time to time, he had no idea how or where you were, and frankly, you were on his mind all the time.

“how? when? why?” billy’s eyebrows are furrowed as he watches you shrug off your heavy winters coat from your shoulders and hang it onto the old coat rack.

nothings changed in his house from since when you were an adolescent, save for the tattered couch that was once pushed against the wall now sitting in the middle of the room, facing the kitchen. other than that, the small, yet cozy, cottage felt like a time capsule—your memories from oh, so long ago suddenly feel like a decade hasn’t passed. like if you’d stayed, the world wouldn’t stop spinning, nor would your life end. you pushed the thought away.

instead, you laugh at the questions, because frankly you’d expected a much different reaction from him when you’d returned to the town you loved so much. “well, i got here on a horse,” you began, already cracking a joke. “as for when, i made it in town last night. and… i just felt like it. that suffice for you?” billy noticed your soft southern accent remained, though you had spent so long away from your beloved hometown.

“where are you staying?” yet another question from billy, but you didn’t mind, for, you were just grateful to see him.

“i’m staying at my parents house. you know it’s the funniest thing, i took the long way there… but the road not taken looks real good now. you know, considering the ass-freezing cold,” you jest again and billy finally cracks a smile. “you know i’ve missed you,” he says, and you pout to contain a smile. “yeah, i missed you, too. why do you think i came all this way? to get a cup of sugar?” you quipped again, never taking anything too seriously.

and there it is. that’s exactly what billy loved about you. so light-hearted, so good. even when he did things he deemed unforgivable, you were always there to highlight the brightness in his heart, to be the brightness in his heart. everything was whole with you, and billy can’t help but pull you into a tight, yearning, embrace. you reciprocate the energy and hug him back just as passionately.

and after a cup of hot coffee and catching up on one another’s lives by the burning fireplace, you end up on the floor, head resting back onto billy’s chest, bodies forming a T shape. “there was this girl called alice, and this other one called barbara, but uh… they were no good,” billy says after asking if you indeed had gotten married and had kids, to which your answer was a strong no, reasoning you didn’t have time for it, yet.

you kiss your teeth and chuckle humorlessly at billy’s unwarranted confession. “if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone, i would’ve asked you,” with the sting in your tone, billy could sense he messed up. because of course you wouldn’t want to hear about other women. billy was uneducated, not dense.

“i’m sorry,” he sighs sincerely, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “it’s okay, i mean, it’s only natural you’re gonna meet other women, i’ve been gone a good while.” you nod, allowing a false smile to dance onto your lips, throat pounding as you try mightily to keep tears from pricking at your eyes.

“hey, i want you. i always have, since the day we met. and you’re here now, aren’t you, baby? it’s just us, hm?” the endearing nickname slips, but you don’t correct him. after all, he was the only soul who could tell which smiles you were faking. “i’m only here for the weekend,” you look up at him, eyes honest and big, vulnerable and almost naïve. he smiles down at you, not turned off in the slightest by the very short amount of time he had with you. “well then, i guess we just have to make it count, right?”

you smile and stand, wordlessly making your way over to where, if memory serves you well, his bedroom is. lo and behold, the room is his, you know by the window being in the same place you remember staring out of while billy played with your hair as your ear pressed to his chest. difference is, the once full-sized bed has been replaced with a king—checks out, you’d taken a mental note earlier of how tall he’s gotten.

billy’s entering the room not long after you, and when he comes closer, places his hands on your waist, forehead pressed against yours, lips just a whisker away from one another’s, he asks. “can i… can i kiss you?” and you smile, because even now, when you’re full grown adults, he’s still nervous to even kiss you without audible permission. “please,”

and it’s like fireworks went off when you feel warm, coffee flavored, familiar lips on yours. god, you’d almost forgotten how much you missed kissing him. your hands tangled in his hair as he walked you back onto the bed, laying you down and not daring to pull away from your lips as he unbuttoned your blouse.

your tongue swiped his bottom lip, a beg for entrance, and he so graciously let his mouth to fall open slightly, allowing your tongue to meet with his. hastily, billy rods you of all your garments, before allowing you to help him strip himself. he only disconnected his lips from yours when he kissed down to your jaw, to your neck and to your clavicle, finding your sweet spot on your collarbone.

his hands trail down your abdomen, coming to a stop at your core, fingers drawing fast circles onto your clit, and you can’t help but moan. “fuck, billy, please, please fuck me, i‘ve missed you so much,” he smiles as he presses a kiss to your cheek, before he pushes his middle finger into your tight cunt. he lets out a groan himself at the squeeze. “fuck baby,” he breathes out, before beginning to pump the digit in and out of you, your pussy getting wetter by the second. and when he adds in another finger, curls both of them upwards to press against that one spongy spot inside of you, you come undone almost immediately. “that’s it, attagirl. cum on my fingers all pretty for me, yeah?” and you’re still desperate for billy’s cock even after your orgasm.

“billy, please,” you whine as you watch him lick the arousal off of his fingers, moaning at the taste, and he just coos at you reassuringly. “i know, baby, i know. just wanted to taste you first,” and when he finally pushes his aching cock into your impossibly tight cunt before bottoming out, you moan gutturally, and a breathy “fuck,” leaves billy. he gives you a moment to adjust to his size—necessary due to your long time spent away from his cock—before slowly beginning to move again.

for your sake, he tried to hold back, go at a pace slow enough that won’t leave your legs out of order for a week, but when you’re moaning underneath him so pretty like that? how was he expected to do anything but fuck you into the mattress like the world was ending? “billy, fuck, please, don’t stop—shit! i’m—ngh—i’m gonna cum, billy, holy fuck!” and it’s with a loud, sinful, moan that you squeeze around him incomprehensibly tight, like a fucking vice, billy thinks, and cum around his dick. he’s right behind you, looking down at where your bodies meet and seeing a creamy ring form at the base of his own cock. i did that, he thinks, and with your nails painfully dragging down his back, with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, with just you being in his fucking presence, he pulls out of your pussy and strokes himself a few times, before painting you with warm, white ribbons of his own release.

wordlessly, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. he runs a towel under warm water and cleans you up carefully, all before preparing a bath for the pair of you.

and when all is said and done, when the world is quiet and you are wrapped up in an old flannel of his, paired with his boxers, sitting on his bed, billy holds you close, and begins humming a song you aren’t familiar with, but the voice from which the tune flows out of is nothing but intimate, close.

“what’s the real reason you came back?” billy stops his humming, and you can only smile.

“because, billy, it always leads to you in my hometown.”

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

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

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.  

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...  

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.  

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.  

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing. 

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew. 

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did. 

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.  

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact. 

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there? 

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.  

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her. 

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.  

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.  

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar. 

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.”  He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.  

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind. 

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.  

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”  

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.  

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.  

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.  

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.  

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest... 

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.” 

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.  

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.  

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined. 

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.  

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.  

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”  

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled. 

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.  

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap. 

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.  

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.  

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her... 

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.  

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.  

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat. 

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable. 

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.  

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time. 

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.  

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.  

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-” 

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him. 

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.  

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-” 

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...” 

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.” 

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.  

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.” 

“He didn’t lie-” 

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!” 

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.  

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.  

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”  

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-” 

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction. 

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.  

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”  

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.  

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.  

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.  

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.  

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him. 

Why should he try anymore? 

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another. 

Corbin and Asher.  

 “Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”  

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

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