#hes so .............................. plot fodder-y

[mediaeval]

im  almost  at  the  end  of  s4  (  i  mean,  with  what  we’ve  got  )  &  tbh  i’m  this  close  to  just  like  ,  ignoring  s3  &  s4  in  my  portrayal  :/

[applesontheground]

count bodies like sheep🐑

i'm late night posting after fighting with this one week too long, but i really don't know what else i was supposed to do with myself after "you want to sit on daddy's lap and let you drive the car?"

and one more time for good measure as i finish my first round of outlast fanfic: there are obviously a lot of bad topics at hand in these games, and i wouldn’t write for it if i wasn’t willing to address some of the elephants in the room should the plot need. that being said, mind my warnings, mind that this is fiction, and i ask you be 18+ if you engage with my work! thanks and take a mint on your way out <3

NSFW | Word Count: 2,063 | Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman x GN Reagent!Reader contains CANON TYPICAL/DRUGGING, lap sitting, BDSM, blindfolds, forced contact, daddy kink, toy use, grinding, i reread the definition of stockholm syndrome and yeah this probably counts R/N = Your Reagent Number 🎼: x, x

You threw yourself into the tube of the shuttle, not even watching it close on whatever terror had chased you all the way down. You would’ve crouched if you could, hid from the window like a child; but when you inferred that the space was too small, you opted to close your eyes and press into the side that would open as soon as doors on the other side were secured.

A few scrapes against the metal that had swiftly clicked shut after you had slotted your body through, you blindly waited for it to fall silent. Then, you pulled away as the other side’s wall gave way.

Back on the safe side of the tube, letting the therapy you had just jumped, rolled, dove, and clawed through be shut out for the second time as the entry closed off from the side you had slithered out of. Heavy feet tripped over the grate, taking the closest seat in the shuttle car you could trudge towards. You gripped the head of the seat first, breathing with purpose before turning and taking a load off. Your vision fluttered between clear and utterly smudged as you didn’t even have the usual flinching reaction to the leg and arm braces fastening to your extremities, hands limp as they draped on the armrests. You sat back as the monitor came down, slow and more rickety than normal. Someone needed to check that out after this, you mused before the usual technicolor monitor flickered to life.

“[R/N]…” He spoke your exact code slowly, each number making your eyes adjust, breath stilling and seizing in your chest as it cut shorter. He read the full number, and your head hit the back of the seat as the faceless man you had seen times before was saying something utterly new.

“Or do you prefer to still be called [Y/N]?” He then asked, prompting your hands to start shaking under the restraints. You could’ve sworn these tapes were universal for each reagent, something for anyone to hang onto as it was just vague enough to consider anyone, all the more playing into an illusion that he knew anything about you. That he cared.

You assumed the director at Sinyala didn’t know you specifically, let alone had the time to get to know every test subject even if he and you both wanted you to think so. It was wide knowledge that he would watch trial performance and give callous feedback where he saw fit, but it was the ones he could shape that he spent the real time with. The ones he felt were futile were thrown to the fire, fodder in the pursuit of whatever he was trying to find through the trials.

From the start, you knew you weren’t going to be perfect – so you tried for the former. Following directions when given, moving as fast as you could when you could but also thinking your decisions through – that balance was easier conceptualized than executed. Harmony had been the hardest part of this thus far. Some days, you were thoughtful but far too slow with your action. Others, you were quick but being reckless, caught by the tripwires and practically walking into every hiding spot a grunt was using in hopes to hide yourself – but instead put in clumsy, shortsighted danger that could’ve otherwise been avoided.

“I’ve told you, [Y/N]. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He then said, and you swallowed hard as he finished, “And believe me. You won't be. Not for much longer.” Just as it always did, the monitor then cranked backwards, and a thick, colored fume flooded through the grate. You spoke one startled, “Wait-!” But instead began to huff and choke it in. Shoulders falling forward, heaviness fast in your neck, up to your head – it all slumped into a lurch into unconsciousness.

Sleep, especially sleep within the belly of Murkoff, felt like you were being returned to some sort of experimental vial of liquid. Submerged, murky with any outside noise or movement being too foggy to truly stir you. From the first kidnapping, the tight restraints and unkempt vehicle ride into the facility were often paired with an altered state, sickly spit on your tongue as you struggled to even hold your head up.

Woken like your head was popping above water once more, you gasped aloud and even flailed slightly. There was a draft different from the shuttle seat, and an uneven support beneath you that you wobbled on from sudden movement. Someone's thumb looping around the cuffs kept your arms behind you.

Registering the feeling of being off balance, you realized you were on someone’s lap, not just in a chair. You still yanked against the forces holding your hands down as you turned to face where you believe the rest of the person’s body would be with blind eyes, unsteady on the leg beneath you and another stifled shout in your throat, chomping at the hilt in the form of gritting teeth.

“Shh-sh. No one’s going to hurt you.” The voice without the crackle through a screen or recording device had your jaw falling slack. It was real, and it was now nearly in your ear. This was whose lap you were sitting on, the smooth slacks’ fabric suddenly getting a vision in your head of that black suit, that deep red tie…

A hand on your chest, as cold as you also had imagined it to be, settled against the skin of your collarbone as he beckoned, “That's it. I want you to trust in me, just like I always ask you to when you’re in the therapy. Can you do that, [Y/N]?”

Exhaling sharply, you were frozen to the spot by the very presence of his speaking, but forced out a fragile, “Yes.”

“I know you will.” His hand touched your chin, a thumb and index drawing together in a gentle pinch before leaving your face.

“I have gone through the trenches of pain, and putting you through it in turn with the trials. This is the goal, to accustom you to the delicacies of such a pain, but with you I would start to ask myself, what about the other end?” A noise of a device switched on, a buzz that the voice sitting in the gutters of your mind spoke to. The familiar growl of silicone-covered machinery, something scandalous enough to make you shudder another breath as he asked you, “Do you know what’s on the other end of pain, my dear?”

You swallowed, but whispered out with chattering teeth, “Pleasure?”

“Good.”

He touched what was making the sound to your inner thigh, a vibration sent up the soft skin and smooth surface to the device making you twitch in a movement that got your knees spreading open. Surrender wasn't to be given this easily as a reagent, but how could you not?

This was Dr. Easterman you were dealing with, and if it was amenability he demanded from you?

You sucked in another breath as he cooed to your gesture. "Steadfast in a journey, but susceptible to the right hand's firm direction and interest all the same." He mused, the hand not holding the toy securing a knee so you remained open to him. You huffed through your nostrils, and asked in a warbly voice, "Is this good, sir?"

"Sir..." He grumbled, "[Y/N], you could try to be neighborly to the man who gave you so much. Call me Father." The reigns slipped like a worm on a shimmering sidewalk after it rained; you quickly corrected yourself as you dipped the shoulder closest to him down, "I'm s-sorry, Father."

Brittle silence, and you felt the silicone rubbing circles along your inner thigh as you started to shake from its sensation. Jaw loosening, your chin tipped down as you surrendered another whimper from a parched throat.

"That's the oddity of your character that I can't put a finger on," He gasped slightly, and you felt a twitch against your outer thigh where the crux of his lap welcomed it, "Your crossed wires, a response that doesn't know what pleasure and pain warrant. It's all the same to you, as it is for every perfect-" His lips were against your head, your tremors being tended to with his very presence and a ginger kiss against your temple, "Masochist."

He now touched the toy [to your bulge, still clothed but tip weeping to his touch/against your front, your slit already slickening with each beautiful word that came out of his mouth], and you flinched in his hold, which only warranted more niceties.

"Careful, don't fall off Daddy's lap now." Your hands clamored from behind you, balling into fists before extending fingers found his slacks from under you to perceive him with the senses you were permitted. You sucked in another breath as his hand held your knee open despite a reflex making you push against him. The denial only made you moan again, but you clarified with a whine, "Th-thank you..."

"Your gratitude is coming so early," He chuckled, but you heard the smile in his voice, "I knew I found the beholden of the litter." He moved in the same circles against your sex, lips on your temple again as you started to jostle slightly in the shockwaves. Even his saliva, though scarce with more kissing against your face, was cold to the touch. It had been months, more than you had kept count since you'd been touched in such a way. This was such a lonely gig, one you faced a lot of bark about sex over but no goddamn bite. In a way, it was so much worse. Even the cretins that teased you, slobbered over your movement and body whenever they got the chance, never did anything to actually engage. Of course, that wasn't the point but-

The climax was behind another veil of whimpering, but you knew it was distinct now: your noises were growing thin, pure bliss overcoming the will as you felt that precipice practically climb up from the pit of your stomach and begin to reach the outside, falling to your [cock/cunt]. You threw your head back, and let another thought slither out from a beckoning throat.

"Father, what can I do to find it? This gift, this...climax?" You goaded him, turning with head facing where you thought was eye level, "Please, how much? How..." You caught your breath, and groaned it out, "How high?"

"My, my..." His hand stuttered, grinding harder with the toy and your knee once again flexing against his now clammy hand. "Please, please..."

"I can't deny such a beautiful stride." He swallowed in your ear, even kissing and nipping to suddenly push you over without knowing it. He spoke as you fell over the edge in a sharp inhale, "It's yours, [Y/N]. Now come for me."

Your breath shuddered back and forth, inhale-exhale-inhale in rapid succession mixed with scandalous noises enunciating every movement and every rack. Pleasure spreading over your stomach, leaning into it with an arch of your back and a strain against both the wrist restraints and his steadfast hand. The little slivers of denial were egging it on, a force to push against to no avail utterly pleasing.

You finished with a final exertion, cum in whatever garments were still on your person slipping out and against the hot skin of your inner thighs and taint. It was getting on his slacks, no doubt, but he didn't react except to let go of your knee and permit you to curl against him, needing the assurance after such a vulnerable display. He gave it with allowing such intimacy, and you got to smell the cigarette smoke embedded in the folds of the suit jacket he wore, feel what you couldn't see once more.

"This is...real, isn't it?" You murmured in question, face rubbing a little against the fabric and hand even coming up to touch his tie.

"As real as you understand it to be, my sweet." He replied, hand back up to your face to smooth the skin of your cheek, let you explore in a slow fashion.

So long as you kept the blindfold on and never saw the man behind such gorgeous exploration. That was going to be his gift to you, his prized masochist and lamb.

[free-my-girl-tourney]

Omg can I rant about a certain fandom's misogyny for a sec? I genuinely enjoyed heated rivalry the show, the actors were really good and it was cute, if cheesy at times.

But the female characters or lack thereof were atrocious! And if you DARE to mention this in the vicinity of a fan of that franchise oh boy. Just all variations of the stereotypical fandom misogyny- "this story isn't about the women! It's just an isolated story about the two main guys, it isn't excluding women!!" (casting announcements show more hot dudes in their 20s announced for additional seemingly lead roles), "the book author is a WOMAN so CHECKMATE" (women can be misogynists), "there's a storyline about SA and believing women in the books!" (yes and from what I understand that storyline is solely there to redeem one of the new hot gay hockey men who used to be homophobic. The fictional victims are fodder for his redemption arc so he can be the big woke hero)

Not to mention literally the only roles for women in s1 are supportive cheerleader, girl to fuck, or overbearing mother. I like the mother the most bc she actually had a personality, but apparently they only added her personality in the show version. so ig the book is even worse with women. They are there to assist the man's plot and then leave.

And yet the fandom is so gaslight-y about this for some reason? Like you'd think Rose and Svetlana were main characters and not just devices for the main character's stories(that's not to say theres an abundance of fanworks for them tho, there absolutely isn't, I think it's just them overcompensating), but they've barely got 5 minutes of screentime between them and all of that screentime was spent supporting the two main characters. Which again the fandom argues that it's because it's a romance about those two men and actually I'M the misogynist for ruining straight women's porn books with my wokeness (paraphrasing, but that was the gist). But new male characters get personalities and backstories ect. It's the women with speaking roles who are completely defined in the narrative by the men in their lives. Because realistic or fleshed out women are a turn-off.

of course you can rant about a fandom's misogyny, that's what we're here for! i haven't seen that show but that does indeed sound extremely frustrating. heated rivalry anti-propaganda (sort of)!

[i-bring-crack]

Spoilers btw*

Something something Transmigration Crossover AU something something Luo Binghe (Bingge) becomes consumed with the idea of looking through all parallel worlds and dimensions for a Shizun that can love him and take care of him but each world's Shizun either rejects him or is already with some other self that he deems far worse than himself. It gets to the point where he is so far gone that the "Forces Above" have to step in or else he might lead many worlds to the brink of destruction. He has become too overpowered, too insane that the only way to stop this madness is to regress his soul and nurture that it with care so that it doesnt go back to its past state. And in order to make this plan work, the "Forces Above" send out the professionals among professionals (really not but they are the only hope for binghe now) to deal with this son of a virus!

Su Luxia, N1 Transmigrator from the Female Lead System; Song Qingshi, Protector of the World Tree; Abyss, up and coming star transmigrator from the World's Conciousness' Survivor Program; And System Y, new Master System. These four.... people (questionable) will have to find a way to restore Binghe's santity while not creating a complete deviancy from the main plot!

Su Luxia, transmigrated as wife #2653 : Seriously?! I'm good at canon divergence, not canon compliant!

System Y, transmigrated as another canon fodder villain: Why do I get to deal with another murder freak protagonist obsessed with someone older than them?! Well at least this one doesn't read minds.

Song Qingshi, transmigrated as the unnamed 12th peak lord: Can we still bring our husbands here? I miss Wuhuan already ):

Abyss, transmigrated as Ming Fan, pointing to Binghe: If I have to deal with this crybaby more than two seconds without seeing Prince, I will kill everyone in this room and then--

[morningpages]

brain is too broke for replies tonight but i've put some of the muses i've been d*ying to write with some plots that interest me for them below! like this and i'll come say hi and maybe plot and bother you forever 🫶

jacqueline ‘jac’ henri , kaia gerber   ⸺   independent singer/songwriter. two musicians writing break up songs about each other/being general pests. think buckingham and nicks without being in the same band. just toxic and nasty but can't stay away and eventual tabloid fodder.

gwen cavanaugh , inde navarette   ⸺  marketing. taylor alatorre , camila morrone   ⸺   aspiring writer/barista. a right person/wrong time kind of dynamic for either of them! maybe something resembling rory & jess from g/ilmore girls in the later seasons? say she's spinning out in the city as a Grown Adult and her old s/o runs into her once they *finally* have their shit together. i love yearning and pining! + the flashback threads could beeeeee delicious!

nolan davison , tyriq withers   ⸺   general malingerer/problem son/himbo. PINING. pining. omg. give me someone for him someone to pine for. he's so unserious that every "move" he made would be considered a joke, but he's actually unbelievably devoted for the first time in his life.

daphne logan , grace van patten   ⸺   actress. PR RELATIONSHIP!!!!!! or a notting hill vibe. pleaseeeeee!

alec leahy , harris dickinson   ⸺   art acquisition & forgery.  y/m is a journalist (or similar) and alec's work obviously resembles forged works in circulation so he becomes a person of interest???? i love secrets... scandal....

marcus ambrose , tom blyth   ⸺   art conservator. elliot keaton , callum turner   ⸺   attorney. julien st. james , jonah hauer king   ⸺   book editor. this dynamic for any of them oh my g*d

halle lau , havana rose liu   ⸺   phd candidate.  need a "gifted child falls from grace once she hits the real world" kinda vibe, maybe she temporarily drops out of school or a family emergency brings her back home, and she sees an old flame. rory & dean from g/ilmore girls (can u tell that my rewatch is approaching) as adults vibes? maybe cheating? OOP-

serena bennett , lovie simone  ⸺  multi-media artist. muse a thinks their rivals but muse b thinks they're flirting !!!!! could be two up and coming artists in the similar fields and maybe they compete for the same exhibits/set design jobs/etc...

[dreamdepot]

Super Royal Assistant! - Chapter 5: Wish Upon a Star Road

Previous < First > Next

Your impromptu adventure takes you through new lands as you get wrapped up in Smithy’s plot… as well as weddings, wishes, and pirates…

AO3 Wattpad or below!

When going on an adventure, you imagined something closer to the stories about the Mario Bros or those adventure novels Goombella hid under her bed – that is, something along the lines of rolling grassy hills and fodder enemies for grinding. Instead, you spent the last hour skirting the edge of Boo Woods. “Are you sure this is a shortcut?” You were more than thankful your new boots were comfortable for the longer-than-expected trek.

“More or less. Ideally, I’d just fly you there, but since we don’t know for sure, we should keep an eye out,” Kamek said, floating beside you on his broom. “Not to mention, this broom barely holds me up these days.”

The two of you emerged from the edge of the dark, twisted woods. A few flowers giggled as Kamek got smacked with a stray branch. You now stood in the rugged wastes leading into the rocky peaks near Marrymore. “No offense, but if I built a whole town for the wedding industry, I would’ve picked something a bit easier to get to,” you sighed as you began the climb.

“I’m sure they picked it as a way to demonstrate one’s love through sacrifice and hardship… or some crap like that,” Kamek replied. After a beat, he added, “Wasn’t expecting to be in Marrymore until next week.”

“Have a sweetheart?” You asked.

Kamek laughed, “Several, but never wanted to settle down. They called me a heartbreaker back in the day who sent the boys crying home. But not what I’m talking about; I do a drag show every now and then.”

“You do drag?”                          

“Nothing fancy like you see at the big shows in New Donk or Shroom City, of course. No, Kammy’s an old queen who’s there to help the young’uns these days. Still, come out on stage every now and then and take home a nice bundle. I do a mean lip sync to Chanterelle.”

“Next week huh? I’ll make the trip for that – though I’m taking a warp pipe or a bus next time.”

“Agreed,” Kamek muttered as the two of you passed the sign at the city’s edge.

The famed town of Marrymore sat atop the summit, with perfectly manicured gardens and spotless streets. Villas with sprawling lawns and wrought iron fences seemed to be everywhere. A massive resort sat just off the main street, lined with topiaries shaped like hearts. “Man, and I thought the castle was posh,” you muttered.

“Why do you think I do shows here? You get tipped in gold bars. Only place better is Poshley Heights,” Kamek said.

The crown jewel was the majestic chapel overlooking the entire town. The bells were already ringing out a jaunty tune, and flower petals drifted everywhere in the breeze. “Wow, someone must be throwing the wedding of the century,” you commented. “Think they hired the Broodals?”

“Please, they’re so exclusive, even Bowser would break the bank to hire them,” Kamek sighed. “Believe me, I’ve had to talk him down from that multiple times.”

“Excuse me,” came a voice with clacking footsteps. A stranger appeared from around the corner. He appeared to be a life-size wooden puppet wearing a blue cape and a blue hat. “Greetings, I am Geno. Are you friends of Mario and Mallow?”

“You could say that,” Kamek said, adjusting his glasses as he peered at your new companion.

“Ah I’m glad to have found you,” Geno continued, unbothered by Kamek’s gaze. He focused his attention on you. “Mallow said that I should keep a look out for the nice man in a pink vest.”

Kamek chuckled. “Not a whole lot of people with your fashion sense, [Y/n].”

“I didn’t exactly have much of a say in the uniform,” you replied. “Are Mario and Mallow here? Have they found the Princess or Bowser?”

“Yes. Both.” Geno nodded. “You’ve come at a fortuitous time, please follow me, quickly.” He led you down the stone path. “Tell me, you were the one who restored the first shard of the Star Road, correct?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds like a much bigger deal than just picking it up,” you replied. “But yes.”

Geno nodded. “Then I thank you from the core of my being. Restoring the Star Road is my purpose on this world.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re quite extraordinary,” Kamek said, seeming to scan Geno with his wand. “I’ve never seen such well executed magic to animate a puppet so well…”

“Ah, possession magic tends to be stronger than animation magic.”

“Possession?! Are you a spirit?”

Geno seemed to smile, despite his fixed expression. “In a manner of speaking. I serve a higher authority.”

Geno led the two of you to the chapel, where a group of Snifters in gray gathered. “Um, excuse me?” You called, tentatively reaching for your new hammer.

Thankfully you didn’t need it, as they were not machines like the Shymores. “Sorry, we’re having a wedding, so we can’t play today,” one of the Snifters said.

“Who’s wedding?” You started to ask, just as a familiar scream pierced the air. “Peach!” You charged into the chapel, Kamek close behind. Peach lay in the aisle, but instead of Bowser or one of the mechanical monstrosities, a gremlin of a man stood nearby.

“Hey, it’s [Y/n]!” Mallow said as you ran in, standing next to Mario and… Bowser?

Well, there was no time to unpack that now. A brigade of Snifsters shoved you aside and carried Peach to the altar. “Booster sir, we’re ready for the wedding, we just need to light the candles!”

“Then let’s get this wedding started!” He shouted. He then turned to Peach. “What’s this? Water from your eyes… are you leaking, my dear?”

“My shoes, my ring, my brooch, and… my crown!” She sobbed. “They’re all missing!”

Assistant instincts kicked in before you even realized, as you quickly hopped over the pews, grabbing Peach’s missing accessories. With your new boots, you could nearly jump as high as Mario. With the last snagged, you hopped up to the altar, trying to catch your breath as you silently handed them over. “Oh, thank you [Y/n]! You’re my hero!” Peach leaned in to kiss you but stopped short. “Oh wait… I’m your employer. That, um…”

“No, yeah that might not look great,” you replied. “Hug?”

“Hug works!” Peach said, embracing you and enveloping you in her appropriately fruity perfume.

Bowser and Booster both growled under their breath, but you only could make out the Koopa King’s words. “Stupid, I should’ve gotten that kiss…” You did your best not to roll your eyes.

Just then, a cart burst into the chapel, holding a massive – but messy – three-tiered cake. “Ze wedding cake! Zhee is here!” A Koopa chef announced. He stopped short. “Vat? Vat is going on?”

His apprentice poked his head out behind the melting frosting. “Is the wedding cancelled?” Before anyone could explain, he groaned. “No, this can’t be! We worked all day on it!”

“Listen, maybe we can still have the cake, there’s no reason to get worked up,” you said. Your eyes crawled over the multicolored batter and misshapen decorations, especially the raspberries matched with wafer cookies and candy canes. For a second, you could have sworn the whole thing twitched. “Uh… so, what flavor of cake is it?”

“Every flavor!” The chef proudly replied.

“Oh dear…” You had heard of “mistakes” before from when you visited Tayce T in town, but this took the cake, literally.

“I see you and zee judging! You are idiot! You do not appreciate zee fine art of zee baking!” The chef snarled. “Ve vork hard and-”

“Uh, Chef Torte?” His apprentice whispered. “The cake is moving.”

“Moving? Vat? Idiot, it-” He was cut off by a roar that rattled the stained-glass windows. The cake trembled and shook, the five oversized birthday candles bursting into flame. “AIYEEE!”

“Look out!” Kamek shouted, casting a spell that created a shield around you, Peach, and Bowser. The others ducked behind a pew, narrowly avoiding the sandstorm that now raged in the chapel.

“What do we do against a cake?” Mallow shouted.

“It’s a cake!” Bowser shouted back. “We eat! It might not be one of Peach’s cakes, but I’ve got an iron stomach!”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Kamek muttered. Before Bowser could protest, the cake roared again, but this time it sounded more fearful.

“I call dibs!” Booster said, scrambling over with his Snifsters. “Let’s dig in!” The monstrous cake didn’t stand a chance.

==============================    

With the cake gone and Booster in a food coma, the rest of you figured it best to take your leave. “Peach, I should really get you back home. Toadsworth is gonna have an aneurysm at this rate.”

“Please [Y/n]? A princess should really be out there helping her people, especially at times like this. I know Toadsworth worries, but this is the time for action.”

Your stomach twisted, you knew she was right after seeing what just Claymorton had done and the mass panic after the sword landed… but that also meant that you would have to deal with it. “What do I even tell him?”

“I don’t know, just call him up and say I’m taking a rest at one of the other castles.”

“He’ll never buy that.”

“He will, believe me, did it all the time when I was growing up.”

You rubbed your forehead, hoping you wouldn’t regret this. “I… I guess I can let you, but I’m coming with you!” You didn’t want to add that if you returned without Peach, you’d probably kiss your job goodbye.

Peach clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”

“Now that that’s settled, I suggest we make our way to Star Hill,” Geno said. “I can sense the next Star Piece there.”

“While you all go get that one, I better go check to make sure the kids are still doing alright. After that, I’ll scout ahead and see if I can find the next one,” Kamek said. “Try not to get into trouble!”

==============================

Star Hill stood before you, glittering in the perpetual night that hung over the region. The ground glowed with an unearthly soft blue light. Tiny stars rained down all around you, leaving small craters in the earth. Beyond, near the top of the hill, stood Shooting Star Summit and the entrance to the mythical Star Road – or at least it used to. “I don’t understand why taking out the Star Road was part of their plan,” you said. “Did they want to take everyone’s wishes?”

“No, not exactly,” Geno said. “The Star Road is the way that wishes reach Star Haven. There, the Star Spirits grant the wishes, and they return to earth as falling stars. But, since the Star Road is broken, ungranted wishes are stuck here too. The Star Spirits can’t hear your cries for help. I imagine Smithy wanted to invade unopposed and cut all of you off from any assistance.”

You scratched your head. “Okay… but why not go after the Star Spirits themselves? Wouldn’t it be better to have the power of wishes?”

Bowser snorted. “Not a bad plan, maybe you ought to be working for me.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Geno said, shooting a glare at Bowser. “I imagine Smithy is afraid of them. The Star Spirits are nigh omnipotent. The only way one would stand a chance against them is if one had the Star Rod.” Geno frowned – or at least as best a puppet could frown. “The last time a mortal wielded the powers of the stars without restraint… have you ever heard of Halcandra?”

“No?” You replied.

“There’s a good reason for that.” Geno’s eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of Smithy’s minions. “We’re wasting time. The Star Piece should be around here somewhere.”

“Finding a Star Piece here is gonna be impossible,” Bowser grumbled. You found yourself nodding along. Stars lay everywhere, glowing with all colors of the rainbow.

“Perhaps we should split up to cover more ground,” Geno suggested. “Mallow and I will take the north.”

“Mario and I can take the eastern part!” Peach quickly added.

“Looks like that leaves you and me, Bowser,” you jumped in, eager to keep Peach away from the lovestruck king. Bowser growled but didn’t put up much of a fight, merely turning and trudging westward.

For a while, the two of you hiked across the hill, the only sound being Bowser’s heavy stomps, leaving their own little craters. “So…” you started.

“Yeah?”

“I’m… sorry about your castle?”

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he grumbled.

You fell back into uneasy silence as you walked over these hills of hopes and dreams. Stars of all colors surrounded you, and as you passed, you could hear some of them whisper bits of their ungranted desires. One, however, seemed to call to you more than the others. Looking at the star, you could feel it pulse in time with your heartbeat. There was no doubt that star was one of your wishes. Unfortunately, Bowser must have come to the same conclusion as his claw reached towards it. “Don’t you dare! That’s private!”

“Like that’s ever stopped me!” He touched the glowing star, and your voice echoed around you.

I wish to walk among the stars…

“The hell is that supposed to mean? Aren’t we doing that now?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m not budging until you tell me, so spill.”

You sucked on your teeth, trying to find the right words. “I… wanted to be an astronaut. Studied like hell, passed all the written tests, I should’ve been a shoo-in for REXA, but…” you turned away from him, looking up at the beautiful shooting stars above, “I couldn’t pass the physical. Astronauts have to meet strict guidelines for everything, especially the health ones.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t pass the medical requirements, turns out I have a disqualifying disability. Something just didn’t work for me. I couldn’t be an astronaut… so I switched my major in college. Went to a bit of a dark place for a while…” Your voice trailed off, really not wanting to get into that with him of all people.

Bowser was quiet for a moment. That alone was a bit surprising. You figured he’d laugh or something, but there was nothing. Finally, he said, “Life ain’t fair sometimes. Doesn’t mean you can’t go to the stars someday.”

“I know; it’s kinda why I decided to work for Peach. Figure maybe someday I could at least tag along on one of her racing trips up there to the Rainbow Belts.”

“Guess we better help these star people get the Star Road fixed then, huh.”

It wasn’t so much a question as a promise. You turned back to him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t thank me. Wishes are bullshit. You’re a stubborn enough guy to get there on your own. Just figure Geno could at least give you a helping hand.”

“Heh, I guess he could. Still though.”

Bowser shrugged and led the way up Star Hill. “Maybe those Star Spirits actually do something for once…”

“They’ve helped me a lot before,” you said softly. Bowser seemed lost in thought for the briefest moment but continued trudging up the hill. He stopped for a moment beside a star that glowed red but left it behind. Part of you wanted to know, to get back at him for listening to your wish, but you held back. The way he looked at it almost seemed filled with disdain, or was it just painful longing? It was hard to tell with him. For now though, you resolved to leave it be.

“Over here!” You heard Peach call. Just over the next hill, you could see her and Mario next to the giant purple Star Piece.

“We’ll be right there!” You called back. “C’mon Bowser, sooner we get these Star Pieces back, the sooner we can get your castle back.”

“You wanna be rid of me that badly, huh?”

“What? No, I-”

“Just messin’ with ya, nerd. Loosen up.”

“…right.”

==============================

With the Star Piece secured, you soon found yourself on a much more pleasant coastal path. “Seaside Town… it’s so beautiful!” Peach exclaimed. “Just a quiet little fishing village up here on the coast. Father and I used to go here all the time for weekends away from the castle.”

“Must be nice,” Bowser said, “Doesn’t look like a lot of people get out here.”

“Yes, that’s what I liked about it, though,” Peach frowned as you approached the town. “This seems even quieter than usual.”

“Almost seems like a g-ghost town,” Mallow whimpered.

Geno flicked his wrist, swapping his hand for a shiny gun barrel. “Everyone, be on your guard.”

The town was eerily quiet and the houses all seemingly empty. It wasn’t until Mario pushed open the door to the shop that you caught a glimpse of any life. “OH!” came a shriek.

Bowser shoved you out of the way to protect Peach as Geno rolled in, training his arm on the noise. “Toads,” Geno said simply. You bit your tongue and brushed yourself off, squeezing past Bowser with a scoff. Bowser snorted back at you.

“Oh, we’re sorry, we thought you were that monster!” The Toad shopkeeper replied in a raspier-than-usual voice.

“Monster?” You asked.

“Johnathan Jones!” A fellow Toad added. “An evil pirate! He stole that shiny star that fell from the sky!”

“Johnathan Jones…” you muttered but stopped. “Hey, are you both feeling okay?”

“N-never better!” One replied, but you still worried about their skin which was a shade of blue normally reserved for asphyxiation.

You decided to let it slide for now, but both you and Bowser planted yourselves between them and Peach. Mario picked up a few necessities in the shop before all of you made your way down towards the docks. “So, Bowser, you have a submarine, right?” You asked.

“Hey, that’s classified information! Besides, it’s on a top-secret mission to-”

“You left it in the Dire, Dire Docks painting world, didn’t you?”  Peach asked.

“…Maybe.”

“Okay, plan B,” you said, clapping your hands. “Got any spare frog-suits Mario!”

Mallow gasped. “Hey!”

“Right, right, sorry! Okay, plan C… any ideas Geno?”

He pointed towards the water, now bubbling furiously. “I think we wait for them.”

Suddenly, the water frothed white and monster shark privateers emerged from the waves. Their leader, unlike his compatriots, seemed to be a strange figure wearing a shark costume, but that didn’t detract from his sheer presence. He laughed as he emerged, brandishing his impressive trident. “Don’t let them get away, I won’t let any ruffians take my sea!”

“Wait, this might be a misunderstanding!” Peach said.

Bowser spoke with his fists, clobbering two of the pirates easily. “Buzz off! We don’t want your damn sea.”

You and Mallow ducked as Mario leaped past to stomp their heads. Mallow readied as spell as Geno fired his star beams. You grabbed your hammer and swung… and fell forward onto the dock. “Ouch.”

“Hmm, appears you need practice before you tangle with the likes of us.” You suddenly realized a fin was planted before you. You looked up at the glowing eyes of the pirate leader and gulped. “Well now, what do we have here…” He bent down, gently tipping your chin up with his hook hand. “Oh my, you aren’t some ruffian, you’re a precious treasure…”

“I… what?”

“You may call me Johnny,” he said, gently taking your hand and kissing the back.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page here. Maybe we should sit down and talk about this?”

“Ah, parley! You are craftier than you look.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

He called to his crew, “Gentlemen, we must save this beauty from those horrible monsters, bring him to the ship so he won’t be harmed!”

“Aye aye!”

Soon you found yourself hoisted into the air by several of his fishy friends. “So, this is what this feels like,” you muttered.

“[Y/n]!” Peach shouted, trying to reach for you.

“I’ll be okay!” You said back, knowing you were headed for the star. You braced yourself for the plunge as they charged towards the sea. “Okay boys, you wouldn’t happen to have a diving helmet or anything for me, would you?” They didn’t respond with anything beyond a hearty cheer. “Great, thanks.” You sucked in as much as air as you could moments before the salty sea swallowed you up.

==============================

Johnny’s sunken ship was a fair bit more regal than you anticipated – or at least his room was. Lucky for you, a spell had been cast over it to protect landlubbers from drowning inside. Breathing water felt a bit like being stuck in a warm shower or sauna and breathing in steam, but it wasn’t painful or terribly unpleasant. That said, being stuck on a velvet throne and offered rare and exotic foods from beyond the seas certainly didn’t hurt. The Star Piece was mounted just above your head, but you couldn’t grab it as Johnny remained by your side. “Pray tell me, sweet siren, what is your name?”

“[Y/n],” you said, wondering if this was common for kidnappings, because it really didn’t mesh with the stories on the news. Plus, you were pretty sure this was a step up from what Bowser did for Peach, but you didn’t have any firsthand experience to go off of there.

“What a charming name,” he said. “I wonder how it’d sound with my last name…”

You could practically hear Goombella screaming at you to stop this. “I think we’re moving a bit fast here. Besides, I thought a sailor’s true love was the sea?”

“Ah, the sea may be my mistress, but,” he turned to you with a wink, “every sailor deserves a good man by his side too, don’t you think?” His crew cheered at this, and the history of the word “matey” suddenly came to mind. “But… you are right, my dear [Y/n]. You are clearly a gentleman of distinction, and you deserve a proper courtship.”

You did your best to not choke with laughter, considering the times you and Goombella would have all-night game sessions. Gaming in only ratty t-shirts and underwear with trash talk so crass it could peel paint along with a 36 pack of Yoshi Cola and two extra-large pizzas did not exactly strike the tone of a “gentleman of distinction.” You composed yourself before responding. “What entails a proper courtship to you then, Captain?”

He clicked his hook against his trident. Seemingly out of nowhere, his crew laid out a dining table complete with white tablecloth, bouquet, and candelabra while another crew member tuned a violin. “And, my dear, you need not address me as Captain. You’re my guest.”

As you were about to sit in the chair Johnny pulled out for you, the door splintered and tore off its hinges. Bowser stormed in, the rest of the party in tow. “OI! WHAT THE HELL?!” You looked up sheepishly. Bowser rolled his eyes. “At least look grateful we showed up!”

“I am!”

“Listen fish-face, if anyone is kidnapping people around here, it’s ME, got it?! I don’t care if that means its Peach, Mario, and especially not the nerd here!”

“Gee, thanks,” you murmured.

“If you dare to challenge me for [Y/n], you are sorely mistaken,” Johnny said, wielding his trident. “[Y/n] is his own man, he can choose who he wishes to associate with, but if you choose to demean or belittle him, you will answer to my trident!”

Bowser growled, but his usual cinders only came out as bubbles underwater. That wouldn’t stop him though, considering his claws and shell were still just as deadly. “Wait!” you shouted. Both froze and looked at you. “Johnny, listen. We came to Seaside Town, because we need to collect the Star Pieces to fix the Star Road. We’re not here to take the sea or destroy the town, or anything like Smithy wants.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “Then why did those Toads say that you were all with Smithy?”

Everyone fell quiet as everything fell into place. Peach was the first to put it to words. “Oh dammit.”

==============================

Back on the surface, the Toads were waiting as you all emerged from the sea. “Ah good, you have the Star Piece then?” One of them asked. “We’d be happy to take it for you.”

“And why would we give it to you exactly?” Geno asked, deadpan. “Considering you lied to us and to Johnny?”

“Uh…” The Toads murmured. “Oh, screw it, I’m not gonna get a promotion like this!” The Toads melted before you, reforming into a gangly machine that looked more like a stick figure in armor with a pointed head. “I, Speardovich, shall be your doom and finally Smithy will recognize my true talents! Finally, I’ll get that promotion! Now hand over that Star Piece!”

“Mood,” you muttered.

“What was that?” Peach asked.

“Nothing!”

Speardovich took a battle stance. “En garde!” Magic began to surround him as the ground began to shake and hiss. Steam spurted from the cracks below your feet.

“[Y/n]!” You fell to the ground, smothered by something big and warm. A concussive blast rocked you, but you remained unharmed. Instead, you realized your face was shoved into a large chest and pinned in by thick arms.

“…Bowser?”

“You okay?”

“…yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“…do you think you can let me go?”

“Oh, crap, right.” Bowser pulled back, letting you free from the scaly prison. “I’ll just… uh… go…”

“Yeah,” you managed. “Uh, good luck.” You backed up with Peach to leave the fighting to the pros, but you wouldn’t be so lucky. Peach grabbed you and spun you around to see a team of multicolored Toad-sized machines.

“There they are!” The red one said, trying to pose but instead tripping over his own feet and falling. The other four groaned.

“Who are you?” Peach demanded.

“Who are we?” The red one sneered. “Team, sound off! Axem Red!”

“Axem Black!”

“Axem Green!”

“Axem Pink!”

“Axem Yellow!”

“GO GO AXEM RANGERS!”

“Hey Red,” Axem Yellow asked. “Who are we grabbing again?”

“Their leader you idiot! We gotta hold them hostage!”

Axem Pink giggled. “As if any leader here could be as adorable a princess as me!”

“As if,” Peach muttered.

“Ugh, like how dare you!” Pink hissed. “You pink wannabe!” Without warning, Pink flung her axe at Peach.

“Oof!” Peach smacked into you hip first, knocking the wind out of you both. Something even hit you in the head. “Are you okay?”

You sucked down air, now understanding why the Peach Bomber was her go-to attack move in those fighting tournaments. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Enough stalling, you clowns!” Axem Red pointed. “We’re here to take the ruler of this land hostage, and that means you!”

Both you and Peach sprang to your feet, and you stepped in front of her. “No way, you can’t take the- HEY!” Suddenly you found yourself bound in ropes and lifted in the air. Something slid off your head and clinked on the ground… Peach’s crown. “Wait! I’m not the ruler!”

“Quiet you!”

“Twice in a day!!” You roared as Axem Yellow tied a gag over your mouth.

Peach ran after you, but the Axems were too quick, carrying you to their ship and blasting off towards the massive sword in Bowser’s Keep.

==============================

A/n: Ironically, I started writing this chapter before the chronic illness stuff hit again, so the Star Hill section was a bit self-indulgent.

For those of you who missed my announcement, I will be shifting to a biweekly upload schedule (Still on Fridays) until I fully recover. Also hoping to change jobs soon so that should help.

Anyway, one more chapter left in this RPG saga as you’re stolen away by Smithy’s Gang. What awaits you at Bowser’s Keep? Only time will tell.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part eighteen

authors notes: two updates back to back! i felt a lil bad for leaving ya'll on a cliffhanger of sorts. granted, this one kinda does too but....not in a bad way. more of a plot twist, than anything.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst, fluff, language, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

faceclaims

words: 7k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @southerngirl41 @wanderingreigns @romanreignsbae

24 hours.

It’s been 24 hours of absolute chaos and madness.

24 hours of a rush of conflicting and yet corresponding emotions. Anger. Confusion. Sadness.

In the past 24hrs, your love and basically life story have gone from being known to a select few to now being trending topics on every social media platform. Your Instagram, which was already private, had literally hundreds of follow requests the last time you checked it. There are emails in your inbox from several news platforms requesting interviews and offering exclusives. 

Hell, a couple of people even reached out to you on your LinkedIn.

It’s all so extremely overwhelming and chaotic, so much so that you had to force Alexis to leave and find some way to calm herself down. Her furious energy, while valid as hell, wasn’t helping. And it's not that you don't get it.

You do. God, you do.

You’d like nothing more than to take a steel chair to Mariah’s head, for you and Alexis to do a beatdown part two since the first one seemingly didn’t send a strong enough message.

But, you can’t. And she can’t either.

The whole world now has eyes on you, now is waiting to see what else comes out of this story that isn’t a story for you.

It’s your fucking life.

“We’re definitely looking into our options here, and there are some routes we can take, but without anything from her specifically saying she was going to do anything—”

“Wait.” It’s the first thing you’ve said in this emergency meeting with Joe and his legal team, a couple of intrigued eyes falling on you. “That’s—that’s not exactly true.”

Joe, as you expected, is the first to speak. “What are you talking about?”

This….this is the last conversation you expected to be having right now. The last thing you thought you’d be doing right now. You should be continuing to prepare for the move, decorating the house, planning how you’re going to tell Joe about your pregnancy.

Instead, you’re sitting in your new kitchen surrounded by lawyers, men in suits, and the man you love who you now have to admit to lying over something, at the time, you thought was nothing.

But that nothing has turned into a nightmare that has not only your personal life being used as media fodder but pictures of your sweet, beautiful, four-year-old daughter circulating the internet, just waiting to fall into the hands of the depraved.

That…..that’s what kills you the most.

It’s not even the “tell all” interview you only managed to watch for 10 minutes before having to turn it off. Even staring at her caked face, most likely to hide the lingering bruises from Alexis beating, makes you mad. Almost as mad at the absolute way she’s taken your and Joe’s story and dramatized it to the point of delusions.

Saying you plotted on Joe from the beginning. That you intentionally got pregnant by him. That you were sleeping with multiple men, meaning there’s a chance he could not be the father. That Joe’s ex-wife called and cussed you out, threatening to beat your ass. That you make Joe give you an allowance.

Just lies. Pure, unadulterated lies that make you sick to your stomach.

This whole thing feels like a never ending cycle of nightmares.

“Y/N?” One of the suits saying your name brings you back to this space, this place of here and now where another lie, one of your own making, is about to be revealed.

Licking your lips, you try to explain it as best you can, though there is no good way to come out and admit you weren’t honest with him. “She—she’d been sending me messages.”

“Messages?” Joe’s interruption is fair and expected, but one of his lawyers jumps in before he can continue. 

“Do you still have them?”

Nodding, you pull out your phone, opening Mariah’s thread. You’d blocked and deleted her contact from your phone so it’s just her number as the title for the thread. Reaching the phone to the lawyer, it’s quickly intercepted by Joe.

Just watching his eyes read over the messages, you can almost see his anger growing. He hands the phone over to his lawyer, and you watch as one exchanges the phone with the other.

“This is perfect,” one of the suits shares to the group. “We can definitely slap her with a couple different lawsuits with this evidence. I’m thinking extortion. Most definitely a cease and desist.”

“Defamation too,” someone else chimes. 

Joe isn’t interested in any of that at this moment. He just wants to speak with you alone, that much is painfully obvious. “Can you give us a minute?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just stands up from his seat, motioning for you to follow him.

Nervous about what’s about to ensue, you do so regardless, following him up the stairs and into the first room on the right. 

You start to plead your case as soon as the door is closed. “Joe—”

“You lied to me.”

His tone kills you. You haven’t been on the receiving end of this side of him in months, not since he first found out about Callie. “I—”

“I fucking asked you did she say anything, and you lied to me, Y/N!”

“I didn’t think anything of it, Joe.” You can’t and won’t necessarily defend the lying part, but you will attempt to help him understand your logic that was at play. “Mariah—she’d never done anything remotely close to any of this to make me think she would ever do something like this. I thought—I thought she was just saying shit to get a reaction out of me.”

He stops his pacing, looking at you with a sense of incredulity. “I didn’t ask you what kind of shit she was saying, I asked you if she said anything at all, and you stood there and you lied to me with a straight face!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” There’s a solid attempt to keep your volume down, well aware Callie is only a few rooms down playing, oblivious to all of this chaos unfolding. “But I was in a really bad place during that time, Joe, okay? I—I didn’t care about….lawyers and lawsuits, I just wanted custody of my child back.” Eyes starting to water, you shake your head, asking, “do you have any idea how hard that was for me?”

“Of course, I know, Y/N.” His tone is a little more calm, still angry though. “I was going through the same damn thing.”

“No, you weren’t!” As much as you want to control your emotions in this moment, control your temper, it’s hard when he’s clearly not trying to hear where you were coming from. “You got to see her! You got to speak to her! I didn’t! Mariah didn’t accuse you of awful shit, it was just me!”

“So you don’t think that shit impacted me at all?” His voice still carries anger, but there’s specks of hurt there. You feel bad, you didn’t mean to invalidate him, just wanted to help him see there was a difference. “Seeing you like that? Seeing Callie like that?”

Pressing your hands against your temple, you shut your eyes, explaining, “that’s not what I’m saying, Joe. You’re not listening to me.” 

“You’re right.” His agreement takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect him to be so self-aware. “I’m not listening cuz’ I’m fucking pissed off with you that this all could have been avoided if you had just been honest with me. Our daughter’s photos wouldn’t be all over the fucking internet if you had just told me the truth.”

It’s not hard for you to read between the lines of what he’s saying. But, it is hard for you to stomach what he’s saying. “You blame me for this, don’t you?” And it’s when he looks away, nostrils flared and jaw clenched. “You do….”

“I didn’t for the DCFS situation, because that was absolutely beyond your control. But this…..” He looks up at the ceiling, eyes closed, most likely trying to maintain composure. “I’m gonna go over to Jey and Kaylah’s place for a little bit. I just need to clear my head.”

Your throat constricts. Joe has never been the one to leave in the middle of an argument. He’s that one to always say we’re gonna stay here and figure this out together, so you don’t know what to make of him wanting to leave. 

“Joe, please….” Walking over to him, you place your hands on his chest, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t go, okay? We just—we need to work this out right now.”

“I love you, Y/N. I love you too much to stay here and have this out with you right now, because there’s not many nice things I have to say.” 

There’s a shred of hope that fills you in the way he cups your cheek, staring at you for a minute before he turns to walk out of the door. But the hope is easily dashed at the fact that he still chooses to walk out the door. 

Sniffling, feeling the tears oncoming, you walk out after him only to see he’s already completely descended down the stairs, already out the house most likely. Standing there, you try to keep the tears at bay, try to keep your shit together.

“Mommy….”

“What, Callie!” The second it leaves your voice, the harshness, the volume, the cruelness, you want to melt into the ground. Callie, understandably, looks devastated at you snapping at her. And you feel it too. “Baby, I’m—I’m so sorry—”

She doesn’t give you a chance to grovel because she turns on the heel of her shoes and darts back into her room, slamming the door behind her. 

Your chest tightening, the tears starting to fall. It hits you so hard.

You really fucked up. 

—-------

“You ready to talk yet?”

Joe knew the second he walked into his cousin’s house, grabbed a beer out the fridge and plopped himself on the steps of their back porch that he didn’t come over here to vent. He just needed to get away, to clear and sort through his head so he didn’t end up saying anything worse than what he’s already said to Y/N.

And Kaylah recognized as such. Recognized something must have happened, which is why she allowed him his privacy for the time being.

“Not really,” he answers, finishing off his beer and tossing it to his side.

“Too bad,” Kaylah dismisses. It’s not a major surprise. “Cause I am.” Joe says nothing as she slides down on the step, sitting beside him. When he still says nothing, “what happened, Joe?”

Joe chuckles bitterly. “Check the news. Any of them.”

Kaylah frowns. “You know that’s not what I mean.” She’s very well aware of that part of this shitshow. “What happened with you and Y/N?”

“She lied to me, Kay.” Joe really doesn’t want to talk about this, but he knows he needs to. Knows he eventually has to go back home and face the music. “I had asked her if Mariah had said anything, not even anything bad, just anything in general. She told me no, but that wasn’t the truth, Mariah was sending all kinds of messages alluding to doing something if Y/N didn’t answer her…..now look at what’s happened.” 

Kaylah takes a second to digest what he’s saying. “When did you ask her?”

“When the whole DCFS situation happened. My lawyers were trying to see if we could build some type of case against Mariah.”

Kaylah is smart, always has been, so it’s not difficult for her to put the pieces together. “And you think if she had provided these messages, you could have done something to avoid this latest shitshow?” Joe doesn’t have to answer her question. She already knows his answer. “That’s a big if, Joe, and you know it.”

“Of course, I know it. It’s just…….fuck.” He shuts his eyes, head titled back. “It’s like shit just keeps happening.”

“It’s rough, I can imagine that, but it’s not just rough for you. Y/N is going through the same thing, and instead of sitting here in your misery, blaming her, you two should be handling it together.” Kaylah lifts her finger to silence him when he goes to either agree or protest. “I’m not saying she wasn’t wrong for not telling you the truth, but Joe, we both know that if she had even an inkling that Mariah would do something like this, she would have told you in a heartbeat.” Her voice softens. “She made a mistake.”

“And I know Mariah has put your business out there too now, and I don’t mean to make it seem like this doesn’t impact you as well, but Y/N is the one being dragged to filth on the internet right now. I sincerely hope she hasn’t read some of the stuff being said about her. It’s awful. Mariah lied about so many things and has made Y/N out to be this horrible person when she’s not.”

Joe thinks that’s the part that pisses him off the most, that made him so angry he unintentionally took that anger out on the person being affected the most in this situation. He watched the entire interview Mariah did, heard the way she took parts of the truth and piled a shit ton of lies on top. 

Heard how actually had the fucking audacity to drag Jadah into it, claiming she had texts and recorded phone calls between the two of them talking about how Y/N was a whore and broke up her marriage. All kind of just lies.

And he knows it’s not true, because he knows Jadah. Hell, he spoke to Jadah just this morning. 

It infuriated him even more to read some of the comments, people speaking so cruelly about the woman he loves. Even going as far to drag Callie into the cesspool of bullying. 

A man who doesn’t like not having control, it tears him up to not be able to do anything to dead the shit immediately. 

But…..there are some things he can do, and he can’t do them if he’s sitting here in his feelings.

Joe looks over at Kaylah, gently shoving into her side. “Thank you, Kay.”

“Anytime.” And she means it. Joe is like a brother to her. Always has been. “Now you’ve got twenty minutes to get your sorry ass off my porch and back to your house to take care of business. Cause I know you, Joe. You don’t play about your family. Let that bitch know she’s fucked with the wrong one.”

—-------

“Mama, I really messed up.”

Crying over the phone to your mom at your big age definitely wasn’t in your bingo card for 2024, yet here you are.

Granted, most of what’s happened this year wasn’t in your bingo card anyway, so it lines up.

“Oh, honey. You made a mistake, You’re human. It happens.” Your mom’s voice is soothing on the other side of the phone. “And don’t worry about Joseph. He’s just upset right now. He’ll calm down.”

“He’s right to be upset. I shouldn’t have lied to him.” Sniffling and wiping at your eyes, you bring your legs to your chest. “And look at what my mistake has caused mama. My baby’s face is all over the internet. Personal photos just material for people to make posts and tweets and TikTok’s about.”

It makes you sick to your stomach to think of how low Mariah has gotten in this whole situation. All of those snaps you shared with her of your daughter, precious moments you thought you were sharing with your best friend, she’d sold to whoever would buy them for 15 minutes of fame and a slice of short-lived relevancy.

“None of us knew that girl is as unhinged as she is. You’re not psychic, baby. You had no way of knowing this would happen, and Joseph knows that. He just let his pride get the best of him and took out his frustrations on you, which, make no mistake, is not right. And you definitely need to check him on that.” Your mom briefly switching gears brings a smile and small laugh to your face. “You know I didn’t raise you to take shit from no man, and that includes him.”

“I know….” And you will address it with him, even if deep down something tells you he already feels bad for how he spoke to you, knowing it was wrong. “I just—-I feel like we can’t catch a break. It sometimes makes me wonder if…..if I’m doing the right thing.” The past 24 hours have caused you to experience such a whirlwind of emotions, emotions you’re sure are exacerbated by a pregnancy no one knows about yet. “I would never stop Joe from being in Callie’s life, but if me being with him causes all this mess for him and her then….”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.” Your mom’s interjection is fierce and sharp. “That boy loves you. He’d do anything for you and baby girl. Don’t let Mariah trick you into thinking that somehow you being happy with the man you love and father of your child is somehow wrong. Don’t let her win.”

Blowing out a breath, you try to heed to your mom’s guidance. She’s right. You know she’s right. Mariah being psychotic doesn’t change shit about your love for Joe, his love for you, the way he’d do anything for ya’ll and vice versa.

Mariah is just jealous. Dissolving what is otherwise a happy family would bring her nothing but great satisfaction. And over your dead body will you let that bitch get what she wants.

“You’re right.” Shaking your head, you try to counter all of your negative and anxious thoughts with more optimism and logic. “It’s just….it’s hard right now.”

“And it will be for a little while, but that’s when you lean on the people you love, and baby, you got no shortage of that.”

Sniffling, tears drying, you thank her, “thank you, mama.”

“Just let me know if you need me to fly down there.” And you know she will. Know Joe won’t hesitate to pay for a plane ticket for her to come stay with you.

And after you tell him about your pregnancy, you might do just that.

“I will,” you promise, telling her you’ll call or text her later to let her know how everything pans out before ending the call.

Stepping back into the kitchen and sliding the door closed, locking it, the last thing you expect to see is Joe standing in the kitchen.

Gasping, hand over your chest, your shoulders slump as you murmur, “you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s a layered statement, multiple meanings and several different applications. A knowledge that comes from being with and knowing this man for all these years. 

Walking over to him, you cross your arms over one another. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t give me an excuse to talk to you the way I did or to say the things I did.” And as strange a thought it may be to have in this moment, this is one of the many reasons you love the man before you. Joe is mature and man enough to both admit when he’s fucked up and is always intentional about making it right.

Swallowing, you advise, “this is just a really fucked up situation that neither of us really knows how to process.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. “But, we can handle it…together.”

He gently pulls you into his chest and your eyes shut as he holds you, apologizing into the top of your head.

“I’m sorry too.” you apologize, hand on his chest. “I know that situation was difficult for you too, and I shouldn’t have invalidated your feelings.”

“Neither of us was 100% right.” And he’s correct. He was wrong for lashing out the way he did, and you were wrong for not being honest and invalidating his experience. 

Neither of you could pull the ‘right’ card.

“Agreed.” You murmur, eyes softening as you switch topics a bit. “Callie….I accidentally snapped at her after you left.” The guilt still eats at you for that, for taking out your emotions on your sweet little girl. “I spoke with her and apologized, but….I think she heard us fighting.”

That really kills you. You don’t think it’s entirely unhealthy for kids to hear their parents go at it from time to time, but not at 4. And not for a sensitive child like Callie.

Joe looks equally upset at this, offering, “let me talk to her. If she heard us, she needs to know that me yelling at you wasn’t okay.”

There’s no disagreement nor protest as he heads up the stairs to find Callie.

Joe stands outside Callie’s door with a knock that’s followed by her head snapping up and smile brightening. “Daddy!” She rushes over to him, Joe leaning to pick her up, holding her. “You came back!”

Her words crush him, the idea that she could even think he could ever leave her, leave either of them.

“Of course, baby girl.” Joe moves to the only adult sized chair in her room, holding her on his lap, caressing her cheek. “Callie, I know you heard me and your mom arguing, but I need you to know that I will never leave you or mommy. Daddy was just….very upset, and I took it out on your mom which was wrong.”

In a soft voice, she asks, “did mommy do something bad?”

“No, she just….made a mistake, and that’s okay, because we all make mistakes, but it wasn’t okay for me to yell at her like that.” Joe decides to take this unfortunate occurrence and make it a learning lesson for his daughter. “You never let any lil’ boy yell at you or talk mean to you, you hear me?” Callie nods her head, as he adds. “And if he does, let me know, and I’ll take care of it.”

Callie turns up her nose. “Boys are gross.” She then adds, “cept' you, daddy.”

Joe laughs but quickly agrees. Let her think that as long as she wants. Forever, preferably. He tugs her a bit closer, holding her snug to him. “That’s right. All of em’. Every single one.” 

—-------

Given only a few rooms in the house are fully furnished, the three of you sleep and stay at Joe’s place at night given he doesn’t plan to sell it until you’re all completely moved in. Not feeling like cooking, or rather not feeling like helping Joe cook, you decide on takeout.

Subsequently, ya'll share dinner while watching Finding Nemo 2, the chosen movie of the night by Callie.

There’s extra measures on your end to make sure she’s really forgiven you, needing her to know that you’re truly apologetic, and of course, your inherently kind child shows absolutely no sign that she holds any type of grudge against you.

You couldn’t be any more grateful for her wonderfully big heart.

You handle getting her to bed, seeing that Joe is tired. It’s something you noticed the minute he arrived at the new house from the airport. He looks exhausted. How can he not be? Preparing for WrestleMania, training nonstop, finishing up his documentary, and now this?

A person can only take so much.

You’re actually happy he’ll have a week off post WrestleMania. He needs that. He needs time to just rest.

It doesn’t surprise you that he falls asleep in a matter of minutes, big body laid out over yours as you gently caress his naked back. His heavy shoulders lifting in alignment with his breathing is a soothing source you zone in on while scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Pinterest only. You can’t allow yourself to check out anything else.

That is until you receive a text from Alexis telling you to check Joe’s Instagram. 

For a second, you consider ignoring it, but curiosity gets the best of you.

Logging back into the app, you go straight to his profile, gasping when you see the latest post on the grid. 

It’s a photo of the three of you. One of the ones taken when you’d surprised him at his show back in February. He’s holding Callie who has her arms wrapped around his neck, smiling big at the camera with his other arm hooked around you, your body angled into him, hand on his chest.

It’s one of your favorite photos.

Your eyes drop to his lengthy caption.

@/RomanReigns: I’ve never been one to openly discuss my personal life because, quite frankly, it’s no one’s business. Unfortunately, I’m now forced to do so due to a clearly unwell and pathetic individual who has taken parts of the truth and padded it with lies. My girlfriend and I share one child together. This is my biological child. There’s never been a question of paternity. Her mother never coerced or blackmailed me into shit. Y/N has been villainized as a vindictive gold-digger and liar when that is absolutely bullshit. She is an amazing mother, friend, and partner whom I love fiercely and protectively. The same goes for my daughter. They are my world, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. Having our daughter’s photos and personal videos posted all over the internet has been equally heartbreaking as it is infuriating for the both of us. Legal action is currently being pursued for all involved in the doxing and sharing of personal media of my family as well as other atrocities that have taken place behind the scenes you all don’t even know about. All of this is entirely unacceptable and will be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law. And to everyone who has so much to say about a situation you know nothing about outside of the lies circulating, remember these are real people with real feelings.

But most importantly, keep my girlfriend and daughter’s name out of your fucking mouths.

~Joe

Tears are starting to burn your eyes as you stare down at the man sleeping on top of you. The man who never ceases to amaze you with how far he’ll go to show you just how much he loves and cares about you.

He didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to go against his preference to keep his personal life off the internet. But, he did. He did it to send a message to everyone.

To send a message to Mariah.

You press a gentle kiss against the top of his head, knowing doing so won’t disturb his sleep.

And though against your better judgment, decide to read a few comments, knowing it’s bound to be a batch of mixed reactions. 

@/User1: Damn, Roman said keep my wife’s name out your fucking mouth! Watch Will Smith join the match at WrestleMania.

@/User2: Used to be a big fan, but I could never support a cheater. Unfollowing.

@/User3: How many of you actually watched the interview with the “friend”? It’s obvious she’s lying about a lot of things she said, because most of it wasn’t adding up.

@/User4: My thing is why did you hide this kid and girlfriend you supposedly “love” so much? Feels like you got exposed and now you’re trying to save face.

@/User5: This is all so messy and shameful. He definitely needs to lose his title at WM. What a joke and embarrassment to the WWE.

@/User6: It’s funny how so many of you are ignoring the fact that he signed this with his real name. “Roman” is a real person clearly going through heavy shit right now. Who cares about a fucking title?

@/User7: How about you learn to “acknowledge” the truth, Mr. “tribal chief”?

@/UceyJucey: Man, this family right here. We go you, Y/N and Big Dog. For life!

@/BigLexPurr: Ya’ll gon see JOE don’t play about HIS!

@/JonathanFatu: FOE 

@/RomanReigns has turned off comments for this post. 

The comments are to be expected, though it warms you to see familiar names coming to your defense, seeing that while there may be a lot of hatred being spewed your way, there’s still an abundance of love and support that encompasses you.

But, it’s when you come across a reference to the Bloodline that an idea hits you, smashes into you so strongly that you have to wake Joe to get the ball rolling.

“Baby.” He’s knocked out, so it takes a couple of shakes and slaps to finally get him to stir. “Joe!”

Finally, he stirs, sighing loudly as he groans, “fine, you getting on top though.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove his shoulder. “Not that. Can I use one of your cars tomorrow morning? And I need you to stay and watch Callie for a bit.”

At this, he opens his eyes, looking you over with confusion. “Where you going?”

“It’s a surprise. Just….trust me, okay?” Leaning to kiss his cheek, you throw out a quick ‘thank you’ and turn back on your side. Only to squeal quietly when his big hands move you onto your back. One look at him, and you know what he wants. “Joe, it’s like 3 o’clock in the morning.”

“Should have thought about that before you woke me up….” His mouth is on your neck, right hand moving under his shirt that hides your nude body, gripping your breast. “Let me just taste you….”

There’s a strong desire and almost responsibility you feel to press your legs together and direct him to go back to sleep, but raging, most likely pregnancy fueled hormones, along with the fact that you want to enjoy this for as long as you can before pregnancy body stops all sexual acts, are just too damn strong.

So you simply chew on your bottom lip, watching his dark silky head disappear under the covers and enjoy the toe curling ride of fantasy that is his skilled tongue on you.

—-------

You’re out of the house by 7am sharp, the sun still making its way to introduce the new day, but that doesn't matter. 

You’re a woman on a mission, a mission that has a ticking deadline. Joe has to fly back out tomorrow, so you can’t waste one precious moment.

Target has almost everything you need, sans a couple of items that you pick up at Walmart. 

And Alexis, who finally calmed down enough after getting drunk as hell and hooking up with some random she met on the boardwalk, agreed to keep Callie for you for a little bit. It’s a double win, because Callie always has a good time with Alexis, and Alexis can’t catch a murder charge if she’s on babysitting duty.

Of course, Joe being Joe, has a million and one questions. Understandably so.

“Can you at least tell me why you had Alexis come get Callie?” And before you can give him the vaguest answer, he adds on, “or what the hell is in those boxes?”

His question comes from behind as you carry said cake boxes up the steps, reaching the top and offering him a teasing glare. “And you always say I suck at surprises.”

“I’m too old for surprises, baby.”

Baby…..

God, you can’t wait to see his reaction.

“Patience, lover. Patience.” You then gesture with your chin to the first door with a sticky note on it. “Open that one.”

Joe looks taken back, reading the post-it. “Option 1? Option 1 for what?”

This man….. “I see where Callie gets her questioning nature from. Boy, just open the damn door.” 

He rolls his eyes, walking in and looking around. “There’s literally nothing in this room.”

“Yet,” you correct, encouraging him. “Just….be mindful of the layout and what it could be.”

“It can’t be anything considering it’s empty as hell.”

“Joe, I swear to—” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s look at the other ones.”

And you have him do just that, viewing two more rooms that he doesn’t realize you’ve shortlisted as potential nurseries. He makes his smartass comments, of course, but you also know it’s in jest and he really just wants to know what’s going on. 

So, it’s when you finish and bring him back to the kitchen, directing him to sit on the barstool as you lay out the two boxes in front of him. “You gon tell me why you had me look at empty rooms while you carried boxes?”

“Stop being difficult.” Slapping him on the shoulder, your nerves begin to set in as you motion to the counter. “Pick one to open. Only one.”

Joe’s curious gaze is on you, humor dropping a bit as he asks, in all seriousness. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Just…..trust me.” It’s a simple but powerful thing to say given the past couple days. You know he does and know he will. “Pick one.”

Waiting for him to carefully pull the tape off to open the box, you time it perfectly so at the same time he’s lifting the lid, you murmur, “I think it’s a boy too…..”

Joe’s gaze snaps to yours at your statement but also refers back to the now open box. “Y/N….what is this?”

Eyes starting to water, you manage to tease him, “don’t tell me the Tribal Chief suddenly doesn’t know how to read.”

There’s a close and careful watch you have on Joe as his eyes go from left to right, clearly reading the words you have beautifully decorated on the inside of the cake box that’s filled with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies dyed blue with food coloring.

The other box is filled with chocolate chip cookies dyed pink.

Same message located on the lid of the box.

BREAKING NEWS: 

New Bloodline Member Coming Soon. Ready to acknowledge daddy in September, 2024.

He does that one, two, three times before slowly looking back up at you, a level of emotion in his gaze and eyes you’re not sure you’ve ever seen. 

His voice is so low, so imbued with vulnerability that you almost have to ask him to repeat himself. “You serious?”

Shaking your head, you reach out, pushing back some of his hair. “I wouldn't lie to you about this, Leati…….” Taking his hand and placing it on your stomach, you layer your own on top of his. “I’m pregnant…..we’re having another baby.” Sniffling, tears finally starting to spill, you add, “and no one knows but you and me. Not my mom. Not Alexis. Not Callie. Just you and me.” Licking your lips, you acknowledge. “I didn’t do it right the first time, but I’m gonna do everything right this time.”

Joe not saying anything initially makes you second guess yourself. Were you wrong to assume that he would be happy? Given everything that’s happened, has it changed his views on things? You thought that he would be thrilled at the idea of expanding your family, but what if you were wrong?

It’s only seconds later though that he shoots up from the chair, wrapping his strong arms around you, holding you maybe tighter than what’s necessary.

All concern is washed away, a happy giggle leaving your mouth as he spins you around. 

Back on the ground, his hands on your face. “I love you.” His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheek. You swear his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears. “I love you with everything in me.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, choked up and moved by his reaction. He's thrilled. “And I know things are a mess right now, but I couldn’t miss this opportunity to tell you while you’re in town.”

Everything is certainly not the way it should be, but for him to be here, to be with you, and for you to not tell him felt so wrong. You didn't want to make him wait any longer than he needed to.

“September…..” You can see he’s doing the math in his head, hand dropping to your stomach. “You’re three months?”

“Just about. End of March will mark officially three months, but I just found out at the OB-GYN appointment I had. I wanted to tell you right away, but I also wanted to do it in person, because you deserve as much.” You find yourself rambling, probably over-explaining, but the last thing you want is for him to think you’ve been keeping this from him. “It’s up to you, but I do think we should tell Callie first.”

You've thought about it, and to some extent, you have some concern about how she’ll respond. She’s been an only child her whole life, obviously. And she already doesn’t like ‘sharing’ Joe with you sometimes, how will she respond to a brother or sister?

Joe must be reading your mind as he kisses your forehead. “We’ll figure it out.” Another realization also crosses his mind as he connects more dots. “The rooms…..you think one of them could be the nursery.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you tease him. “Well, it took you long enough to put two and two together.” Yelping, you laugh when Joe squeezes your hip and picks you up, bridal style. “Joe!”

“Let’s go look again,” he implores, and you know it’s because he wants to go again because now he knows this will be the room where your baby will stay in, the room where you’ll nurse him or her, where he’ll finally be able to enjoy being a father from conception to birth. 

It makes this moment even better.

But, you need something else.

You call for him to wait, pointing to the box of cookies. “What?” You ask after he moves close enough for you to grab them. Rubbing your belly, you remind him with all the pride in the world, “mama’s eating for two now.”

—-------

The day is perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

It’s a day where you can temporarily forget all of the bullshit in your life that doesn’t matter in these moments where it’s just the three of you.

Well, four, technically. 

The day is spent shopping, of all things, Joe refusing to leave without you finally getting a bedroom set. The one, ironically, that Alexis pointed out the other day. It really does look like the both of you.

He also might have made a sly comment regarding making good use of the mirror.....

On top of that, you start to casually peruse nursery furniture, nothing too obvious to where Callie can tell. You and Joe haven’t settled on when or how to tell her, but you’re leaning more toward after WrestleMania. He’ll be off that week, so it gives you both time to tackle any big emotions that might come up.

And Joe….

It deeply endears you to notice the little things. He’s always been touchy feely, but his hand seemed to find a space on or near your stomach all day. Gentle kisses pressed against your temple and more “I love you’s” than usual. You know it’s all because he’s wholly and fully happy. This pregnancy means more to him than you could probably ever comprehend.

And being able to make him so happy when he’s made you happier means everything to you.

Even laying in bed together, enjoying your time with each other before he has to leave early in the morning, his big hand is splayed protectively across your stomach. You appreciate all of these moments, know that the next almost six months of your pregnancy will be filled with them.

Even with some dread at trying to navigate this pregnancy with Joe’s crazy work schedule, you’re more happy than anything. Ecstatic that you get to experience this pregnancy with him this time around.

Together. 

Sleep is finally about to overcome you when your phone dings on your nightstand. Tempted to leave it, it’s hard to do so when it vibrates several different times.

Not knowing if it could be something serious or requiring immediate attention, you reach over, unlocking to see you have five texts from an unknown number.

But, the sender is no longer unknown the moment you open the thread.

Unknown: Hi, Y/N. This is Jadah. 

This…..this has to be a joke, has to be some kind of cruel prank that’s all a part of Mariah’s apparent master plan to ruin your life.

Because there’s no way in hell Joe’s ex-wife is texting you. No way in hell. 

But before you can block the number, chalking it up as a cruel prank, you see she’s sent a screenshot of a conversation between her and Joe. Zooming in, you see it’s from around October with them discussing the details of the divorce.

Holy…..shit.

It is her.

Jadah: Just so you know it’s really me…..

And if you weren’t already about to drop your damn phone onto Joe’s head at the fact that thee fucking Jadah is actually texting you right now, her next set of messages nearly send you into cardiac arrest.

Jadah: Super strange/inconvenient way for me to reach out, but given everything that’s going on, I think it’s time we met and talked face to face.

Jadah: Even more, since this hoe got so much to say about OUR lives, I also think it’s time we take back the narrative and pull an Uno reverse card.

Jadah: How do you feel about going on IG Live together?

[riewritten]

THE WORST KIND OF NOTHING 11 「 CHAPTER DIRECTORY 」

ERWIN SMITH & FEM!READER & ZEKE YEAGER

⌖ BLURB: You were the only one they managed to seize out of Zeke's underlings, and oh; how impressed the Commander was at your unwavering resolve. How great it'd be for him to have you—a potentially unbreakable tool—at his very disposal.

⌖ TAGS: Manga S4 spoilers, Canon AU – The Attack on Liberio Failed, Violence, Psychological Warfare, Manipulation, Character Study

⌖ READ ON: AO3 | QUOTEV

GET TAGGED WHENEVER I UPDATE !

851, Liberio Internment Zone

The wind at the Marleyan port whipped violently off the ocean, drowning out the mechanized groans of the shipyard and the bark of commanding officers. It was a strangely comforting chill, even as your nerves vibrated just the same. This day marked a year since the Warrior Unit suffered a crushing defeat: not only failing to secure the Founding Titan for Marley, but also losing the Female and Colossal Titans all at once (one of which was stolen by the worst person possible—the notorious Commander of Paradis Island).

Yet, against all odds, a Marleyan reconnaissance ship was currently being finalized with the higher-ups, charting a direct course for the shores of Paradis Island.

This expedition was Zeke Yeager’s brainchild, and you had no idea how he managed to wring authorization from Marleyan high command. His reputation as Warchief was currently in tatters due to the disastrous outcome of the Paradis operation and the subsequent grueling war that erupted between Marley and the Mid-East Allied Forces. Despite all of this, he somehow pulled the necessary strings. Even more baffling was how Zeke deliberately engineered the deployment so that the soldiers aboard were almost entirely comprised of Anti-Marleyan Volunteers.

With about three days remaining before the ship was scheduled to make landfall on the island, there was a fierce, unyielding anticipation that thrums in your veins.

Operating in the shadows as a Volunteer had been building toward this exact operation. Years ago, since the Warrior Unit (Annie, Reiner, Bertholdt, and Marcel) went completely silent inside the walls, the window of opportunity to reach Paradis Island without facing a gruesome death was impossibly rare. Every standard soldier the Warchief has brought along then was nothing more than fodder—Eldian prisoners and condemned traitors, veins already laced with titan serum, walking time bombs ready to transform the moment Zeke unleashes his scream.

And thus, for you, this marked the Volunteers’ inaugural major operation. It was the absolute culmination of years spent suffocating under a dual existence: playing the role of an obedient, subservient Eldian soldier in the harsh light of day, only to plot as a Volunteer in the dead of night. Even more exciting, once your boots left this concrete, you’d effectively cease to exist in Marley’s meticulous ledgers.

Zeke stepped up beside you, leaning his forearms heavily against the iron railing. He didn’t look at you at first, just out at the churning, grey water of the docks.

"You see, the ocean off the coast of Paradis is entirely different from ours," Zeke mused, his his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly over the howling wind. It’s rare to talk to him this way. "Colder, but the breeze is otherworldly. You'd think, ‘Ah, this is how an untouched land feels. Glory be to God.’”

“You don't come off as someone who believes in God, Warchief,” you replied, trying to hide the breathless anticipation at the thought of finally reaching those shores. 

“It’s a fascinating thought, isn't it? That you are finally about to know what I'm talking about.”

"It's been a long time coming.” But deep inside you knew that your Warchief was an astute man. He knew the breathless anticipation you were trying to hide by keeping careful, calm replies.

He gave you a side-eye, eyes lingering on your profile. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he had to physically stop himself from teasing you about your barely contained excitement. 

“How many years has it been again since I took you in my wing?”

“Huh,” you pondered. “I… honestly can’t remember.”

“You don’t keep track of the major events in your life, huh?” Zeke let out a quiet huff, the sound carrying a strange, almost wounded weight—jokingly, of course. “You’re gonna make me sad.” 

Only that you let out a genuine laugh that his face didn’t stay sully.

“As a founding member, you must feel a profound sense of pride…” he continued, his gaze dropping to your hands resting on the rail. “The culmination of years in the dark. Wearing the Eldian armband by day, building our little rebellion by night." 

"I feel relief," you answered. You turned your head, looking him in the eye with a smile so genuine it almost caught him off guard. "We've survived long enough to see our first outside operation. That's what matters."

"Survival, hm." Zeke tested the word on his tongue. He finally turned to face you fully, adjusting his round glasses.

To be fair, you could still see the warmth in his eyes, but as he looked down at you, the atmosphere shifted. It suddenly felt suffocating. Just as if he weren't looking at a soldier anymore, but rather at something threatening to slip through his fingers. 

Something threatening to slip through his fingers…?

"You have sacrificed a great deal for this dream. It makes me wonder about the limits of that survival. About what happens when our deepest convictions are truly put to the test."

You frowned slightly, the first prickle of unease settling at the base of your neck. "I'm not sure I follow."

"It's simple, really." He tilted his head, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register that forced you to lean in just to hear him over the waves. "Given everything you’ve endured... would you be willing to offer your ultimate devotion?”

“What?”

“Hmm, say, for instance… would you willingly let me inject you with the titan serum before you board?” 

All the praises and nostalgia, only to reveal he was actually doubting you?

The blood drained completely from your extremities, leaving your fingers numb against the icy metal rail. "You're... you're joking."

"I rarely joke about salvation," he replied smoothly, his tone so uncannily casual compared to your horror. "I’ve read your intentions quite clearly. I know that if I give you what you want most—safe passage to Paradis Island—you will abandon your responsibilities to the Volunteers the second you're out of my sight."

“Where did that even come from?!”

“Not that I don't understand,” Zeke continued, his voice dropping into a smooth, placating rhythm. “You see, we all have our reasons. We're all bound by the shackles of our pasts, all of which led us to be here. Yelena, for instance, became an Anti-Marleyan Volunteer because her hometown was conquered by the bastards.” He stepped closer, crowding your space until the freezing air between you felt stiflingly warm, and looked you dead in the eye. “You bear the same hatred. Do you know what sets you two apart?” 

You had always doubted Yelena's background, though. She claimed to be from another country occupied by Marleyan imperialists—she was a stark amalgamation of everything your mother had talked about in her writings. Yet whenever you had tried to probe Yelena on the specifics, wanting to know exactly how the Marleyan government pulled it off, she had always diverted the subject. 

But that wasn't the point right then! The point was— 

"I have given you no reason to doubt me!"

Still, as if he hadn't even heard you, he answered his own question with gaze heavier than usual, lingering on your face with thoughts beyond your comprehension. “Yelena will never leave her post as a Volunteer. Even after avenging her hometown, her devotion keeps her tethered to me.” 

"Not once did I betray you! I’ve done every single, grueling thing you’ve asked. Do you see me as someone who'd leave?” Your chest started heaving in panic. “Really? Right on the verge of everything we've worked for?"

"Because I am risking my own life on this vessel," Zeke stated, though his voice lacked its usual commanding boom; you couldn’t figure out what exactly it was either. "I cannot afford to carry someone whose role is vital to the ships that follow, only to have them defect. I need proof of your loyalty. I need to know you are bound to me."

You stare at him, waiting for the moment to pass, waiting for him to wave his hand and call it a psychological exercise. Only that his expression didn't shift. Not a single muscle twitched in his bearded face. 

And that utter stillness is answer enough.

Well, it wasn't as though Zeke was wrong, either. You weren't as loyal to the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers as Yelena was; her blind reverence for Zeke had always deeply unsettled you, too. You had always believed your mother was right—that defeating Marleyan imperialists once and for all relied on the collective struggle of the oppressed, not on placing a single figure on a pedestal, regardless of how tempting it could be to just surrender all your will to a certain force. Indeed, you would abandon them the absolute second they became an obstacle to your mission to prove her right. 

​But are you truly the only one in this position? The only Anti-Marleyan Volunteer burdened with such awful limitations? It's not fair.

In a sickening flash, your entire life violently condenses behind your eyes—the sharp, distinct smell of detergent in your childhood home, your mother's handwriting on her hidden journals, the sheer, agonizing force of will that dragged you out of bed every single morning. All of it. Everything you have suffered and bled to build.

A suffocating ache crushed your chest. It didn't matter how hard you had worked, or how perfectly you had played his dangerous game. This one man held your entire existence in his massive hands, and because he couldn't bear the thought of you walking away from him, he was perfectly willing to unmake it all on an arbitrary whim. 

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"Then? What happened?"

Erwin’s voice cuts through the memory, violently dragging you back to the present.

There’s no freezing, comforting ocean breeze here to make the world feel vast; only the suffocating, unfamiliar heat of a Paradis summer pressing into Erwin's office. The air is stagnant, heavy with sweat and the scent of old paper, feeling as though there is absolutely no room to breathe in such a crowded space, even with just him, you, and Armin Arlert in it. Outside the window, Trost is still violently alive with festival noise—the muffled roars of a crowd and voices loud with cheap alcohol bleeding through the glass.

You sit perfectly still in the chair positioned directly in the center of the room. Erwin sits behind his desk, watching you with the unblinking intensity of a predator, while Armin sits at a smaller table to your flank, the soft scratching of his pen the only other sound in the room.

​"He removed me from the list of soldiers boarding the first Reconnaissance ship altogether," you say, keeping your eyes locked on the Commander. "And my comrades never knew why. They assumed I had just gotten on the Warchief’s nerves. Still, I told everyone my life belonged to the cause nonetheless and that I didn't mind it one bit." You let out a slow, deliberate breath. "But from that second on, I stopped trusting him. I realized that if I wanted to survive, I was on my own.”

It doesn't sit entirely right, lying by omission to someone as terrifyingly sharp as Erwin Smith; it makes your nerves fray. But you’re weaponizing your genuine, visceral disgust for Zeke to buy your way into the Commander's confidence.

As you speak, you realize in the back of your mind that you're no longer the empty shell they pulled from the wreckage at the coast that fateful day. You’re beginning to form your own resolve—a terrifying, overwhelming autonomy that you’ve quietly wished for all along, now finally taking root.

At the side table, the scratching of the quill stops.

Armin dips his pen into the inkwell, tapping the rim once before tilting his head slightly. Where Erwin’s silence feels like a boulder crushing your ribs, Armin’s presence is entirely different. His tone is quiet, inquisitive, unsettlingly empathetic.

"When the Warchief made that proposition..." Armin begins, his blue eyes studying your posture. "You said you lost trust in him. Was it the threat of dying that broke your loyalty, or was it the realization that he viewed your life as something easily discarded for a broader objective?"

It’s a gentle question, but any answer to that might subject your character to a surgical deconstruction. Perhaps that’s precisely why he’s the one the Commander summoned to document this meeting. Maybe he has certain prowess dissecting people.

You turn your head to meet Armin's gaze, seizing his soft opening to cement your narrative.

"Dying is an occupational hazard for any Eldian under Marley's thumb," you answer, letting the bitterness seep naturally into your voice. "We’re born expecting to be discarded. We make peace with it. But to realize that the man who promised us salvation... the man who demanded our absolute faith... saw my life as nothing more than a cheap test to soothe his paranoia? I doubt he's even paranoid of me.”

“Then what do you think was his motive for removing you from that ship?”

He learned about my mother's writings; he knew that my desire to reach Paradis Island stemmed from finding a certain tree, and so I will abandon my duties the second I deem them inconvenient to my mission. 

There's no way you'd tell them that, though. Not when you’re not entirely sure about it either. And so you answer, “That… I'm yet to know.”

You look back at Erwin, your voice hardening.

"But, to be clear, I wasn't afraid of dying. I was utterly disgusted that my existence was just a prop in his game. That’s when the Warchief died to me and I—"

“Hold on, retrace your steps,” Erwin cuts you off. “You shared a direct post with Zeke before departure of the recon ships. Is it not fair to assume that—at one point—you stood by his side as Yelena did? How is it, then, that you claim absolute ignorance of his motives?”

You take your time to respond. You observe the commander; if he's convinced by your story, he gives absolutely nothing away. His face remains a mask of polite, infuriating stone.

Looking at him now, a chilling realization snaps into place.

After all, back to the night you found your dossier sitting out in the open, it was clear he had left his office unlocked on purpose; he knew you’d come snooping. He orchestrated this entire moment, too. He let you sit here and spin this narrative just to finally get you to open your mouth.

"There’s no point in you asking me any further about this," you state flatly, dropping the emotional facade. 

“No point?” Erwin leans back slightly in his chair, eyebrows raised. “The fact that you have the right to be heard says a lot. I am doing you a favor by allowing you to speak your piece."

"Bullshit," you counter. The word leaves your mouth before you can second-guess the risk (you felt Armin flinching, even), but you decide to get straight to the heart of the matter. "This is not the information you actually want out of me."

Erwin almost looks amused now. "Oh? What is it, then?"

“You’re probing about my personal relations with Zeke because you want to know if there’s a possibility he’d keep in touch with me despite being in the base of the enemy,” you explain, voice steady despite the hammering of your pulse. “And if he is, you intend to leverage that connection for your own gain, even at the expense of my safety. You want my full cooperation, but more than anything, you want to know exactly where he is.”

“Then let us be entirely honest with one another,” Erwin states flatly. “You are still, first and foremost, an Anti-Marleyan Volunteer. You’re allowed to breathe the air on this island because of your potential use. If you cease to be useful—or if you hide Zeke’s whereabouts to protect yourself—you become a liability.” He tilts his head, gaze piercing. “I am not asking for your trust, and I don’t expect you to care about my soldiers. But you will cooperate. Because if we fail here, Marley will erase whatever keeps your resolve as we speak, and your suffering will have been for nothing.”

That much you know… but what makes you frustrated in this conversation is the gut-twisting feeling the more they probe about Zeke.

“All I know is that Zeke might not be doing well with the higher-ups right now. He managed to dispatch all thirty-two recon ships. It’s only a matter of time before he falls under suspicion since none of them made it back. But—” You let out an exasperated sigh. “He is no fool. Do you really think he'll tell me where he is, given our history with each other—before I lost my memory, no less?”

“You seem important to him, though,” the Commander probes even further.

Your gut twists even further. A wave of nausea threatens to wreck your stomach completely.

Why?

Because you are, in fact, holding a massive, terrifying secret. The story you told them just now? That’s the absolute limit of your memory so far. Beyond it lies nothing but a blank void (you still don't know what brought the massacre, and by extension, the extent of your powers). The sentimentality, the deep sense of betrayal—it’s all a calculated performance to throw them off your trail. If Erwin discovers your memory is a dead end, you lose every ounce of your leverage. You have to change the subject right now before the Commander's surgical mind cuts straight through the facade.

But before you can steer the conversation into safer waters, Armin steps in again.

"You speak about Zeke’s political standing in Marley with total precision," Armin notes, his pen hovering over the paper. "But when it comes to why he singled you out, you treat it as an unanswered question. Is it that you genuinely don't know what he wants from you... or are you hesitant to admit what you might mean to him?"

You refuse to answer it.

Instead, you bulldoze right past Armin’s inquiry, laying your cards directly on Erwin's desk.

"Here’s my deal," you say, your voice ringing with a desperate authority. "I will reveal everything else. I will help you with everything I know and everything I can do. But in exchange, I have conditions." You hold up a trembling finger. "One: Paradis Island must ensure my absolute protection against Zeke for as long as I am under your custody. And two…” you raised another finger, “...you must help me uncover exactly what it is about me that Zeke is trying to bring back to his side."

“So it’s not that you’re hesitant to admit what you might mean to him…” Armin's eyes narrow slightly, reading the subtle shift in your conditions.

The Commander finishes it with a sardonic chuckle, “…you don’t know the answer yourself, huh.”

For a long moment, the room is dead silent.

Erwin Smith looks deeply, grimly amused; so amused that you’re almost tempted to storm your fist right at his face.

"Is that all?" he asks.

“Lastly… I want…” The hardest one. Because it gives a hint of what you really want to gain at the end of this. “I want to have the right to freely express my opinion while I'm here.”

“Commander, if I may…” Armin interrupts again. To be fair, he doesn't press you with the same hostility as his Commander. Instead, he seems genuinely fascinated by the negative space in your story. His bright blue eyes study your body language with intense, unnerving focus. "The right to express your opinion… You're not just asking for survival or physical safety anymore. You want a privilege to voice out your take on how we handle this war. Where is it coming from? What's the goal?"

The question catches in your throat. Instantly, your mother's writings flood your mind—her brilliant insights, her controversial stance on the overall war, and her dissection of their geopolitical rivalries. If there were ever a place where your mother’s voice could truly prosper, it would be nowhere else but here, on this island. A desperate, aching part of you wants Paradis to recognize her. Even if her words are treated as mere theories that only slightly influence their opinions, as long as they know those ideas came from her, you would be okay with that.

But no. You swallow the urge. You choose to take it slowly for now. You are in no position to be this greedy yet.

Erwin leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "A bold demand. But how do you intend to prove you deserve that?" His voice is laced with a dismissive edge. "From where I’m sitting, you don't seem to be worth nearly as much as you're demanding."

The provocation hits an intensely personal nerve that tightens your jaw. You don't want to lay all your cards bare on his desk. You know exactly what he’s trying to do: he wants you to give Zeke up entirely, to hand over the Warchief on a silver platter. But you can't do that. You refuse to sacrifice everything you have left to a man you perceive as being absolutely no different from Zeke himself. They are two sides of the same ruthless coin, both demanding you strip yourself bare for their respective causes.

You really didn't want to open this up today. But cornered in this suffocating heat, you have no other leverage to pull. 

Well, it's okay as long as you don't reveal everything. Or so you think.

"Have you been to Marley, Commander?" you ask, your voice dropping from trepidation to sudden calm.

Erwin’s eyes narrow slightly at the sudden shift in subject. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Have you tried the best-selling wine near Port Slava?"

The Commander stares at you for a long, heavy beat, refusing to let the confusion show on his face. "Yes," he answers evenly. "It was delectable, if I may say so myself."

You reach into your pocket, your fingers closing around cold glass. Slowly, you pull out a small vial containing a dark liquid and walk to his desk.

Erwin picks it up. He unstoppers the cork and gently wafts the scent toward him. Instantly, his blue eyes widen just a fraction; it’s exactly the vintage you are talking about.

"Would you believe I managed to acquire one on this island, of all places?" you ask, keeping your voice dangerously even. "Who do you think got it here? And what does it imply that some delicacy from enemy territory is being freely distributed on our island?"

Erwin freezes. The grim realization hits him all at once, and the blood physically drains from his face.

Beside him goes a sharp clatter. Armin has dropped his pen. The young Scout’s eyes are locked onto the vial in absolute horror as his brilliant mind rapidly connects the dots—the wine, the Warchief, and the tactical nightmare of his spinal fluid.

"If worse comes to worst," you whisper then, pressing your advantage, "he might show up wielding that very threat. One scream while he's here, and mindless titans will run amok inside these walls. I'll help you stop it. Just give me the right to exist here."

Erwin recovers quickly, though his jaw tightens. “Show me your worth then. Prove to me that you have what it takes to have a right to exist.”

“Sure. I will.”

However, your chest starts aching yet again—the absolute dread of being crushed beneath someone else's heel. If you have to endure much more of this endless subjugation, you feel like you might as well suffer a cardiac arrest and die right here in this office.

As if Erwin Smith can physically sense the visceral reaction tearing through you, his eyes narrow.

“With your attitude right now? I doubt you’ll even pass among our newly recruited soldiers. They’ll think you’re acquiescent to me just because of the gun their Commander is holding to your head. You’re a trapped wolf. Should I dare release the leash, you’ll eat them whole.”

Then so be it.

The docile 'Krista' character from the book he gave you is dead. Playing that submissive part every single day makes you absolutely sick to your guts anyway.

You let out a long, heavy sigh—one you’ve been holding off for entirely too long. And then, you chuckle. It’s genuine, in your defense, but its lack of place makes it sound unhinged. For the first time since you were dragged into this hellish office, you are laughing right in their faces.

“What a weird bastard,” you whisper in between the laughs, making absolutely sure Erwin hears the insult. “You’re the one who gave me this mask. If you’re sick of it, you should’ve just told me to remove it. You know I'm here so I can do anything you want of me.”

Erwin stares at you. Then, for the first time since your arrival, the Commander drops his calculated grace. He returns the equally amused exhale.

It’d almost feel like a victory. Only, he follows it with a horrifying remark.

"I intend to investigate this Marleyan wine personally and you will assist me with the interrogations," Erwin says, settling back into his chair. "It’ll be quite the learning experience for you—to be able to see exactly how I handle accomplices, no?"

A terrifyingly polite smile touches his lips. His voice drops to a murmur when he confirms, "That won't be a problem for you... will it?”

Fuck.

The wine review. The one Zeke asked for. The one you haven't even finished writing yet because the Commander summoned you abruptly.

It's sitting right now in your unlocked bedroom drawer.

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