Sometimes I Have a Thought

19 She/Her Mostly headcanons and fanfictions

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Overview

Hi everyone! Please call me Peaches. This is my masterlist. I hope you have fun while you’re here!

Requests aren’t open but please feel free to send me asks, I love hearing from people. Also I love talking.

I mostly write for twst, but I also love proseka. I’m obsessed with world trigger so if you’re into it and want to hear me talk your ear off pls lemme know

Also shameless self-promo but my art is on Instagram @ cannedpickledpeaches

TWST posts

Cater Diamond:

Cater Thoughts

Leona Kingscholar:

Sad Poems but I Choose to Interpret Them as Happy

Jade Leech:

Telling the Twins Apart

Horrible Jade and Yuu

Sad Poems but I Choose to Interpret Them as Happy

Beneficial Marriage

Insert Your Name: masterlist

Floyd Leech:

Telling the Twins Apart

Valentine’s Gift

The Drive Home

Miscellaneous

Kamishiro Rui:

Sad Poems but I Choose to Interpret Them as Happy

Gojo Satoru:

Sad Poems but I Choose to Interpret Them as Happy

[cannedpickledpeaches]

The Drive Home

Floyd Leech x Reader

Notes: Haven’t finished the side stories for Insert Your Name so here’s some Floyd angst while you wait.

Somehow or the other, over the years, you’ve become Floyd’s designated driver.

You’re good friends, so of course you go to the same parties. You don’t drink, so of course he needs someone reliable and sober to take him home . . . if he isn’t going home with a new friend. The latter happened often enough in university that you only showed up to events when he was too hammered to leave with anyone else.

You never bothered to learn about his more personal life. It wouldn’t be too weird to ask—he’s happy to volunteer information unprompted, regardless—but you simply aren’t interested. You’re his childhood friend. It would feel almost gross to like him when his parents’ home welcomes you as warmly as your own. Jade and Floyd are just like your annoying brothers, that’s all.

You’re also really good at convincing yourself.

When you were young and fueled by emotion in high school, you constantly dreamed about Floyd if he was the perfect boyfriend. One who was attentive, fun, and loyal. One who would treat you as someone special, who would never get bored and cast you aside. One who would devote his entire being to you.

Maturing is realizing that’s just not Floyd. And you can respect that. Maturing is understanding that no matter how much your heart likes him, that fairytale prince you conjured in your daydreams with his face doesn’t exist. Maturing is realizing just because you like him doesn’t mean he’s good for you.

But you still like him. You tried, but you can’t change that.

Neon letters flicker and cast their light over the interior of your car as you wait in the driver’s seat. After graduating from university, he moved on from frat parties to clubs. Even while parked by the curb, you can hear the booming music thrumming in your steering wheel. The bass pulses like a second heartbeat.

A tall silhouette stumbles to the door on the passenger side. Neon pinks and purples from the sign behind him light up the flyaways in his messy hair. When he opens the door, the stench of alcohol crashes into you the same way he crashes into the seat. The cologne swirling around in the headache-inducing miasma doesn’t help in the slightest.

“You stink.” To alleviate your nostrils, you roll the windows down. The muted music transitions into a different song with the exact same beat. “I’m thinking about kicking you out and making you walk home.”

“Don’t do that, s’not nice.” His words sound as though his tongue has lost half its flexibility. “Ya’ve got your best friend in your car! Would never dream of doin’ somethin’ so mean, wouldya?”

“If you throw up over the seats, I’m kicking you out. Too bad my best friend isn’t worth cleaning up whatever’s in your stomach right now.”

“Won’t throw up.” His snicker ends in a groan. It takes him several tries to secure his seatbelt. “Fuck. Feel like the world’s spinnin’.”

You pull out a plastic bag from the glove compartment and shove it in his lap.

For a good stretch of the drive, he’s content with humming to himself. You don’t play music in case it makes his headache worse. He makes enough noise to fill the car anyway. His off-tune humming switches through several melodies, some you recognize, some you don’t.

The humming fades into silence. At a stop light, you glance at Floyd to make sure he’s okay. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. You think he’s asleep until his eyes flash open and he gives you a grin.

“Eyes on the road.”

“Just making sure you didn’t kick the bucket.” You catch a glimpse of a red stain on the right side of his Adam’s apple. Your gut twists unpleasantly. “If you’re gonna sleep, turn your face to the right.”

“Why? Y’don’t wanna see my handsome face or what?”

You look forward as the light turns green. “No, you told me to keep my eyes on the road. I just don’t want you transferring those lipstick stains onto the seats.”

“Ain’t gotta be salty that you don’t get laid.” You don’t need to look at him to hear the grin in his voice.

“That’s because I have standards.”

“Like what?”

“Something higher than ‘has a hole.’”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “Jealousy ain’t cute on ya.”

You’re aware. Painfully so. Jealousy feels ugly, gnarled, like a twisting mess of poisoned vines reaching insidious tendrils through your veins. They eventually follow your veins back to your heart, squeezing its walls with every lipstick stain you see on his skin. The wish to possess, to confine him in your clutches when the thing he hates above all others is to be tied down—that isn’t cute in the slightest.

Maturing is keeping the worst thoughts inside. A mature adult like you won’t throw a tantrum or cry dramatically in front of him. No, a mature adult like you can do that in the privacy of your room.

“What’s cute on me, then?” You swallow hard. He won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow. Probably. Not when there are so many other, more interesting conversations from the club to remember.

Awkward silence fills the car. Your fingers leave sweat on the steering wheel. Focusing on the road might help distract you from the odd pause from his ever-present noise.

“Your hands.”

You very nearly step hard on the gas by accident. You weren’t expecting an answer at all, much less this one.

“Why? Is that a fetish, or . . . .”

He barks a laugh. “Nah, who knows?”

“Ew. I’ll kick you out.” Both of you know you won’t. If you’re being honest, you’re a little flattered that he thinks your hands are cute, even if it’s in a platonic way. “Why my hands?”

“Dunno. Just the part of ya I was lookin’ at when y’asked.”

Now that’s an odd answer. At a stop light, you look at him again. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and a lazy grin tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I told you to face your right.”

“Right, right.” He sticks his tongue out, but doesn’t oblige. “How’m I s’posed to give ya a proper answer when I’m not s’posed to look atcha?”

“You can’t think of cute things about me if you aren’t looking at me?” You scoff, turning onto a side street. Almost there. “Think of me in your head or something.”

“My head can’t do ya justice.”

Your heart almost skips a beat. Almost. Because you think of all the other people he’s said those words to. All of a sudden, you feel much less special.

Childhood friends. Maturing is understanding that is all you are, and that is all you will ever be, and that you will never, ever be in a relationship with Floyd Leech unless you want it to come crashing down in infinitesimal pieces.

“I like your eyes, too. Always lyin’.” He laughs. “The eyes of a liar, that’s what ya got. But I like them more this way.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“Well, it is.” His chuckles fade into the ambient rumbling of the car for a few moments before he starts rambling. “I like your laugh, too. And the way ya come to pick me up even when ya complain. And when ya scoff when I do somethin’ nice for ya, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’re happy anyway. And your nose when it scrunches up. It gets red when it’s cold.”

“Most people’s noses get red when it’s cold.” You choose to ignore everything else he said.

“Not mine.”

“Most humans.”

It’s the novelty that attracts him. You’d have thought that after living with humans all this time, the novelty of flushed skin would have worn off, but it’s hard to tell with Floyd.

“Wouldya like me more if I was human?”

His voice is nearly lost in the humming of the car. You keep your eyes straight ahead. Vaguely, you wish there was more traffic in this side street. Something to keep your mind off the odd vulnerability in his voice.

“I like you the most the way you are,” you say, and it’s the truth. No matter what he is, human or mer or otherwise, you like Floyd as himself. You’ve fallen in love with a natural disaster, and you only barely have enough sense not to throw yourself in the midst of it. The winds would shred you apart. You desperately struggle against the part of your mind that whispers: at least you would have had it once before being destroyed.

But you’re older and more mature now. You won’t indulge that emotional side of you.

You stop outside his home and put the car in park. “We’re here. Get out of my car.”

A mix between a groan and a whine drags itself out of his throat. The alcohol might be making him woozy, but he can walk to his door just fine. You won’t need to help him anymore than this.

He unfastens his seatbelt and leans over to you. The hug he gives you is so uncoordinated, it feels like he’s simply throwing his weight onto you, his arms flopping uselessly.

“Thanks,” he says a little too loudly for his mouth to be next to your ear. “See ya ‘round.”

“Don’t ask me to pick you up again.”

“Ya say that every time.” He laughs again. Laughter always hides just under his tongue when he drinks. “Ya still come when I call.”

“I won’t anymore.” You don’t mean it.

He waves off your remark and plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You stiffen, but you’re sure he’s too drunk to notice. With a boisterous farewell, he stumbles out of your car and disappears beyond his front door, leaving the ghost of his kiss on your skin.

You hate being a mature adult. If you weren’t, maybe you would’ve called after him. You might’ve rolled down the window all the way and pulled on his collar, yanking him close enough to kiss him on the lips. Consequences be damned, caution to the wind, whatever else they say about being young and reckless. But you’re a mature adult, and the best you can do for both of you is watch as he leaves.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name: Side Story 3

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Third side story is visiting the Leech parents. Do you guys ever forget how to talk in front of beautiful women or is it just me? Anyway, please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi @viperwhispered

Visiting the trio at the “land bootcamp,” as you so affectionately called it, became part of your routine after summer school. Your classes ended earlier than theirs, so you had plenty of time to yourself before Floyd was eating asphalt (which he managed to do every single time so far). You didn’t mind. Being alone charged your battery before you’d have to interact with three people at once.

You usually occupied yourself with homework. But recently, you discovered your ability to use magic. Time spent waiting on the twins and Azul became your magic practice sessions. Mages were hard to come by and your family couldn’t give you proper lessons, so much of what you learned was theoretical. Textbooks from public libraries piled up in your room. You had never seen someone levitate a feather or change the colour of a rose, but you were damned if you weren’t going to try.

Your sneakers hung high in the branches of a tree by their tied laces. Throwing them up there was easy. Getting them down would’ve been easy, too, if you decided to scale the tree. But your goal was to practice magic. You pointed a stick at the scuffed soles and concentrated. The textbook said a wand wasn’t strictly necessary without a magestone, but it was helpful for visualizing and directing your focus. Theoretically.

Lift up. Come on. Levitate. Do something. The shoes swayed. You couldn’t tell if your magic was doing anything or if it was just the passing breeze. Frustration was unavoidable, but you were a patient person. It would come with practice. Theoretically.

Just as you put your “wand” down, your sneakers lifted and untangled themselves from the spindly branches around it. Excitement surged in your chest. Did you do that? You weren’t even trying—

Oh, of course you didn’t. You turned to see a woman a little ways down the sidewalk with a slightly raised hand.

Long, blue-green locks of hair swirled and twisted around each other like waves on the sea, cascading to her lap against the backdrop of her seafoam white dress. Eyes like the rising sun eclipsed into a smile. Long lashes framed them like art. You had never known a person this bewitching could be real.

Her willowy fingers flicked down. Your shoes followed suit, settling neatly in the grass by your feet. When her hand returned to her lap, her wheelchair brought her closer. The back of it bloomed with corals surrounding seashells. She was the most beautiful aspects of the ocean brought to life.

“I thought you might need some help.” Even her voice was beautiful, clear like a mountain spring.

“That, um, yeah. Thank you.” You stuttered. Immediately, you looked down at the shoes by your feet, embarrassment turning the tips of your ears red. You just had to go and stutter in front of such an unrealistically beautiful person. Although her kindness was mistaken, you didn’t have the heart to correct her.

“How did your shoes get up there, my dear?”

Now you had to tell her. “I threw them up there.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“I was trying to get them back down,” you said hurriedly. Obviously, you scolded yourself, she could see that. “Um, with magic. I’m trying to practice.”

Her eyes glimmered in interest. “So you’re a mage. How lovely to meet you—there aren’t many of us. What’s your name?”

Us. You weren’t sure if you deserved to be grouped in the same category with this ethereal woman.

You introduced yourself, internally grateful that you didn’t stammer this time. She told you her first name and extended a graceful hand for you to shake. Her skin felt silken in your hand.

“I don’t suppose you have a magic tutor?”

You shook your head. Such a thing was a luxury. Most people learned magic at specialized schools, like Night Raven College. Co-ed and all-girls schools for magic existed as well, but they were all prestigious. You weren’t sure if you’d ever receive an invitation.

“I see. In that case, here is some advice.” The sneakers floated back onto the branches of the tree, swaying once they settled. “Try imagining two points, one on each shoe. For instance, on the tip of the toes. Now, only focus on those two points, and imagine lifting them with your magic.”

At once, a colossal, insurmountable problem was reduced to a tangible one. Instead of a complex shape, you only had to focus on two points. You renewed your efforts. To your own surprise, the tips of the shoes lifted. Just a little bit. Nowhere near enough to clear the branch. Despite that, your earlier frustration cleared like a bad dream.

She continued giving you pointers until the sneakers lifted off the branch. In your excitement at your success, you lost concentration. They bounced onto the grass with dull thuds. Mortification left you as quickly as it came when you heard her quiet laughter and saw her encouraging look.

“I’ll work on it,” you promised, putting your shoes back on. “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have some time, anyway.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m here to pick up my sons and their friend from their summer classes. My husband should arrive soon as well.”

You traced her line of sight to the bootcamp. If her sons were there, she was probably also merfolk. You wondered if that was the reason behind her otherworldly beauty.

“I’m also waiting for my friends. Three of them are at that school.” If she was surprised you had merfolk friends, she didn’t show it. “They know magic, too, but they’re definitely better at it than I am.”

“Why don’t you ask your friends, then? I’m sure they’d be happy to assist you.”

“I wanted to try doing it on my own.” That’s not entirely the truth. You would’ve taken any tips you could get, but you were certain those three would consider it a favour and charge you accordingly. Jade, even more than Azul, liked to put you in his debt for the smallest things.

She chuckled. “It is a good thing for you to overcome obstacles on your own, but don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.”

At that moment, as though she sensed something in the air, she turned and looked down the street. A tall man strode up to her, every step purposeful and confident. Although he was dressed casually, you had seen anyone casually wear such expensive-looking clothes and slicked-back hair. He was handsome, too, but the woman outshone him by leagues. In your opinion, anyway.

He leaned down to place a cup of coffee in the cupholder of her wheelchair and kiss her hair. Such a nonchalant display of affection had you wondering if you should look away. A radiant couple like that wasn’t something you saw outside of television.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my love.” He said the pet name as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “There was quite a line.”

“That’s alright. I had a wonderful time chatting with this young person.” She gestured to you with her graceful hand. You barely managed to squeak out a greeting, not having expected her to bring attention to you at all.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He shook your hand with a firm grasp. “Thank you for keeping my wife company.”

“I had a wonderful time with her indeed,” she said. At the time, you had no idea that her conversations were often riddled with double-meanings and nefarious intentions. There was no way you would’ve known she found a simple conversation with a middle schooler about the basics of magic to be a refreshing topic.

The bell rang from within the bootcamp. In moments, the first people to leave were your familiar group of friends. From this distance, you couldn’t see their expressions, but Floyd used his entire body to express his mood. His arms flung into the air, his cane once again flying off to the side as he ran towards you. He managed to make it halfway there before his face met the asphalt. The woman next to you merely laughed, her wheelchair taking her to meet him halfway. It vaguely occurred to you that it might have been powered by magic, but that wasn’t the main thing on your mind. Rather, it was the fact that they seemed to know each other. Floyd’s next words illuminated what exactly their relationship was.

“Mama! What are you and Pops doing here?”

Mama? You had to take a moment to process this. Did you accidentally meet the twins’ parents?

“We’re here to pick you three up, of course. Did you forget it’s the weekend?” She waved a hand and his body floated before lifting into a standing position, his cane drifting back to his hands. “We couldn’t very well ask you to walk to the beach.”

“Thank you very much for coming all this way,” Azul said, but he was quickly interrupted by Floyd’s much louder voice.

“Right. Didja meet Red Handfish?” Floyd draped himself over his mother’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Didn’t think I’d see all of ya standin’ together.”

Mrs. Leech didn’t even hesitate at the nickname. She must’ve been used to using context clues to figure out who he was referring to.

“Yes, we met while waiting for your classes to end.” She glanced at her husband for just a second. Some sort of knowing look was exchanged between them. Then, she smiled at you, somehow more radiant than before. “So you’re ‘Red Handfish.’ My sons talk about you often.”

“They do?” You hoped she didn’t know you extorted Jade on your first meeting. That would surely leave a bad impression.

“Mother,” Jade suddenly interjected, his smile tight on the edges. “I hope you didn’t wait too long for us.”

“Oh, not at all. Your friend here was wonderful company.” She easily brushed off Jade’s attempt at diverting the conversation, still focused on you. “Your stories didn’t do your friend justice. I had such a pleasant time that the minutes flew right by. Why don’t we invite them to the Coral Sea? I would be thrilled to accommodate a few nights’ stay.”

“They wouldn’t be able to survive under the sea.”

“Not an issue at all.” Mr. Leech sported a winsome smile on his face, mirroring his wife. “We have potions that would make it a simple matter to bring you under the waves.”

You weren’t going to lie. Part of you was desperately curious what life was like under the sea. Merfolk communities were very isolated from human ones, and you were always thirsty for more knowledge. But above all, your sense of self-preservation prevailed. Don’t take potions from people you don’t really know would apply anywhere, even the parents of your friends.

“I’ll think about it. Thank you for your offer.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, my dear. You’re welcome anytime.” Not a trace of offence in her eyes. “I’m very happy you’re friends with my sons. Jade, especially, needed someone like you.”

Jade tried to redirect the conversation again, an uncharacteristic fluster in his mannerisms. You didn’t understand her words fully. You didn’t know that Jade, for all his pleasant masks, thought all humans were beneath him. That he was usually one of the toughest beings around in his age group. That the first time he was stumped was by a human his age. She was glad you were challenging his worldview, broadening his perspective bit by bit. As a mother, she was thanking you for opening her son up to change. To this day, she and Mr. Leech are grateful to you for introducing their sons to the idea of human capabilities being on equal footing with those of merfolk, even before they entered Night Raven College.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

List 5 things that make you happy then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people to reblog something from you - get to know your mutuals/followers better :D

I forgot to answer this! So sorry for the delay 😔

Here are five things:

- My parents! I’m missing their cooking right now. My mother doesn’t give me any measurements in her recipes, so it never tastes completely the same.

- Sketching. It’s a fun thing I can do to relax while listening to music! It’s also fun drawing the characters I like.

- Writing. Personally, I like writing cheerful stories—or at least ones with happy endings, since it gets me in a good mood. But I also write angst sometimes, just for funsies! Writing devastated characters makes me happy, too ☺️

- Eating. I guess in a similar vein, cooking makes me happy as well. Eating the results of my cooking is nice, especially when it turns out well. There’s also a lot of good restaurants and bakeries where I live. But as said before, my mother’s cooking is the best!

- Sleeping. Nothing tops being in bed.

There are a lot of others, but this is five I can think of off the top of my head. Thanks for sending in an ask 🫶🫶

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name: Side Story 2

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Second side story is visiting the merfolk trio at land bootcamp. It isn't really written with any deep meaning, I just wanted to explore the way they might approach having legs. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

It’s a strange stroke of luck that the “land bootcamp” happened to be near your home. Owing to your curiosity, you jumped on the opportunity to see what it’s like when the twins asked you to visit. You didn’t have permission to enter the building, so you sat on a bench outside, staring at the entrance. They’d be coming out any moment now for their break.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t for three human-looking boys with canes to exit together. One of them lagged behind so you couldn’t see him very well, but the two in front were familiar. Sure, they were significantly less green and slimy, their fingers didn’t end in claws, and no fins protruded from their body, but you could recognize their faces anywhere.

“Jade, Floyd!” You stood from the bench. Even at a distance, it was obvious that they were tall. “You look so not like fish!”

With an excited whoop, Floyd tossed aside his cane and dashed towards you, only . . . for his legs to buckle on the third step. He fell flat on his face, the cane rolling onto the grass out of his reach. Panic surged in you as you rushed to his side.

“Seven, are you okay?”

He seemed to be in a good mood. Instead of sulking, he rolled onto his back and laughed up at the sky, arms splayed like a sea star.

“Man, I suck at walking!” His infectious grin revealed rows of sharp teeth. It turned out the transformation potion didn’t change everything. “How d’ya get your tail fins to move separately?”

“Tail fins . . . oh, feet?” You glanced at your own. “I don’t really think about it. I guess you should practice more?”

“Floyd has actually been practicing quite diligently.” Jade piped up, approaching with carefully measured steps. Heel, foot flat on the ground, balls of the foot, toes, lift. His heels touched the ground at nearly exact intervals in exactly the same way, as if he was trying to become a human metronome. The cane in his hand looked more like an accessory than a walking aid. You got the feeling he was trying to prove a point. “He bet that he’ll make it to that tree without any walking aids before I do.”

He gestured at a tree a hundred metres away from the school gates. You figured it might be a while before they’d fulfill the conditions of the bet. Jade had mentioned that it took them a week to stand on their own.

“Any progress?”

“I’d like to think things are progressing smoothly.” He finally put some weight on the cane and stepped onto the grass. “For instance, I can even do something like this.”

Slowly, he bent his knees and started to lower himself. One hand gripped his cane, the other reaching for Floyd’s forgotten cane. A bad feeling overtook your gut.

“Hold on, Jade—”

The words were hardly out of your mouth when his knees buckled and he fell backwards, his rear thumping loudly on the grass. You searched his face for any pain. No sign of it. His eyes were only wide in surprise. In the background, Floyd’s cackles filled the air.

“Um. Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” He chuckled sheepishly. “I have never before felt the effects of gravity so acutely.”

“You should stop showing off.” An unfamiliar voice admonished him. You looked up into silvery-blue eyes. The third member of their group used a quad cane, fingers firmly clasped around the handle. He heaved a sigh at the twins on the ground. “Use the equipment properly. Rushing the process is why you keep falling.”

“How can you learn to walk if you have a fear of falling?” Jade quipped, a sharp glint in his otherwise unassuming smile. You had the feeling there was a hidden meaning behind those words directed to the stranger, but you didn’t know enough about him to guess what it was.

“You certainly won’t be learning any faster if you injure yourself.”

“I have to agree with your friend.” You crouched next to him and picked up the forgotten cane. Floyd swatted at the end of it a few times before taking it back. “Take it one step at a time. Literally and metaphorically.”

“I’ll take your advice into consideration.” Jade placed his cane in his lap. He didn’t seem to have any inclination of getting back up. “Come to think of it, this is your first time meeting Azul, isn’t it?”

It took you a moment to remember where you heard the name before. The twins had mentioned him as a new person of interest, someone who worked tirelessly to create and enact contracts that were rigged in his favour. Another unsavoury character, no doubt. But when you looked into his eyes, you decided you didn’t hate the resolve you saw in them.

“Azul Ashengrotto.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself and shook his hand.

“The twins told me a lot about you.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that Azul was holding in a groan.

“All good things, I hope?”

“Um.” You sifted through your memories. The most outstanding story the twins told you about Azul was something he probably found embarrassing. “Sure.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could even get the words out, Floyd cut him off.

“Hey, why’re you two still standing?”

One second, you were on your feet. The next, you were on your back, staring up at the summer sky peppered with thin, wispy clouds. Floyd’s laughter filled the air on your right, his hand gripping the cane that he used to trip you. Jade’s quiet snickering occupied your left, and Azul’s indignant shouts following a thump on the grass came from above your head. Despite the chaotic nature of the meeting, you felt at ease. That was the start of many summers spent with the four of you, together.

[nefe-mao]

It seems to me that at some point they will simply come to terms with the fact that they cannot escape from Floyd and Jade))

@mochinomnoms

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Their expressions!! Riddle’s face especially is so evocative HAHA

[cannedpickledpeaches]

ik she's a very minor side character but i'm sooo invested in yn's character,, there's really not much about her except what you described her to be like in the series but i can't help but wonder, will she change now that she's not the main character of someone else's story? her whole shtick in the manuscript was that she was the perfect loveable self-insert—which are also pretty much the only traits reader could think of when it came to her,,, also i think i already wrote this in a comment but i really really love yn and reader's friendship ig there's just something about platonic love that really speaks to me

also i forgot to comment on the side story you just posted and i wanted to tell you that i loved it!! really like the idea of younger jade thinking himself to be superior to humans, i wrote something similar to that for a satire work lol. idk if it's canon that he used to be a bit of a prejudiced brat but i think it'd be really neat if it was

Yes platonic love! I won’t be including much of (Y/N) in the side stories, but she’s doing great. Her face sticks in your memory now! She’s also gaining some hobbies—photography in particular, since she’s really upset all those old Polaroids are gone. Besides, she really wants to preserve all the fun memories she makes with you. Her personality has stayed sweet because she’s actually just a good person. The only thing is she’s no longer the center of the universe. Our reader is happy that she’s back ☺️

And thank you for reading the first side story! Jade and Floyd canonically make snide remarks about “land dwellers” in book 3 if I recall correctly, so I really leaned into that. Since they still have that mindset in high school, albeit toned down, I made younger Jade dial it up to max, lol. I’d like to think they mellow out the longer they mingle with humans.

[vc404v-deactivated20260119]

if book 7 is releasing cards of characters in the past.... merform octatrio hiiiiiiiiiii. please

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name: Masterlist

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Main story: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

Side stories: one, two, three

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name: Side Story 1

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: First side story is Jade's perspective of when they first met. This one mentions extortion. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

Jade honestly didn’t think humans were all that. Certainly, they had a fascinating physiology and diverse cultures that were completely different from his own. Their behaviours were fun to observe from a good distance away, camouflaged among the blue-green waves. But his interest was like that of a researcher studying rats in a lab.

Stupid land-dwellers, he jeered at them in his head. They wouldn’t last a second in the sea. In the deep, they’d be rent from limb to limb, outsmarted and outmaneuvered by us merfolk in every way. No matter how his interest grew, it always stemmed from a place where he considered himself superior to them.

Even when the waves tossed him onto dry sand, he considered himself superior to the group of human boys that gathered in curiosity. So what if he couldn’t move? That was only because he didn’t have legs. If he had legs—no. Better yet, if they were all in the sea, he’d be the one laughing. He’d make them all beg.

When that human child came and chased them all away, he looked at you in contempt. So what if you made those human boys cry and bleed? So could he. If only they were in reach. You probably felt that he was indebted to you for that. As if! How could he be indebted to a human for doing something he was perfectly capable of accomplishing himself? You were just an inferior human. If he dragged you beneath the waves, even you’d fall under his claws and razor-sharp teeth. Or you’d asphyxiate in a slow stream of bubbles. Or you’d crumble up like the soda cans he’s seen littered on the beach under the weight of tonnes of water.

Bottom line was: he didn’t owe a weak, inferior human like you anything.

Despite that, he thanked you. Politeness was a mask and being underestimated was his armour. He only needed your help to return to the sea, and then he’d once again be superior to you in every single way.

But what was this? You had the arrogance to demand money from him. This was not a uniquely human trait—he’d seen merfolk pander to his parents as well—but the way you said those words utterly infuriated him. A measly human child looking down at him, physically and metaphorically, with indifferent eyes. He wouldn’t accept it.

Just as he made an excuse to refuse your demand, you snatched something from him. The sturgeon scales. The ones he won with his brother. Something like that—a physical representation of his bond with Floyd—the reward he gained from fighting alongside his twin—the symbol of good luck under the sea—

How dare you steal that from him.

“Give that back. You will regret it if you do not.”

He vaguely registered his claws digging into the sand, his teeth baring in the way he knew would intimidate the fish and merchildren back in the deep. If it could scare sea-dwellers, a human would cower at the sight. They don’t even have sharp spines to defend themselves.

Still, your eyes remained indifferent. As if he was barely even on your radar. Him! Jade Leech, known for his unsettling schemes and fearsome fighting skills! Future heir to the Leech Mafia! Clearly, you had no idea who he was on top of being an idiot. If you knew and had a modicum of sense, you would’ve been shaking in your shoes.

“What is this?”

You didn’t even know what sturgeon scales were. What a fool indeed. Anger surged through his body. But he didn’t throw a tantrum. That was Floyd’s way of expressing anger, and he isn’t Floyd. He’s Jade Leech, and Jade Leech hides behind a mask of politeness until the day he enacts revenge. Besides, he still needed your help getting back in the water.

Despite his praiseworthy restraint, you extorted him. You didn’t know your place. He decided, then. Without a shadow of a doubt, he’d make sure to ruin you.

His luck couldn’t be any worse. Floyd saw the whole thing transpire and teased him all the way home. He was already irritable, and now he had to put up with being mocked by his own mirror image. It was fine. He could bear it. His top priority wasn’t Floyd’s taunts, but rather what he’d tell his parents. One hundred thaumarks was hardly anything to bat an eye at for his family. For a middle-schooler, though, it was quite the sum. He’d need to fabricate an innocent, plausible story that would convince his parents to at least lend him the money—

“Mama! You wouldn’t believe what happened today. Jade got extorted by some human runt. Wasn’t even as tall as our tails are long!”

Floyd and his big mouth. Jade glared daggers as his twin cheerfully regaled their mother with the riveting tale of his blunder. He had to salvage this situation somehow.

“Hm, what are you talking about?” He consciously relaxed his shoulders and fixed his face into a pleasant smile. “There’s no need to lie to our mother. The two of us didn’t see a single human today—”

“Oooh, you’re embarrassed!” Floyd swam circles above his head. “Hah, look atcha pretendin’ nothin’ happened!”

In the end, he couldn’t fool his mother. He wasn’t sure how she’d react. Would she scold him? He was the victim in this situation. Following that logic, his mother should’ve been on his side and punished that human, right?

She did neither. Instead, she smiled and patted his hair.

“Jade, my sweet. We all get careless sometimes, and these things happen. It isn’t your fault.” Gentle eyes, smile as sweet as honey. For a split second, he thought she’d take care of it for him. He should’ve known better. “But it’s your responsibility to fix it for slipping up in the first place. Give it your best.”

She had no intention of helping him. His father would not step in, either. That was the way their household operated—losses of any kind were handled by the person who caused the loss, regardless of reasons or circumstances. Though young, he was not exempt from those rules. His parents spoiled him and Floyd, but there were certain areas where they were strict and refused to budge. He would have to learn to solve his own problems. Under the sea, waiting for help was not always an option—his parents made sure to make that clear to him.

Even so, Jade wasn’t worried. He had no shortage of blackmail against his peers. You weren’t the only person who knew how extortion worked. By that very evening, he had already collected the required amount. The only assistance he got from his parents was when he handed his father a bag full of coins and received a hundred-thaumark bill in return. As he anchored himself by twisting his tail around the leg of his father’s desk, he watched his father count the loose change and wondered how he’d make you cry. It would have to be a long operation. He’d first have to gain your trust, build it up for ages, then shatter it when you were as close as possible . . . .

“Good effort, Jade.” Mr. Leech patted his head and put the change away. “Passing marks for your quick solution.”

He blinked. “Only passing?”

“Yes. Why do you think that is?”

So his solution wasn’t perfect. He mulled it over, frowning into his hand. The goal was to accrue one hundred thaumarks, and he hit that goal without much trouble. What more was there to consider? Perhaps the issue was that he created a sense of animosity and resentment against him, which jeopardized his usual attempts at staying unnoticed. But that was easily solved by instilling fear into the ones he extorted. Besides, he didn’t mind if a few people hated him.

“I can’t think of a reason.”

“That’s alright. You’re still young, after all. I’ll tell you.” Mr. Leech’s eyes curved into a smile. “The problem with your method is that it isn’t sustainable.”

Those words bothered him all through the night until the next day, when he returned to that shore to meet you. Floyd tagged along, chattering away, but Jade only answered with absent hums and affirmations. Why would his method need to be sustainable? This was a one-time payment. Going forward, he’d someday put you in his debt. He didn’t have any intention of giving you anymore money, even if he’d earn it back.

That was, until he hoisted himself up on the rocks on the beach and the money exchanged hands. He wonders to this day if you remember the way you looked when you crouched by the shore. You must have tumbled into a bush or gotten into another fight, one that you’d long forgotten. Your socks had picked up burs, your sweater scuffed, a branch sticking out of a hole in the shoulder. Even surrounded by the early spring snow, the broken branch sported fresh budding leaves. The glimpse into foliage beyond what he could see from his usual haunt in the waves captivated him.

You stared at the bill in your hand and mumbled something about needing more money for your mother’s medication. At that moment, he understood why his father emphasized sustainability. He boldly suggested that he’d pay you to bring him interesting souvenirs from land. For that, he’d need a steady source of income. He’d think about that later. His ultimate goal for all this was to make you cry, after all, and get some fun items from land as a bonus.

What he didn’t expect was to grow so fond of you that he’d no longer mind being in your debt forever.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

[lumdays-deactivated20250414]

so romantic i might die, very interesting plot and engaging dialogues too—love this series soooo much!! i'm looking forward to the side stories!

[cannedpickledpeaches]

GLAD YOU ENJOYED and I was really happy seeing your tags!! As an aroace person who loves love stories, I’m glad my writing appealed to you. Thank you for reading!

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

[quartztwst]

More fem Azul??? 😳

ILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHERILOVEHER <333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

I LOVE HER SO MUCH TOO SKJDANFCIUDASNKJFCBLIDSAH

I LOVEEE FEMAUZZLLAUSIJSSJDH SHES SOOOCHSHEHHRHRH CUTEGEGEGEG

[haveneulalie]

AAAA OMGGG :000 @cannedpickledpeaches LOOOOOK AAAAA BBY SJANDUEANDJEHSJDWISNFHSJSNDKEN FOREHEAD SMOOCH CHUBBY WIFE AAAA

[cannedpickledpeaches]

She’s so cute!! Would give her all the smooches in the world 🥰

[nefe-mao]

I've been wanting to draw this for a long time, so during a break between drawing characters for the game I did it

@cannedpickledpeaches

[haveneulalie]

@cannedpickledpeaches OMGGG ITS THE SCENEE JADE GOT ROBBED BY USS ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ (Still not over it)

[cannedpickledpeaches]

TRULY SUCH SCHEMING BEHAVIOUR I LOVE THIS SCENE TOO

[nefe-mao]

I've been wanting to draw this for a long time, so during a break between drawing characters for the game I did it

@cannedpickledpeaches

[cannedpickledpeaches]

AAAH IT’S SO GOOD I LOVE IT! He looks so distressed while our MC looks completely unbothered LOL “don’t make a fuss, lemme peacefully extort you”

Thank you so much!! Your art is so gorgeous 🥰🥰🥰

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (10)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!

Notes and TW: You have a conversation with a "god." This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

You thought as much for a while—that this world exists inside a story. This world is created for “(Y/N),” and you are Friend A, according to that manuscript. But after all this time, your own thoughts and Jade’s persistent questioning has led you to doubt it. Jade was the one who said you aren’t a character, that the two of you have “thoughts and feelings that go beyond ink on paper.”

But a god? It isn’t a common word in Twisted Wonderland. The Seven are legends, but they were real mages who lived millennia past. Some religions exist, but they’re mostly local. To see someone proclaim themself as a god before your eyes seems like a joke.

The man notes your skepticism and chuckles.

“I only mean it in relation to your abilities. It will become clear as I explain.” He takes another sip of tea. “Twisted Wonderland is a place made from stories, for stories. Broadly speaking, it is a ‘story setting.’ And my purpose is to make stories come to life.”

You try to make sense of his words. Referring to himself as a god, talking about what he does to stories . . . . “Are you the author of that manuscript?”

“No, I’m afraid you have come to the wrong conclusion. I make stories come to life, but it has been a long time since I’ve penned one onto paper. As for the matter of the identity of the author, you would not have to look very far, as she has spoken to you only moments prior.”

You inhale sharply. Your eyes drift to the window as your thoughts start to whirl. That can only be (Y/N). She was the author all along? It would make sense since she’s the main character. But nothing else adds up. Her odd behaviour, her breakdown, her supposedly lost memories of you. You’re also pretty sure she has never met Jade prior to the events of the manuscript playing out in real life. How could she have written it before that? Furthermore, you don’t believe (Y/N) could ever be the type of person to imagine harm coming to anyone, even in a fictional story, even if it’s to Jade’s parents whom she has also never met.

“To clarify, that person is not the one you’ve known for some time.” He chuckles at your bewilderment. “(Y/N) was a character created to be a placeholder. Tell me, do you recall her appearance?”

“Of course I—” You cut yourself off. The only things you can think of are adjectives. Pretty. Dainty. A messy bun. A slim waist. Gorgeous, sparkling eyes. You can’t even remember their colour.

“(Y/N), which stands for ‘Your Name,’ is a placeholder. A blank space where anyone can insert their name.” The teacup clinks against its saucer. “It is supposed to be a one-size-fit all. However, the (Y/N) you know was created for a specific person. The name that was intended to replace this placeholder is that of a girl who lives outside this story setting—a girl who did not exist in Twisted Wonderland. That is the true author of this story.”

You don’t understand what he means by “placeholder.” But you know what he means by people who live outside your world. You recall the twins and Azul mentioning something similar. Shrimpy. Prefect. That human from their high school days, someone who supposedly came from another world. Someone who did not exist in Twisted Wonderland before coming here.

“Were there other cases of . . . well, people from other worlds?”

“Certainly. Like I said, Twisted Wonderland is a place made from stories, for stories. Seeing as tales of strangers in strange lands are the foundation for many stories, from folklore to modern novels, it is not strange to believe someone could be the protagonist of a story where they are pulled from another world to this one.” He pauses when he sees your furrowed brows. “I must apologize again. I am often chastised for my long-winded deliveries.”

“Yeah, you talk too much. Cut the fluff and tell me.”

He chuckles. “Yes, of course. The most recent prior to this case was one named Yuu, although that character was not under my jurisdiction. Your author, however, is under my jurisdiction. She was a fan of Yuu’s story. Once it ended, she sought to extend the story. Essentially, she wrote a fanfiction, which is the very manuscript you stumbled upon. The setting is Twisted Wonderland years after Yuu's story, and the main character she created is an idealistic version of herself—the person she wished she could be.”

It makes sense why you could only think of positive adjectives when describing her. (Y/N) was indeed, like you’d thought from the start, created to be perfect.

“Day after day, she wished with all her soul to insert herself into that story, to live out that fantasy. Eventually, I heard her wishes and decided to grant them. I gave her the opportunity to enter (Y/N)’s body.”

“You can do that?”

“My dear,” he says pleasantly, “there was a reason why I likened myself to a god from your perspective.”

So they weren’t empty words or narcissism. This man has powers you have never even heard of.

The first thing you feel is a wave of relief. So the person who came screaming at you with the intent to kill was not (Y/N), after all. It was someone who took over her body. A stranger took over the body of your beloved friend, took over her life, her relationships, her autonomy . . . A stranger. The second thing you feel is anger. How dare they. How dare they waltz in and ruin everything? You keep quiet and listen to the man’s explanation, resentment bubbling in your gut.

“So the author abandoned her previous life to enter your world. It came with a few caveats: she must lose her name and run the course of the story as (Y/N). Only after the story’s conclusion would she regain her name. Another caveat was that she did not have access to (Y/N)’s memories. I imagine it was a point of curiosity for you—why she seemed to forget everything about who you are.”

You narrow your eyes. “It wasn’t Walrus?”

“I am afraid not. She has never encountered Walrus.”

Deductions and contemplations can be wrong. You know this better than anyone. Yet, you can’t help but feel cheated. With all the information you had, how could you possibly have known? It’s as though you were blindsided by a truck. Looking back, it makes sense. The elusive identity of the author. How the manuscript contains insider knowledge about events concerning the Leech family. Of course it does, the author was the one who wrote those details into existence. Even her reaction to seeing you on the beach, which must have been her first time meeting you. Of course she was confused when Jade mentioned you to her. You don’t have a name in the story. How could she possibly know the name of Friend A?

“Walrus is a character who ties up inconsistencies from the original plot. I had to work hard to ensure it all fell in line.”

“Aren’t you a ‘god?’ Can’t you just, I don’t know, make it happen?”

He laughs. “I am not omnipotent. I can only influence factors that make the story more likely to happen. As in, I can create ‘events,’ which influence ‘responses and actions.’ Characters are defined by their base character traits and then shaped through events; this is what is called character development. I design and set into motion events that will most likely produce the desired characterization. Notably, I cannot control characters or their emotions. I must say, that young lady did not understand this concept very well. Her events were heavily focused on what her favourite characters could do for (Y/N), as opposed to building a foundation so they would wish to do such things. It was rather difficult to make sure the pieces fell in place so those events could occur.”

Several things connect in your mind like a line of dominoes tipping each other over. The manual first appeared in that attic with no clear origin—he must have planted it there because you, Jade, and Floyd are the only people who enter that room. Jade fell asleep in (Y/N)’s apartment because he was busy to the point of exhaustion after taking up the mantle as the leader of the mafia. (Y/N) did not become Floyd’s mood stabilizer. Jade did not fall in love with her. When she—the author—confronted you on the beach, she blamed you as the reason why Jade would not love her. But that isn’t entirely true, is it? Her “events”—Jade cooking for her, sleeping in the same bed—relies on Jade already having feelings for her. But to Jade, she was a stranger he met in an alley. You understand a crucial fact: actions and emotions cannot be manipulated.

“I admit that I panicked and caused you alarm when I tried to send you and Jade away from that beach. That whole debacle was not an event in the story, so I caused some factors that led to Floyd accidentally breaking one of Jade’s terrariums. It was not a serious emergency.” He grows pensive. “But now that the story has gone completely off the rails, I must figure out how to proceed. The author is quite upset with me, especially since she thought with my help, the story was guaranteed to go exactly as written.”

“You were communicating with her?”

“Periodically, yes.” He sips his tea, looking directly at you. “But she was terribly hard-headed and refused to listen to my words.”

What a waste. She had a god on her side, yet she couldn’t use her brain to take advantage of it? Perhaps it’s your bias against her, but you can’t think well of the author.

“Why did you decide to grant her wish, anyway?”

The man lowers his gaze with a soft smile. “I am a storyteller at heart, and she had a story she desperately wanted to become her reality.”

You grit your teeth. “So what? It’s only made things difficult for everyone. Is that shitty story even worth telling?”

“What do you use to judge a story’s worth? The number of people who read it? The number of critics or fans? These are all irrelevant.” His eyes, though gentle in the warm light of the fireplace, hold silvery clarity and resolution from the moonlight. “All that matters is that one person found enjoyment in it. Even if the only person who loves a story is its author, that story has served its purpose. There is no such thing as a meaningless story. Every writer sets out to write a story for a reason, be it wealth, fame, personal satisfaction, a creative outlet . . . . Why do you think this author wrote hers?”

It doesn’t take a genius. Her obsessive, near delusional insistence that Jade loves her. Her breakdown from seeing the two of you together on that beach. Her malice towards you, perceived to be standing in the way of her love. Of her happiness.

“She wanted to be loved.”

She wrote a story where she could project herself onto a perfect, infallible main character. In this story, her favourite character would love and spoil her. They’d overcome trials and eventually live out their happily ever after, blissfully in love, even past the story she wrote. She wanted to be loved fully, completely, and unconditionally.

You feel a little sorry for her. But if you were to be honest . . .

“Why the fuck should I care?” You slam your hands on the coffee table, glaring at the man sitting across from you. Your hands curl into fists. “I don’t give a shit about her personal life. Jade and Floyd’s parents are in a coma. They’ve been worried sick. And that’s just fine? Because she wanted to live in her little fantasy of being loved? If I believe everything you say, then she’s the one who wrote that assassination into our lives. Without her, Mister and Missus Leech would be perfectly fine and running everything as usual. Jade and Floyd wouldn’t be missing sleep and meals. Jade could go study terrestrial plants and fungi like he’s always wanted instead of working himself to the bone for the mafia. You’re telling me I’m just supposed to accept it just because she’s got a sob story? And even worse, none of this would’ve happened without you.”

The assassination attempt is mentioned in the story as an offscreen event. In order for it to be true, the man across from you most likely manipulated events so that the attempt would be carried out. Just like he’s been doing for every event, all this time.

You want to lunge across the coffee table. You want to wrap your fingers around his thin throat, dig your thumbs into his carotid arteries, punch his nose in. But you don’t. You restrain yourself, your hands shaking on the table. With his abilities, he could easily make your life impossible.

“Fanfiction is fine. People can write what they want. But her fanfiction has very real consequences on my life and the people I care about. Why would you even help her knowing the harm she’s causing?”

Hypocrite, Floyd has once called you. That author is selfish in that she’s chasing her own happiness at the expense of what she considers minor characters. You’re selfish in that you’re ensuring happiness for yourself and your loved ones at the expense of the author, a stranger to you. You’d be a hypocrite for condemning her, but you don’t mind. You haven’t gotten this far by sacrificing yourself for strangers.

“Why, of course.” The man tilts his head as though it’s obvious. “No story can progress without conflict. You are a supporting character, as are the main male lead’s parents. Forgive me, but such characters are expendable for the purpose of the plot.”

It suddenly dawns on you. You should’ve realized sooner. This man doesn’t see you as a person. He only sees you as another character within a story, a particularly troublesome one who has messed up the plot beyond repair. You might wholeheartedly believe yourself to be a fleshed out human being with thoughts, feelings, and everything else, but he will always think of that as you being a character. His powers and knowledge of the world make him vastly different from you. He cannot talk to you on equal terms.

It’s like if an ant gained sentience and spoke to a human. Even with the ability to communicate perfectly, the ant would never be able to understand why humans enjoy roller coasters or haunted houses, no matter how much either side tries to explain. Similarly, you would never understand this man’s desire to turn stories that are destructive to “characters” into reality. So, you won’t try. You’ll work with his rules.

“I may have a solution to the derailed plot.” You look at him with determination quietly burning in your eyes. “It’s pretty simple if you can do it. Make me the main character.”

[cannedpickledpeaches]

I forgot to mention, but the ant analogy at the end actually comes from a Kurzgesagt—In a Nutshell video. I can’t remember what the video was about since I watched it years ago, but the analogy really stuck with me. I am truly an author with no original thoughts HAHA