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The Lovelorn King.

Bowser X Reader - Chapter 1

Summary: As a royal hailing from lands far removed from the Mushroom Kingdom, you find yourself alighting upon the shores of Princess Peach's city, there to answer her request to enter into an alliance that will unite your realms. But you arrive to a suspiciously empty port-side town and go searching for the inhabitants, much to the ship Captain's chagrin.

It doesn't take you long to stumble upon somebody the likes of whom you've never seen before. He calls himself, 'Bowser Junior.' Upon learning of his failure to procure his beloved 'Papa' the perfect birthday present, you invite the boy back to your galleon, hoping that he might find something among the treasures there to give his father. If only you knew that there was one thing on that ship more valuable to the Koopaling than pretty gems and valuable objects...

Tags: Bowser X Reader, Royal Reader, Female Reader, Bowser Jr, Kidnapping, Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love, Infatuation at first sight, Lonely Bowser, Protective Bowser, Slow-Burn, Big himbo energy, Friendship, Developing friendships, Bowser is BIG okay? Koopa Troopas.

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As far as welcomes go, you've definitely had warmer.

This, of course, you deign to keep to yourself as nothing more than a closely-guarded thought, never to be voiced aloud, though you can tell from the look on the ship Captain's face that you aren't the only one who has been caught off-guard by the notably empty port.

With a generous spin of her oak-wood wheel, The Bonhomous turns her bow to the east of the port, cutting a path through the placid waters as her crew scuttles about on deck in preparation of a seamless landing. The ship's oaken bowsprit juts out over the sea and seems almost afire, burning orange and gold in the dawn light.

Up on the stern with the Captain, you stand with your hands clasped loosely at your back, drawing in a long, crisp breath that fills your lungs and clears your sleep-fogged brain, blinking salty residue from the corners of your eyes, whilst below you, down on the deck, an authoritative bellow from the Quartermaster booms out across the ship, heard well above the screaming sea birds that soar overhead on updrafts of sun-warmed air.

“DROP ANCHOR!”

Positively music to your ears...

The clattering rattle of a chain stirs the air as the anchor is released from its holdings and goes plunging down into the frigid waters.

It seems a long time coming, the sight of dry land and civilisation after several months spent traversing the vast and oftentimes indomitable ocean. To have finally arrived here in the rich and vibrant Mushroom Kingdom is as much of a relief as spring sunshine after the winter frost, empty port or no...

The last letter you'd received from the monarch of this kingdom – one Princess Peach – had requested your personal presence here in order to solidify and sign into this newfound alliance. She'd also made mention that you'd be received as if you were an old friend, which, you suppose, isn't such an embellishment of the truth. Your kingdom and her own have been corresponding and trading for well over a year now. This is just the first time a member of your Royal Household has made the perilous journey to the Mushroom Kingdom.

You and the Princess had struck up something of an accord through your numerous letters after you took the plunge and reached out, explaining to her how your home is small and secular, but you've been working tirelessly to try and rebuild the connections that your tyrannical father had torn down before his passing.

Her lineage never did have dealings with yours, which may be why she seemed more open than others to extend the hand of friendship back your way.

And now, here you are – as your kingdom's sole surviving ruler with a ship stuffed to the gunnels with supplies and treasures from your homeland, all intended as a show of your good faith and willingness to establish a long-term alliance with the Toad people.

The only thing amiss is that the welcoming committee you'd been anticipating is... nowhere to be found.

There's a sudden and muffled thud as the anchor's flukes collide with the sea bed, followed by a troubled hum from the Captain, shifting on her feet at the helm beside you.

“Not sure what to make of this, Ma'am,” she announces warily, casting her flint-grey eyes out at the bizarre structures lining the port.

Buildings, you venture, fashioned from gigantic toadstools.

Ingenious! When Princess Peach included an illustrated encyclopedia with one of her letters, you'd been enchanted by everything inside it, enough that you felt inadequate as you packaged off the history of your own kingdom, dull and grey and lifeless comparatively.

Even now, your restless fingers begin to fidget with the fabric of your travel dress, eager to begin exploring this unfamiliar world.

The Captain's suspicious grumblings do little to dampen your spirit of adventure.

“It is only dawn, Captain,” you reason, watching the crew hoist the mainsails and drop the wooden gangplank onto the dock, effectively bridging the gap between your vessel and solid ground. “Perhaps their customs differ from ours. They might be a little later to rise, for instance.”

Her weather-beaten brow furrows beneath her hat, forging deep crevices across the dark expanse of skin.

She hardly looks reassured by your words.

Inevitably, her own trepidation only feeds yours like billows to a dying fire, causing an apprehensive bubble to burst in your stomach. It... really is quiet out here...

“Still... you don't suppose....” Trailing off, you turn to hide your lips from a crew that have spent years honing an ability to read their Captain's lips when they can't hear her over a howling storm. “Supposing it's an ambush?” you finish softly.

If the crew is already on edge about sailing into a seemingly abandoned port, you don't want to put their backs up by voicing their concerns out loud and giving them traction.

The Captain sniffs, stepping away from the wheel and circling to face the stern of her ship alongside you. “Not likely,” she huffs, jerking her head towards the enormous mushrooms, “See the chimneys?”

Flicking your gaze up to the line of unconventional 'roofs,' you quirk a brow at the thin trails of smoke drifting out of the aforementioned chimneys, blown inland by a stiff, ocean breeze. “Smoke,” you hum in understanding, “People are at home...”

The Captain's broad hat dips as she nods. “Mm, seen a couple of shapes moving behind the windows too. Nobody'd be daft enough to attack a galleon with her starboard cannons aimed at their settlement. Not when they're hiding out in the buildings. She's armed to the teeth.”

… Sound logic, you muse. There's a reason you restored her title as the Bonhomous's Captain the moment you had the authority to do so. One of the biggest mistakes your father ever made was to give Captain Skip the boot.

Her words serve to ease your nerves a little, and soon you find the trepidation has moved aside to allow a healthy dose of curiosity to settle in your chest.

“Perhaps they're just painfully shy,” you excuse at last as you turn to head for the ornate stairs leading from the stern down onto the deck, “Regardless, we should be concerning ourselves with making our own first impression, not theirs.”

Lifting the hem of your dress up so as to avoid catching splinters in the fine silk, you take the stairs one brisk step at a time, though you only manage to make it halfway down before the Captain's voice halts you in your tracks.

“With respect, ma'am, I hope you're not heading for that gangplank...”

You have to bite down hard on the vulgar word the crew taught you last week, instead plastering on a demure smile and twisting your head to peer innocently up at the Captain over your shoulder, past the ruffles festooning your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't know what a gang plank is, Captain. I'm just going to stretch my legs.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously until they resemble little more than thin, dark slits, shadowed by the brim of her hat.

“Pardon my language, Your Majesty, but you know bloody well what a gangplank is. Don't go near it.” Then, for added measure, she squares her shoulders and adds, “Captain's orders.”

Ever polite, you dip your chin at her out of genuine respect, your voice solemn when you reply, “I am well aware of Maritime Law, and your absolute authority on this ship. Rest assured, Captain, I will not be going near that gang plank.”

From the flare of her nostrils to the tightening of her angular jaw, you know she can see right through you as if you're made of the flimsiest glass. But just as she takes a step in your direction, mouth falling open with a sharp word or two doubtlessly hanging off her tongue, she's interrupted by the familiar call of her Quartermaster.

“Captain!” the short, portly man lumbers across the deck, beckoning her down from her perch on the stern, “A word?”

Her head snaps towards him, crow-like, but you don't stick around to waste this perfect opportunity. Trotting deftly down the rest of the steps, you duck underneath the arm of one sailor who's hauling a bucket of soapy water on his shoulder and turn your shoes towards the ship's bow, where there are lines of rope dangling from the foremast, those that have yet to tie its sail back.

No. You won't go near the gangplank. Your word is solid, and you endeavour to keep it whenever you can. But you never said you wouldn't find an alternative way to leave the ship.

The Captain should have learned by now that you've spent far longer playing the game than she has, having growing up in the company of nobility and the aristocracy, who use their words as weapons, and who honed their language into a powerful tool that could be used to their advantage.

When Captain Skip goes ballistic at you – which she inevitably will once she realises you've disembarked without an escort – you'll remind her that she only told you to stay away from the gangplank, not that you were forbidden from leaving The Bonhomous at all.

Oh, you imagine she'll spit and hiss and fume like an over-boiled kettle, but she won't have a leg to stand on.

You smile wryly as you hoist yourself up onto the woven shrouds and curl your fingers around a piece of dangling rope, tugging on it to test its give.

She fails to realise, that for as much as she believes you to be under her protection, she is just as much - if not more so – under yours.

They all are - Everyone man and woman on this ship, and those that have remained back home. You're their ruler. Those in charge are supposed to take care of their people.

If there is something untoward going on in this strange, fungi-infested town, then you'd much rather be the one to encounter it first. The Bonhomous and her crew are here at your behest, after all. If you've lead them into a trap, then you must be the one to spring it.

The loose rigging line sits sturdy in your hands, and it's well-affixed to the reef tackles high over your head. Behind you, a sailor clicks their tongue whilst another hesitantly asks what you think you're doing.

You only pause long enough to shoot a fleeting grin over your shoulder at them, catching the eye of a few, weary crewmen, all of whom seem resigned to your imminent departure. And then, in a most unladylike fashion, you hoist your skirts up over your knees with one hand and use the rigging to haul yourself up onto the side of the hull, peering out over the water.

The gap between ship and shore is hardly substantial. With a good run up, you could make it without the rope, but as it is...

You take a flying leap out over the water and feel the rope go tight as it catches your weight and swings you gracefully across to the pale, stone dock, revelling in the blast of cool wind that blows through your hair.

As your shoes touch down on the other side, you release the rope and swallow a giddy whoop to maintain your dignity.

“Oh, at last,” you gush instead, clasping your hands together, “Dry land!”

Sticking out your chest, you allow a tiny ounce of pride to lift your cheeks into a grin.

Already, you've trodden further afield than your father ever went in his life.

“Now then,” you muse to yourself as you swivel your head up and down the port, “To solve the mystery of the missing townsfolk...”

Before the Captain can register your absence, you take off at a brisk stride, stealing away from the docks and heading towards the town proper.

------------

Every corner you turn, you only find more of the same gigantic mushrooms that have been painstakingly fashioned into homes, shops and cafes, dotted along every cobblestone street. And yet for the sheer number of them, all you seem to be able to find are more boarded up doorways, shadowy figures flitting past window panes and the all too familiar prickle at the back of your neck that alerts you to eyes watching your every move.

Letting out a disconcerted hum, you try to recall whether Princess Peach had ever made mention of the Toads being particularly skittish or wary....

Rounding the corner of yet another mushroom, you find yourself venturing out of a narrow street and onto a pretty town plaza with a row of homes surrounding its perimeter and a large, glittering fountain taking centre stage, spurting out torrents of water that sparkles brilliantly in the golden sunrise.

It momentarily causes your step to falter, gazing up at the resplendence in the architecture.

Aside from yourself, the plaza appears just as empty as the rest of the town, much to your dismay.

As you start to consider simply going up to one of the tiny, wooden doors and knocking on it until somebody answers, an altogether new sound catches your ear, vastly different from the brush of leaves across stone, or the ocean waves lapping at a distant shoreline.

All at once, you hone in on the sound, whipping your head around fast enough to leave a twinge in your neck.

It sounded like... a horribly desolate sigh.

Curiosity piqued, you start towards the fountain, casting your gaze about until your shoes come to an abrupt halt on the cobblestone.

There, slumped upon one of the wooden benches set up to face the watery spectacle, you spy a figure, one that sports a startling shock of fiery red hair.

Relieved to have at last stumbled upon another person, you approach the back of the bench, and once you draw close enough to confirm that, yes, that's definitely a person sitting there, you raise a fist and clear your throat, making your presence known.

“Ahem, excuse me-”

Whatever you'd intended to say afterwards is sadly drowned out by a deafening yelp as the person on the bench leaps from their seat, and in their haste to spin around, they end up toppling over backwards and landing on the ground with an audible, bone-crunching 'smack!'

Aghast at yourself, you inhale sharply and dash around the bench, apologies tumbling off your lips in quick succession. “Oh my-! I am so sorry! I can't apologise enough! I-I thought you heard me. Are you all right?!”

As soon as your eyes land upon the stranger, you suck in another, tiny gasp as your jaw falls open, briefly overcome with awe and wonder.

This person is quite unlike anybody you've ever come across in your life, and you unwittingly pause mid-stride, taken aback for a time.

Floundering around on the cobblestone between the bench and the fountain on their back, apparently stuck, is somebody who reminds you at once of some kind of overturned turtle.

They've landed right on top of their shell – a green, spiked dome that covers the expanse of their back. Grunts of frustration fill the air as stocky little legs kick madly in an effort to right themselves, and a disproportionately large head attempts to lift itself off the ground to glare at you.

Within less than a second, you blink away your surprise and drop down onto your knees, grasping a pair of thickset, yellow wrists and hauling the unfortunate person back onto their feet.

'Cripes!' you think to yourself. They're heavy, whoever they are. But after struggling for several, awkward seconds, you manage to heave them up without putting your back out, and as soon as they're upright, you release their arms and flop back to sit on your heels, finally taking proper stock of your unwitting victim.

“HEY! What's the big idea!?” they – he? - shouts at you, balling his pudgy, three-fingered hands into fists and tearing backwards as if he means to get as far away from you as possible before the wall of the fountain obstructs his retreat.

He's squat and round, standing only half as tall as you with tiny eyes as black as pitch and entirely featureless as they glare up at you hotly. Beady, but still expressive.

Frankly, you have no idea what he is, but his voice, stature and the large, white bandana slung around his neck all lend to the impression of someone very young.

And if that's the case, then what in the world is he doing out here alone at this ungodly hour, in the middle of such a suspiciously quiet town?

Shoving speculation aside, you remain there before him, the knees of your dress gathering dirt from the ground as a trickle of shame pools in your stomach.

“Again, I can't apologise enough,” you gush, wringing your hands together in your lap, “This is... not the first impression I was hoping to make... Are you hurt?”

One of his hands has reached behind his head to probe at a spot near his fiery ponytail whilst he grumbles under his breath, pulling a face that exposes the large, gleaming tusk jutting out from beneath his upper lip.

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant and his eyes bulge out when you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone underfoot.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath.

Satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile. “There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

Before you can utter another word, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars, then.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding both of them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Apparently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he shifts his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a quick once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description, I'm afraid.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw once again hovering just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that it's rude to point...

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you offer him a sweep of your hand. “And you are...?”

In response, he sticks out his chest and plants one hand firmly on his hip, jamming the opposite thumb against his sternum, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

'Junior... What a charming title,' you muse, 'I wonder if he's named after anybody.'

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bowser Junior,” you tell him earnestly, tipping your head to him in a gesture of respect.

For reasons unbeknownst to you however, your response seems to knock some of the wind from his sails. Two, thickset shoulders slump dejectedly and he squints up at you, slowly reiterating, “The Bowser Junior...?”

…. You start to wonder if he'd be offended that you haven't, in fact, heard of 'The Bowser Junior...'

When you don't respond, his posture droops even further and he gapes at you, borderline desperate. “You know. After King Bowser? As in, King of the Koopas!?”

Well... That little tidbit of information is quick to grab your attention, though you've never heard of this King either.

“King Bowser?” you echo, drawing your brows together to form a pensive frown, “I... Forgive me but I was under the impression that Princess Peach is the reigning monarch here.”

Blowing a haughty scoff through his fangs, Junior turns his soft, round snout skywards and barks, “Nu-uh! She's just ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. But someday, my Papa's gonna rule the whole world!”

And just like that, your frown recedes along with your trepidation.

Of course... You ought to have guessed that this child is only doing as children often do.

Gone are the days when you used to whittle away the long, lonely days playing pretend by yourself in the castle grounds.

'King of the world indeed,' you smile to yourself. You're beginning to like this kid.

“And your... 'Papa,” you say aloud, “He and this King Bowser are one in the same, I presume?”

“Sure are!” he exclaims proudly, “He's the best Papa in the entire galaxy! Not every kid can say their dad is a King!”

“Mm, that's quite the accomplishment,” you quip, smiling brightly when he juts his chin high into the air, “But... does your father know you're out here by yourself?”

In a blink, Junior's broad grin vanishes and he lowers his eyes to glower at you. “Hey! I'm no baby! I can take care of myself, lady!”

“I never said you couldn't,” you hastily return, holding your hands up to placate him, “I only wondered if he was nearby.” Swallowing thickly, you turn to cast a searching look over the plaza and murmur, “It'd be nice to know that someone else is around. This town seems rather... vacant, at the moment.”

Bowser Junior's muzzle curls around a snort, his slitted nostrils flaring as he follows your eye and shoots a dark glare at the nearby houses. “You're tellin' me,” he gripes.

Silence sits between the pair of you for several, uncertain moments before he abruptly breaks it by puffing out his cheeks and raising a hand to scratch at the green scales that sit just beneath his ponytail. “Well.. Sorry to disappoint you, but my Papa's not here. He was still asleep when I left.”

“Ugh. Jealous.”

“He always has a lie-in on his birthday.”

“Oh, is it his birthday today?” you ask, carefully adding, “In that case, shouldn't you be at home too, ready to wish him a happy birthday when he wakes up? Won't he be worried when he finds you gone?”

For a few more moments, the boy doesn't offer a reply until, to your dismay, his hard expression promptly crumples like a brittle bone and he heaves another sigh, trudging around you to make for the bench you'd startled him from.

Puzzled at this abrupt shift in his demeanour, you quirk a brow after him and rise to your feet, turning to watch as he hoists himself onto the seat and slouches down in it, letting out a soft, petulant huff.

“That's the problem,” he mutters, glowering at the fountain over his crossed arms, “I wanna be there to wish him happy birthday, but I can't be!”

Stretching your lips into a thin line, you take a tentative seat beside him and ask, “Why not?”

“Cause I haven't found him the perfect present yet!” he barks as if it should be entirely obvious.

Should it? You couldn't rightly say.

“I see...” Regardless, you give a nod of understanding, puckering your forehead thoughtfully. “And so, you're here to look for something in the shops?”

You have to recoil a few inches to avoid his arms when he throws them out wide and exclaims, “Exactly! I've been lookin' all over this stupid island! But I can't find anything good enough! So, I came here! But none of these Toads'll open their doors!” Snatching his hands back, he tucks them securely under his armpits with a grumble. “M'not even tryin' to steal anythin' this time.”

Setting aside the worrying mention of 'this time,' you duck your head and try to catch his gaze, reasoning softly, “Perhaps it's just too early? Their shops might not even be open yet.”

You find yourself cut off by an abrupt scoff.

“Nah, they just hate me,” he pouts, “Even though I brought my allowance and everything, they still won't even let me look for somethin' to get Papa. I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't an emergency! But all those Toads wanna do is hide in their mushrooms and tell me to 'go away!”

Now, that is definitely odd. 'Surely,' you think, jaw set, 'Surely these townsfolk aren't barricading themselves inside their homes because of one, little kid?'

Aloud, you say, “What makes you think they're hiding from you?”

Sparing you an exasperated look, Junior retorts, “I told you, cause they don't like me. And they especially don't like my Papa.”

Deep within the cavern of your ribcage, indignation begins to raise its sleepy head... How often have you been spurned by those around you because of your heritage?

“Why on earth don't they like you?” you blurt, incredulous and frankly irked on his behalf, “You seem perfectly likeable to me!”

Turning to aim a disdainful glance at some of the mushroom houses across the plaza, you miss the bewildered look Junior is sending your way, his lower jaw hanging slightly agape.

It's an absurd idea, if it's true. An entire town wouldn't shun a rambunctious kid like this...

But if it is true....? Well...

“More fool them, I say,” you huff to yourself.

At your side, Junior perks up at your words and his wide mouth stretches into a smirk.

“Hey, yeah!” he bobs his head decisively, leaping to stand up precariously on the bench and thrust an arm into the air, “Yeah! They are fools!”

The wood below you creaks and groans in protest when he stomps his foot on the seat enthusiastically.

Overcome with the urge to disguise your laughter, you cover your mouth with a few fingertips and send him a playful frown. “I don't think that's quite what I said, but I'll let it slide... because I've just had a brainwave.”

Junior stills, tipping his head sideways curiously. “Huh?”

“Well,” you start, “It just so happens that the ship I came here on has quite a few treasures stored in her hold. I'm sure nobody would mind if you picked something out to give to your father.”

Princess Peach won't miss what she doesn't know is missing, after all.

And besides, the sun has risen considerably higher since you set off from the Bonhomous. You should really have returned well before now.

The boy next to you leaps down off the bench before whirling to face you again, his eyes sparkling like a pair of obsidian gemstones. “Woah! Seriously? You're just gonna let me take your pirate treasure!?” he shouts just a little too close to your ear.

Suppressing a wince, you get to your feet and gesture in the direction of the docks. “Again, I'm afraid it isn't pirate treasure. Everything we've brought with us, we came by honestly. But there's all sorts in that hull. Hopefully something is bound to catch your fancy. Come, I'll show you.”

Though his legs are squat and stocky, Junior is surprisingly nimble on his feet as he bounds after you with an eager chirp, keeping up easily with your longer, more languid stride.

--------

As you make your way back towards port, you quickly discover that, like most children, your newfound tagalong has a seemingly bottomless well of questions that never runs the risk of drying up.

“Are there any blasters on your ship!?” he asks, hopping along the cobblestone pavement whilst taking great care to avoid any cracks – a game which you yourself can recall playing during your youth. “What about diamonds!? Giant hammers? Oh! Oh! You got any comic books in there!?”

You're having a tough yet admittedly fun time keeping up with his runaway trains of thought as he jumps from one extreme to another.

Sparing him a knowing glance from the corner of an eye, you drawl, “Oh? Does your father enjoy reading comic books?”

The boy's game is put on pause as he lands on a wide slab ahead of you, balanced on one leg with his shoulders hunched. “Uhhh...” he falters, only briefly. Soon enough though, his confidence comes charging back full-force. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, he loves 'em! But they gotta be really, really cool ones. He's a collector!”

“A collector? I see... It sounds as though your, ah, father has impeccable taste,” you remark, striding past him and pretending not to notice the way his stumpy, little tail begins to wag from side to side. “Well,” you continue, “While there aren't any comics stored in the cargo hold, I do have some from my own, personal collection. You're welcome to peruse those, if you like.”

As you stroll on ahead of a now stationary Junior, his jaw drops open, gawking in disbelief.

“Wait a second!” he blares, “You read comic books!?”

Nonchalant, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, replying, “Of course. Don't you?”

Without missing a beat, he barks, “You bet I do!” only to cut himself off when he seems to remember something, quickly lowering his voice to add, “I-I mean, not as much as my Papa does though. He goes nuts for 'em! Kind of embarrassin' huh?”

“I don't think it's embarrassing at all,” you reply in earnest, “He shouldn't be ashamed to partake in things that make him happy.”

It seems that all too soon, the Bonhomous's towering masts come into view over the roofs of the mushroom houses, drawing the discussion to an end once Junior catches sight of the ship.

“I thought you said it wasn't a pirate ship!?” he demands, pointing an accusing claw down the length of the docks and glaring up at you as if you've somehow betrayed him.

You almost let out an undignified snort, reeling it in just in time before it escapes. For a child, you suppose that a galleon and a pirate ship aren't leagues apart, after all.

“Technically, I said that we aren't pirates,” you correct him gently, gesturing to yourself, “I never said that we didn't sail here on a pirate ship.”

The way his face lights up makes your guilt at calling the noble Bonhomous a mere 'pirate ship' worth it. Such a term hardly encapsulates her splendour.

As you near the ship herself, you cast your gaze to the land beside her and immediately feel your stomach clench when you spy the group of sailors standing dockside by the gangplank, accompanied by their Captain, whose wild hand gestures imply that she's either sending search parties off in different directions to look for their wayward monarch, or she's telling her crew where to bury the pieces of you she's about to tear off. Even from here, you can see that some of the men are paler in the face than usual, evidence that she'd given them a verbal lashing for letting you slip away unnoticed.

You're not especially keen to lead Junior into air that's undoubtedly been turned blue by now, so you cup a hand around your mouth and call, “Captain! Over here!”

The speed at which her head snaps in your direction is frightening and almost dislodges her hat from atop her head. Even dozens of yards away, you can make out her expression fight to settle between unmitigated fury and palpable relief.

Yet there's dangerous rigidity in her jaw as she begins to stalk in your direction, slow and calculated like a predator.

Subconsciously on your part, you draw to a halt and take a subtle, sideways step in front of Junior, who offers up a sound of confusion from the back of his throat, but otherwise remains silent behind your guarding stance, staring up at you in surprise.

“You!” the Captain hollers, lowering her head, wolflike, whereas you raise your chin to meet her glare, undeterred – not because she doesn't scare you, which she absolutely does despite your station - but because you know that your premature disembarking was justified and you're prepared to argue the point.

She slithers to a stop only when the toes of her boots are scant inches away from colliding with yours, glaring down her nose at you and bristling like an alley cat.

For a moment, her jaw remains clenched tighter than a vice as the air around you grows thick with her exasperation until she finally pries her teeth apart to speak. But before she can utter a single word, you beat her to the punch.

“Captain Skip, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

She hardly even seems to register your words, too incensed in her broiling concern.

“If I may speak freely, ma'am,” she hisses dangerously, “You are as slippery as an eel. I turn my back not five seconds and you're gone!”

“Captain-” you try again.

“Without an escort! You're askin' for trouble, you are! What if somebody nabbed you!? I told you not to leave the ship!”

One corner of your mouth quivers. “If you recall, Captain,” you say coolly, “You asked me not to go near the gangplank. I can assure you, I stayed well clear of it when I left the ship.”

As expected, her cheeks instantly puff out as she only just manages to trap some unpleasant words behind her tongue. Hot air gushes from the fire in her lungs up into her mouth, swirling behind her clenched teeth where it stays for a few more seconds before she releases it all in a noisy sigh that blasts your hair away from your face.

“Semantics...” she grinds out, raising a hand to massage at the bridge of her nose, eyes pressed firmly shut, “Of course... I knew - I knew I should've-...”

Juxtaposed against her fiery outburst, the Captain suddenly trails off and goes still, her eyes drifting down to peer at your side at a glacial pace.

“... Ma'am...?”

“Captain?” you return lightly.

“... Been makin' friends, have you?” She jerks her chin down at the pudgy snout that's poking out from behind your leg.

Plastering on a winning smile, you twist yourself sideways to reveal Junior, who is busy glaring up at the Captain with a mixture of suspicion and awe gleaming in his eyes.

She shoots you a frosty glare and shakes her head. “Why am I not surprised...?”

Junior flinches when your hand comes down delicately on his shoulder, but he stands his ground, flicking his eyes between you and the other human as you fall into introductions.

“Bowser Junior, I'd like you to meet the venerable Captain Skip - the finest captain I've ever sailed with.”

“I'm the only captain you've ever sailed with,” she grunts, rolling her gaze heavenwards.

Flashing her a wink, you add, “And here's hoping you'll be the last.”

“At the rate you're going Ma'am, I likely will be.”

Ignoring her jab at your longevity, you gesture politely down at your new acquaintance. “Captain, this fine young gentleman is Mr Bowser Junior.”

The boy's round chin juts proudly at the introduction whilst the Captain appraises him from beneath hooded eyelids.

“Huh, a Koopa, eh?” she observes, taking you by surprise, “Been a fair old while since I've seen one of your ilk, lad.”

“You're familiar with his species?” you ask.

Still regarding Junior, she hums pensively, “Mm, to a degree. Though never one this young. And we seldom cross paths with 'em on the water. Their kind have mastered travelling by air.”

“How remarkable!”

Your line of inquiry is cut short when a clawed hand curls into the garland of your dress and gives it a few, firm tugs. Blinking, you tip your head down to see Junior's hand clasping the fabric.

“Hey! When m'I gonna get to see the treasure!?” he all but whinges, reminding you that you're dealing with an impatient youngster who has been promised his pick from a boat-load of valuables.

Not only that, you muse, he's more than likely anxious to choose his father's birthday present and return home before the sun has fully risen into the sky.

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course,” you reply, catching an icy sideways glare from the Captain, “Junior here is in a bit of a predicament and I offered to help him out. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Behind you, Junior huffs disdainfully through his nostrils. “Why d'you need to ask for permission?”

The Captain is still subjecting you to her withering glare, but you expertly ignore it and reply, “Old maritime law, I think... And it's just good manners.”

He pulls a face at that, but doesn't otherwise react beyond sending the Captain an expectant look, one, flaming eyebrow raised high on his head.

Predictably, her stare remains immoveable and hard, boring into you like a mining drill. Child or no, you can't imagine she's happy to have a perfect stranger poking about on her ship. And yet after a long moment, she pushes out a weary sigh and tuts as her posture deflates. “Permission granted, Ma'am,” she offers thinly.

You give her a subtle nod of gratitude before turning to the koopa and sweeping an arm out towards the gangplank. “Well? After you.”

It's as if whatever restraints have been reining him in go slack.

Like a cannonball fired from its barrel, Junior hurtles off for the Bonhomous with a whoop, cackling loudly when he almost bowls over the sailors gathered on the dock.

The wooden platform buckles under his weight as he lumbers up and onto the ship's deck, swiftly disappearing from view.

“... Brazen little bugger, in't he?” The Captain spares you a slow blink when several yelps and shouts of alarm drift down to you from on board.

“He's certainly lively,” you return, “I think he might be growing on me.”

“Mmm, like a fungal infection.”

“Captain!” Your scolding tone is entirely ruined by a preceding laugh. Strutting past her to board the ship yourself, you clear your throat and say, “Actually, I have to say I'm impressed with your restraint. It looks like there are several, far less civil things you'd like to say to me.”

“Nothing your pretty, little ears would find polite,” she grumbles as she moves to follow you up the gangplank. Then comes the inevitable. “Ma'am, are you sure you've thought this through? We don't know this lad. And you're letting him into the trove?”

“It's the least I could do after scaring the poor boy off his bench.” Hopping down onto the deck, you traipse after the trail of overturned buckets and startled crew members until you come to the steps of the cargo hold.

Stuck fast to your side, the Captain sends you a quizzical glance, to which you add, “Long story... He told me he's been trying to find his father a birthday present, but so far he hasn't had much success. And I thought... Well...”

You wave a hand in the vague direction that Junior had disappeared.

“You thought you'd give him pick of the cache,” she finishes with a sigh, “You know, for a monarch, you're not nearly ruthless enough. You'll never be like your father.”

Your smile grows tenfold as you splay a hand across your chest, touched. “Why, Captain, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.”

Some of the frost in her expression melts away under the warmth of your sunny grin and she shakes her head at you, doing a terrible job of hiding the fond twitch of her lips.

At the bottom of the steps, down in the belly of the ship, you're not at all surprised to find the Quartermaster standing with his hands fisted into his grey, thinning hair as he gapes at Junior, who appears to be getting quite familiar with the crates and boxes filled to bursting with valuables from your kingdom.

“C-Cap'n!” the man stammers when you both stop beside him, “He – he just! He just started-!”

“It's all right, Mr Cabot,” she interrupts reassuringly, clapping a strong hand down on his shoulder, “He's here by royal invite.”

His sweeping, silver eyebrows launch themselves up his forehead and he splutters something incomprehensible until you address him, coughing softly into your fist as you move to join the young Koopa just as he shoves his nose deep into a sack of rare opals. “Abe, I wonder if you'd be so kind as to fetch a selection of comics from my cabin?”

At once, the Quartermaster's mouth snaps shut and there's a shuffle of feet behind you, followed by a gruff, “A-Aye, Ma'am,” before Abe begins to make for the steps, leaving you with Junior and the Captain.

Turning your attention onto your guest, you call out, “Have a good look around. I hope there's at least something in here that'll suffice.”

Junior's head pops out of the sack and he flashes you an impish grin that shows off his prominent fang. “Uh, all of it?!” he exclaims, “In fact – what's to stop me from makin' off with everything on this ship?”

Leant up against a wooden pillar near the staircase, Captain Skip lifts the brim of her hat and levels a dangerous glare at him, whereas you simply laugh at the absurdity of his notion, seeing nothing before you but an exuberant child with an extraordinary imagination.

“Nothing, I suppose,” you reply amicably, “But I would be very sad if you did. Especially since you're the first friend I've made in this kingdom.”

Just like that, his childish grin falters, shrinking at the corners of his mouth until his smile is altogether lacklustre, eventually dropping off his face entirely. “Huh... Right...” he says, far too softly to suit the young Koopa you've been chatting with all morning.

Lowering the sackful of opals, he gazes down into its depths, his forehead crinkling with a frown as he fiddles idly with the sack's drawstring, tail tucked close around one leg.

The shift is certainly jarring, but just as you open your mouth to ask him if something is wrong, Abe's voice cuts across the dark hold, calling out to you from the entrance. “Here they are, Ma'am.”

You twist yourself about to greet him as he makes his way over to you and places a stack of your treasured novels neatly in your upturned palms, all the while keeping his wary eye trained on Junior.

“Thank you, Mr Cabot. That'll be all,” you hum.

“Ma'am.” He lifts a hand and tips his cap to you politely, though you note he doesn't offer the same platitude to your guest. Then, spinning about on his heel, he meets the Captain's eye, lowering his voice. “Ah, Cap'n... Might I have another word?”

None too subtly, he twists his head over one shoulder to shoot a glance at Junior, and if the young Koopa could see the look he's being subjected to – mistrustful and cold – you'd be inclined to reprimand Abe for his attitude towards your guest. But luckily for Cabot, Junior's eyes are still fixed on the inside of the sack, staring at its contents, but barely seeing them.

With a grunt, Captain Skip pushes herself from the beam, standing upright once more. She raises a circumspect brow, first at you to get your attention, then at Junior - a far more surreptitious method of conveying her own message to you.

Abe, with a mere look, had told you that he's extremely unhappy to have Junior on board. The Captain however, is asking a question in her glance. 'Will you be all right on your own?'

'He's just a boy,' you want to tell her. A boy who only wants to find his father the perfect birthday present. What you wouldn't give to have been able to do the same when you were his age. What you wouldn't give to have had a father you could be proud of too, one who didn't look upon a kind gesture as something to be scoffed at and dismissed... who didn't rebuff your 'childish' attempts at affection.

If you can help Junior find his Papa the perfect birthday present, then you damn well ought to.

“Go ahead, Captain,” you tell her, waving her off with a flick of your wrist, “Junior and I may be occupied down here for some time.”

She grumbles unintelligibly, fixes Junior with a final glare of warning, and then, with a swish of her coat tails, she sweeps away from you, following the Quartermaster up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

Alone with Junior in the groaning underbelly of the ship, you find yourself clutching the stack of comic books a little more tightly against your chest.

You slowly grow aware of his gleaming eyes that shine out at you under the flickering light of the hold's lanterns. He's watching you closely, at least until you begin traipsing back over to him, flashing the young Koopa a smile, which prompts him to tear his gaze away from you and focus instead on the dusty, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet.

Gone is the levity you'd felt upon your approach to the Bonhomous.

“Junior?” you utter tentatively, wondering as to the cause of his inexplicable change in mood, “Is everything all right?”

The only response you garner lays in the furrow of his fiery brows as he continues to regard the floor with such a look of consternation, you'd think the ship herself had just insulted him.

It's actually unnerving, in a way. He seems older in the dark, more of a stranger than a potential friend.

Of course, as soon as the thought occurs to you, you ruthlessly strike it back into the recesses of your psyche, reminding yourself that he's a child, and you'll not be easily swayed by the suspicion of the Captain and her crew.

Chewing absently on your bottom lip for a second, you glance down at the comics in your hands, eyeing the one right at the top. From the cover, a gallant gentleman cocks his shining grin back at you, dressed in colourful armour and holding an almighty sword aloft in victory.

This one has always been among your favourites. An unreliable narrator, a protagonist turned antagonist, and a lonely monster who ends up saving the world in spite of how it treats him.

Brushing a fond thumb over its spine, you dart your eyes up to Junior for just a moment, taking note of his slouching shoulders and the confusion darkening his downturned face. Then, steeling your resolve, you work your clenched jaw loose and peel the comic from the top of the stack, presenting it to the Koopa and giving it a gentle shake to flutter the pages until he raises his head and blinks owlishly at the proffered gift.

“Here,” you coax, carefully pressing the copy into his chest so that his arms shoot up to catch it, “Consider this my gift to your father. You're still free to take something, I mean. I just... I have a feeling he might enjoy this one.”

Very slowly, Junior lowers his gaze from your face, dropping it to the comic book now clutched between his bruising fingers. “I don't get it,” he murmurs, his brows hanging so low that his eyes are half obscured as he glowers down at the cover.

“Oh? Well, it's quite a simple story, really,” you pipe up, reaching forwards to tap your fingertip on one of the little, illustrated characters, “This man here, he's a traveller from across the stars, and he finds this -”

You find your explanation interrupted as Junior suddenly shifts backwards with a brisk shake of his head, pulling himself away from you and blurting, “No! I mean... I don't get it. I don't get you!”

Bewildered, you find yourself helpless to reply beyond uttering a small, “What?”

“Why're you being so nice to me?”

Your mind judders to a halt. What a bizarre question, especially coming from a child. It's clear he means it to be an accusation, as if you're expected to be unkind. As if you're supposed to be, but you're defying his expectations at every turn.

Holding a palm helplessly towards the ceiling, you ask, “Is there a particular reason I shouldn't be nice to you? Isn't being nice just... part of making friends?”

Something flits rapidly across his expression, surprise in the blink of his wide eyes, confusion in the way his jaw unclenches and flops open and closed a few times before he manages to get his tongue to push out a hesitant question. “You said 'friends,' again?” he echoes softly, pulling a claw from the comic and hesitantly pointing at himself, “You... wanna be friends?”

Then, after a little pause... “With me?”

Why would he think otherwise? Building connections is the whole point of your visit, be those connections with the ruler of the kingdom, or a child you met by a fountain. “Of course I do,” you huff with a tinny laugh, resolute in your words.

It's gradual, but the pinch of his brows begins to ease and he adds, “But.. you're not a Koopa. I didn't think anyone who wasn't a Koopa would want-...”

The youngling trails off, lapsing into a meek silence that you're hesitant to break. But the bewilderment in his face compels you to speak up and quietly tell him, “Junior. I understand that you don't know me at all, really. But if there's one thing I'd like you to remember about me, it's that I would never choose a friend based on species. Nobody should.”

He remains quiet for some time, his eyes averted. But then, to your relief, you start to make out the tiny, hesitant smile that tries to worm its way across his face.

“So.. .so, if we're friends,” he starts slowly, as if he's attempting to make sense of something grand and unknowable, “Then could we... like... hang out together?”

Surprised, yet pleased that you haven't inadvertently driven a wedge between you and the Koopa, you nod. “Naturally.”

“And... you could read me comic books!”

“Sounds like fun,” comes your agreeable laugh.

“And we'd go on cool adventures together.” As he speaks, Junior grows more and more animated, staring off into the distance as if he's concocting an elaborate plan in his head.

Gradual as the sunrise, his jaw lifts into a hopeful grin and he stares up at you, standing on his toes. “And.. Would you wanna be friends with my Papa too?”

“I don't see why not,” you shrug.

At first, he seems a little skeptical, squinting up at you through narrowed eyelids, but when you only continue to hold his stare with unflinching sincerity, he finally blinks, drawing his head back and giving you a hum from the base of his throat, sounding pleased, of all things.

“My Papa's got all kinds treasure like these,” Junior murmurs softly as he gazes about at the cargo hold, eventually letting his eyes drift back over to you where they sharpen with sudden, alarming focus, “But I don't think he's ever had a real friend before. Not one as nice as you!”

Little flatterer, you smirk to yourself, raising a hand and covering your cheek with a palm. “Well, I don't know about-”

You aren't given the chance to finish your sentence.

Without a whiff of warning, Junior moves faster than you can blink, dropping down onto all-fours and sweeping his tail beneath your legs.

A bleat of alarm jumps from your throat as you topple over sideways and instinctively drop your armful of comic books, clenching your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you. The impact however, is far more gentle than you'd expected. With a startled 'ooph!' your back hits a soft, warm appendage that snakes around you and effectively pins your arms to your sides. In seamless tandem, a second hand catches you under the knees and prevents your backside from colliding painfully with the floor boards.

“Wha-! Junior!” you yelp indignantly, shocked that a boy half your height has the strength to hold you aloft just enough that your kicking feet can't gain purchase on the ground. “What are you doing!?”

The Koopa's grin has returned full-force, wide and mischievous. Try as you might to struggle from his grasp, you're immensely disconcerted by Junior's unexpected show of strength. You can feel the muscles in his arms bulging underneath you as he hoists you higher into his hold, leaving the skirts of your dress to drag across the floor boards.

For the first time since you met the young Koopa, you feel your stomach twist itself nearly inside out when tendrils of cold, dawning horror begin to coil and writhe in your gut.

Perhaps he deserved the crew's suspicion after all...

He turns towards the hull and steps over your comic books that now lay scattered across the floor.

“Junior!” you raise your voice to something like a yelp, “This is absolutely unacceptable! Put me down at once!”

Dust rains on top of your heads and into your hair as heavy footsteps start to pound in the direction of the hold, igniting a hot spark of hope in your chest.

“Don't worry!” Junior chirps brightly, stepping right up to the ship's wooden wall, “I'm gonna take you home! Papa's real nice, once you get to know him. Me n'him'll take good care of you - you'll see!”

Your quivering heart lurches, the horror of the sudden development shifting across the scales and entering into the realm of terror.

He can't be serious! This is no longer a child playing pretend, this is a child who is evidently prepared to commit a serious offence to get what he wants.

Boots thunder down the steps behind you and you almost weep with relief when the familiar voice of your loyal Captain hollers, “Release her, boy! 'Fore I blast that shell right off your back!”

“Skip!?” you cry out, still trying to wrench your arms from his iron-clad grasp when you hear a sound that fills you simultaneously with equal parts fear and hope.

.. The cocking of the Captain's trusty pistol.

Junior hears it as well, instinctively rounding on the Captain and letting out a vicious snarl, allowing you to catch the briefest glimpse of Skip standing at the head of a group of sailors, her stance wide and her lips peeled back over her teeth of match Junior's warning growl with unparalleled ferocity.

The Koopa's eyes alight on the gun and he suddenly gasps, whipping about and curling himself over you, putting his sturdy shell between you and the weapon.

A burning heat ignites in his chest – you can feel it searing against your side, travelling up the Koopa's sternum and into his throat.

The crew are shouting at the top of their lungs.

Your eyes fling open wide and fix themselves upon the fiery glow emanating between Junior's fangs.

“Leave us alone!” he bellows, letting tendrils of red-hot flames spill from his maw.

Mouth agape, you cringe away from the heat, squeezing your eyes shut again as the fire grows bright enough to sear right through your eyelids.

Junior's jaws open wide and he aims his snout at the wall of the ship whilst a molten ball of fire builds at the back of his throat.

“NO!” the Captain cries hoarsely.

But the time to act has already passed her by, and she hasn't even realised it.

Anything else she might have wanted to shout is suddenly drowned out by a deafening explosion that rocks the ship on her moorings. Junior's entire body gives a sudden jolt as a boiling ball of fire erupts out of his mouth like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting the Bonhomous's hull with a resounding and devastating 'BOOM!'

Strong, solid oak is blasted from its fixtures. Nails fly in every direction like shrapnel, and a plume of smoke engulfs the cargo hold, wrenching the air from your lungs.

The sailors begin to cough and splutter, picking themselves up off the ground from where they'd tossed themselves behind barrels and crates for cover.

Dim sunlight pours into the ship and when you dare to pry your eyelids apart to look, your jaw drops open, leaving you gaping at an enormous, jagged hole that's been blown right out of the Bonhomous's side.

“.... Wh... What have you done?” you breathe, balling your hands into fists and dragging your eyes up to stare at the underside of Junior's yellow chin.

Ignoring the chaos and confusion of the crew at his back, the Koopa cocks a grin at the hole, satisfied with his work as he hops up into the gap, balancing on the splintered edge of a half-destroyed hull.

Urgency pushes you through the shock that stalls your systems and you find yourself struggling anew, choking out, “Junior, please, you don't have to do this!”

The boy's smile gives no indication that he's even heard you.

For a fleeting moment, he twists his head over a shoulder to peer back at the smoke.

There, silhouetted against he indigo haze, the Captain emerges like a vengeful phantom, striding towards you both with murderous fire burning in her dark, grey eyes. In one bloodied hand, she raises her pistol, the shining barrel glinting dangerously in the sunlight that filters through her ship's new cavity.

“Stop,” she croaks hoarsely, her throat burning from the smoke, “Or I'll put you down. Child or no.”

But Junior, although he may be young, is certainly no fool.

He knows a bluff when he sees one. He can all but smell the reluctance rolling off the Captain in waves.

She won't risk firing at him, not while you're being held so closely to his chest.

His mouth twitches and he flashes her a triumphant grin, revelling in the defeat that flickers momentarily behind her eyelids.

The Koopaling is wholly aware of his new friend fighting to get out of his all-encompassing grasp, but he's far stronger than his size suggests, and merely keeps his arms locked tight around your shoulders and legs like a pair of bear traps.

Though you might not be the most conventional birthday present, Junior can't deny that you were the best option on the whole ship, a rare gem hidden amongst the pearls and rubies and, yes, even the comic books. Taking a moment to lament the latter's loss, he leaps from the ship and lands heavily on the dock, taking care not to jostle you too greatly as he scampers between a pair of buildings, leaving the Bonhomous and her crew behind in the dust.

Jewels and riches are nice enough, but Junior isn't blind to the plight that's been afflicting his father for some time now - a plight that can't be fixed by shiny things, sadly.

As brave and strong as his Papa has been in the face of never-ending rebuttal from Princess Peach, Junior can tell that his almighty resolve has at last been chipped down to the bone.

Bowser has been... quieter lately. And every breath that heaves out of his massive lungs seems more and more like an affected sigh.

Junior had overheard Kamek speaking to the King only a few short nights ago, when the youngling was expected to be sound asleep in bed, not sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack.

“I think this loneliness is heavier than even your mighty shoulders can bear, my King, “the old Magikoopa had bravely pointed out, though what he might have said before that is unknown to Junior.

Naturally, Bowser had promptly lost his temper and roared Kamek from the throne room. But the seed of suspicion had already been planted in Junior's brain.

His Papa... lonely?

He supposes if anyone would be able to tell, it would be their brainy advisor, Kamek.

As Junior bounds away from the Toads' Capital with a new friend tucked safely in his arms, he allows himself a moment to feel triumphant in his capture.

You may not be a princess, like Peach, but his Papa is still sure to like you. He's often watched the King get tongue-tied around ladies in dresses.

You're afraid now, yes, struggling fruitlessly against him and demanding that he let you go, but he's sure you'll change your tune once you see how well his Papa will treat you.

Friends of the Koopa Troop are friends for life, and you've already said you wanted to be friends with he and the King.

Junior's stubby tail waggles back and forth as he dashes through the outskirts of town, heading for the mushroom forest where he's stashed his clown car.

All he has to do now is get back before his Papa wakes up to find him missing...

--------------

To say that the Bowser Castle is in a state of disarray would be the understatement of the century.

If one were to look at it from outside the towering, stone walls, one might assume that the trembling spires and quivering parapets are afflicted by a localised earthquake.

But on the inside, vulnerable to the wrath of their King, the Koopas on duty find themselves wishing they only had an earthquake to deal with.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Kamek's thick, round glasses rattle on the edge of his beak as he plasters himself to the door of Junior's bedroom, helpless to do anything other than play silent witness to the young Koopa's father – King Bowser himself – tearing open the boy's closet and sticking his immense bulk into the dark, cramped space, bellowing, “JUNIOR!?” at the top of his lungs.

If Kamek didn't know the king as well as he does, he'd mistake this behaviour for outrage and aggression. But as it is, he's spent too long as Bowser's advisor to be fooled.

Suffice it to say, Junior's inexplicable absence has worried the living daylights out of his father. It's just a shame that the king's worry is almost an exact mimic of his anger, and so often the two are lumped together by his critics.

And yet, for all the ferocity with which Bowser appears to be ripping his son's bedroom asunder in his mad search, it doesn't escape Kamek's notice that not a single thing inside has actually sustained any damage.

With a snarl of frustration, Bowser wrenches his nose from the closet and lumbers across the room to his son's bed, pinching the soft blankets and covers between his claws and peeling them back as if Junior might have managed to sneak back into the room when his father's back was turned.

Every attempt to calm the worked-up king down has thus far been met with belligerence and aggravated growls. Still, Kamek Koopa is nothing if not persistent.

“Sire, please, remember your blood pressure,” he calls chidingly, “I'm sure the young master will turn up soon!”

Bowser's tremendous jaws snap together with the force of a thunderclap and he shoots Kamek a molten glare. “Junior ALWAYS wakes me up on my birthday!” he seethes, his powerful fists compressing a pillow until it threatens to explode and spray feathers all over the room, “Not only did he not wake me this morning, now, I can't find him ANYWHERE!”

The last word is bellowed loudly enough to be heard from the deepest dungeon to the tallest spire.

Kamek's eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses, wincing in discomfort until his ears stop ringing and the quivering chandelier overhead falls still.

“Sire,” he sighs, pushing his spectacles further up on his beak, “The boy is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You raised him, after all! Besides, he has his communicator with him, no? He'll call if he runs into any trouble.”

All at once, Bowser peels his lips back and lets out a low, guttural rumble that spills from his chest, dropping the pillow and instead snatching something up from the corner of Junior's bed. “Oh really,” he utters dangerously, holding a small, rectangular object between his thumb and forefinger and raising it into the air for the Magikoopa to see, “Then tell me, Kamek, how Junior is supposed to contact me when he left his communicator UNDER HIS PILLOW!?”

“... Ah...” Kamek is starting to get the sense that his King's threadbare patience is reaching its end. It's unusual for the boy to go anywhere without his communicator, but it's possible that he simply forgot it.

He's just about to concede and suggest that they send a troop out to search for Junior, if only to keep the King from spiralling into an all-out tantrum when all of a sudden, from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the rapid approach of footsteps catches their attention, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “PAPA!”

'Oh thank goodness,' Kamek sighs to himself.

At once, Bowser's colossal frame sags like a balloon losing air, leaving him immeasurably smaller somehow, without all that agitation swelling his chest.

“Junior!” he shouts back, trying very hard to sound stern, but incapable of hiding every ounce of his relief.

Kamek only just manages to shuffle away from the doors before they suddenly burst open so violently that their brass knobs smash into the walls and their hinges give an almighty squeal, and there behind them stands the previously mislaid Bowser Junior, sporting a grin so wide that his cheeks are doubled in size.

“PAPA!” he cries again, barrelling towards Bowser like a tiny, green and yellow torpedo. Immediately, the King thumps down onto one knee, though whether from instinct or habit, Kamek is hard-pressed to say.

A pair of tremendous arms spread open to catch Junior mid-leap, sweeping the boy up into his father's grasp and all but crushing him against a broad, scaly chest.

“Happy birthday!” The Koopaling's shout is muffled by the thick wall of of flesh he's being squashed into.

Kamek politely averts his gaze to the floor of Junior's room, falling into the familiar routine of visually categorising all the things he'll need to clean up off the boy's messy floor, giving the pair of them a moment to themselves as father and son.

Hunched over his child, Bowser permits himself just a few seconds to let an intoxicating relief roll over his shoulders and cool the fire raging in his belly.

“Son,” he rumbles, peeling Junior off his chest and holding the Koopaling up in front of his snout, drawing his brows together until they almost meet in the centre of his forehead. “Where have you been!?”

Junior at least has the decency to cower slightly into his shell, peeking out at his father with a hesitant grin pulling on the edges of his mouth. “I'm sorry. But you won't believe what I-!”

“You didn't wake me up!” Bowser simply bulldozes over his son's explanation, puffing out a stream of smoke through his flaring nostrils, “You always wake me up! And then I come in here, and I find you gone!”

“I-I know, but I had to-”

“You didn't even leave a note! You left your communicator! I've been tearing this castle apart trying to find you! What if something happened!?”

Uncomfortable with being the focus his father's unwavering glare, Junior begins to wriggle, embarrassed. “M'sorry, Papa,” he mutters, “I was just tryin' to find you the perfect birthday present...”

Slowly, something in Bowser's fearsome expression turns soft – Well... as soft as a ruthless, oversized Koopa's expression can turn.

For all that Bowser is as gruff and ornery as a dragon with a headache, when it comes to Junior, he's a total pushover.

The King grumbles something quietly under his breath and he pulls a face, squinting sharply at his son for several, gruelling moments before at last, his maw twists up into a grin.

“The perfect present... Haha!” A low chuckle rolls out of his throat, deep and resonant like faraway brontide, “Tryn'a impress your old man, eh? Well, guess I can't stay mad at you for bein' thoughtful.”

He gently lowers the Koopaling to the floor and ruffles his hair with one, meaty paw. Junior makes an indignant noise of complaint at the back of his throat and ducks out from under his father's palm, reaching up to fix his tousled ponytail.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit bein' embarrassin' and come see what I got you!” he huffs, snagging one of Bowser's immense fingers and tugging him urgently towards the bedroom door, “C'mon, c'mon!”

The King's heavy footsteps plod steadily down the long corridor in the wake of his son, who continues to try and drag the colossal Koopa along faster. Exhaling warmly through his nostrils, Bowser allows himself to be lead to the throne room doors, whereupon Junior finally lets go of his hand and bounds towards them, calling over his shoulder, “She's in here!”

It takes Bowser a moment to register what his son had said, but once he does, his smile wavers and he blunders, “Wait. She?!”

The boy disregards his father in favour of grabbing the doorknobs and wrenching them open, scampering inside. As soon as the towering doors swing aside, Bowser's sensitive nose is hit with a gentle aroma, far lighter and fresher than the musty, old throne room.

'Perfume?' he muses, incredulous.

And then, he raises his head, tearing his eyes off Junior and fixing his gaze upon a gaggle of Koopa Troopa guards who have gathered together in a circle at the centre of the room, their spears raised and trained on the same target.

'What in the world did Junior bring home this time?'

“OW! Hey! Would you mind watching where you point those spears?” a voice cries out sharply, unfamiliar to Bowser's well-trained ears, “This dress took my seamstress months to make! If you tear it, she'll tan my sorry hide!”

Beyond curious now, Bowser raises his snout higher into the air to peer over the Koopas as he stomps towards them with enough force to shake the guards in their boots.

“Hey!” Junior barks, “I told you guys not to hurt her!”

His father, meanwhile, has lost what little he has of patience. Swinging his meaty fist out, he grabs the shoulder of the closest guard and shoves him aside with a curt grunt, at last revealing what they'd been obscuring from sight.

The King blinks once, then twice, and then suddenly, his mighty heart skips a couple of beats and his jaw promptly drops.

------

The moment you feel the heat of a warm, wet breath sliding over the nape of your neck, you freeze, your mouth stuck halfway open in the middle of demanding that these guards tell you where in the world you are.

There's a presence behind you, a shadow utterly dwarfing your own that's been cast by overhead chandeliers.

You don't whirl around right away, somehow sensing that you're in the company of someone much, much bigger than you, stronger than you, and you'd rather avoid provoking it with any unexpected movements.

The Koopas around you have lifted their eyes to stare agog at a spot right above your head, slowly lowering their weapons as they begin edging backwards. Though whether that's out of deference or terror, you have no idea.

In spite of your own fear, you attempt to remain poised as you continue to turn until you gradually come face to face with a massive expanse of flaxen skin.

'That's a chest!' your brain helpfully supplies. 'Broad as a barn and twice as sturdy...' You swallow, reluctantly dragging your eyes up the length of that mammoth chest until your gaze inevitably comes to a stop on a gruesome face.

You're not quite fast enough to stop a gasp from slipping in between your parted lips.

Before you looms a veritable mountain of a creature – a Goliath in every sense of the word. Dragon-scale skin stretches taut over bulging muscles and just one of his limbs looks as though it would weigh the same as a full-grown man.

His head alone dwarfs yours. He boasts a robust and square jaw from which protrude the largest fangs you've ever seen outside of a prehistoric museum...

The spiked shell sitting on his back is equally as massive as its wearer, and heavy-bodied too. You don't doubt that bearing its weight for so long must have contributed to this giant's powerful physique.

In rather striking contrast to his body's colouration, a mane of thick, crimson hair sweeps back from the top of his skull, right between a pair of upturned horns that jut from either side of his head.

It's by that hair and the bushy, red brows that you draw a logical conclusion – This can only be Junior's father.

'This is Papa!?'

You're suddenly left feeling very helpless under his smouldering stare.

However, unbeknownst to you, Bowser's mind is running along a very similar track.

Of all the 'gifts' he'd been expecting his son to get him, the very last thing he would have guessed was to come face to face with a tiny, human woman.

His almighty heart gives a pulsing throb when you tip your head back and he sees your eyes for the first time, blinking up at him in what he'd like to imagine must be awe and wonder.

He can smell the subtle traces of your perfume lingering on your soft, delicate skin, tantalisingly sweet and decadent. Expensive too, he'd wager. The silk of your dress is exquisite and shines prettily in the light of the candelabras – a fine material typically only afforded by nobility. Within seconds, he deduces that wherever you've come from, it's a place of opulence and refinement.

You're certainly a pretty package, all wrapped up in finery... The perfect birthday present indeed...

Just like that, Bowser finds himself rendered very helpless, even jelly-limbed under your scrutiny.

“Isn't she pretty, Papa?” Junior pipes up, breaking the spell that had fallen over the King and the stranger in their midst.

Bowser blinks, and, realising that his lower jaw is hanging slack, he snaps it shut with a click of his fangs.

Right.. Right, yes. First impressions... Stars, he hasn't even waxed his shell today! Is his hair still sticking out at odd angles from where he'd slept on it?

Feeling oddly light in the chest, Bowser clears his throat – a resonant sound that makes you recoil a step – and he extends one colossal paw, deftly catching your dainty, little hand between his thumb and forefinger, and applying just the barest amount of pressure to keep you from reclaiming your appendage.

He expertly ignores how your expression screws up tightly with trepidation as he begins to lower his head, bending at his sizeable waist and swinging an arm backwards to rest on his shell in a perfectly controlled bow.

“Enchanté,” he rumbles smoothly, raising your hand to his mouth. You turn rigid in his grip, but he's quick to alleviate a modicum of your fear by giving your knuckles the gentlest brush of his rubbery lips, hardly pressing down enough to be felt. Never once does he break eye contact.

Your eyelids spring open wide in shock, staring hard at the gleaming fangs that protrude from his maw, all too mindful of the fact that they could bite your appendage clean off with just a sniff of effort.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, hm?” His voice alone is powerful enough to thrum deeply inside your chest like a second heartbeat. It terrifies you, the unrestrained brawn that shifts below the surface of his scales.

He wants to know your name? The first question he asks, and it's to inquire after your name?

In hindsight, you suppose it isn't such an outlandish query after all.

More to the point though, how is such a brutish behemoth speaking so eloquently?

Almost at once, a stab of rancid shame demands a spot inside your chest. Who are you to assume how he should and shouldn't be able to speak?

Blinking absently, you flit your gaze from the colossal snout smiling in front of your face to the clawed thumb resting delicately against the back of your hand.

It hits you like a sack of bricks.

He's bowing to you.

'… Well,' you suppose, 'he may look the part of the Dragon who kidnapped the Princess, but his demeanour is that of a polished patrician... at least thus far.'

Throat bobbing as you swallow thickly, you dare to hope that he, unlike his son, can be reasoned with. Hell, for all you know, this is all just a big misunderstanding. He'll reprimand Junior for kidnapping you, and you'll be allowed to go on your merry way. If anything, he deserves the benefit of your doubt. Just once.

It takes a tremendous effort to gulp your heart back down into its proper place behind your ribs.

Clearing your throat, you almost tell him precisely who you are, status and all. But a tiny inkling of doubt stays your tongue.

Is it really so sensible to be telling him your regal status? Especially given that you're utterly alone here, a stranger in a strange land, treading unknown territory without any sort of phalanx...

“My name,” you start to croak, almost losing your nerve when his face lights up with a hopeful grin, “You may call me, Y/n...”

The breath he exhales over your face is slow and gentle, barely strong enough to disturb the hairs on your head.

“Y/n,” he murmurs, rolling the name off his tongue as if he were tasting a fine wine.

Hesitant, you give your captured hand a testing pull, and this time, he allows you to withdraw it and tuck it protectively against your chest as you back away from him. “A-and, you must be Junior's father,” you say falteringly, shooting the boy a withering look as you do.

In much the same manner as his son did when you asked for his name, Bowser swells with unabashed pride, pushing out his prodigious chest and pointing his nose at the ceiling. If you didn't know he was Junior's father before, you'd certainly be able to tell now.

“Name's Bowser!” he announces, flicking his gleaming, red eyes down to flash you, of all things, a wink, “King Bowser.”

And 'oh good lord,' you realise as your stomach bottoms out, 'Junior wasn't playing pretend at all.'

Lol rip bozo

Twister wonderland characters eyes 💫

Achoo's Masterlist <3

the appointment went well, no? ^_^ i've got your prescription right here, if you need to get your fill for whatever your little sickness bug has got you down on, you can take your pick from headcanons to a longer series, from fluff to angst, I've got ya!

only take enough for what i've prescribed you with though! i don't need ya to come back complaining about eye strain >:((

Obey Me! Shall we Date?

Series:

For those craving a slow burn!

Replaced MC! AU: GOD MUST HATE ME - "Same hands that made the moon and the stars, got carpal tunnel and forgot some parts..."

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Individual Fics:

For those who've had their hearts stolen by someone special!

Lucifer: The Headstrong First-born, Avatar of Pride

nothing yet!

Mammon: The Scummy Second-born, Avatar of Greed

nothing yet!

Leviathan: The Otaku Third-born, Avatar of Envy

nothing yet!

Satan: The Witty Fourth-born, Avatar of Wrath

nothing yet!

Asmodeus: The Charming Fifth-born, Avatar of Lust

nothing yet!

Beelzebub: The Famished Sixth-born, Avatar of Gluttony

nothing yet!

Belphegor: The Sleepy Seventh-born, Avatar of Sloth

nothing yet!

Diavolo: The Sweet Crown Prince of the Devildom

Burn for You - WIP

Barbatos: The Highly Competent Time Lord and Butler

nothing yet!

Simeon: The Intelligent and Angelic Writer

nothing yet!

Solomon: The Shady but Powerful Human Sorcerer

nothing yet!

Luke: The Innocent Little Angel Exchange Student

nothing yet!

Headcanons:

For those craving for something short but sweet (or angsty)

House of Lamentation:

nothing yet!

Purgatory Hall:

nothing yet!

Demon Lord's Castle:

nothing yet!

OCS:

nothing yet!

Look up season of the drifter cutscenes I think its there

There’s a horse in Destiny now, and everybody is acting like “oh yeah, that’s the horse from Destiny.”

And I say, what the fuck are you talking about. What horse. What fucking horse. When has there been a horse in Destiny.

My, Obey me tier list

Well this is it.

note I like all of them,

and Luke will always be seen a lil' brother

Link

Tagging: @amistytown @zenstateofmind @candymeowz @certified-sloth @luciferscockslut @yukihaie and anyone else who wants to join :3

“ The masterlist of oneshots made by fr0st-km ”

- “ The Princess Who Doesn’t Know How To Communicate With Men. ” ( Various x Malleus Draconia! Fem! reader ) pt. 1

- “ The Princess Who Doesn’t Know How To Communicate With Men. ” ( Various x Malleus Draconia! Fem! reader ) pt. 2 [ Will be published at 8 or 9 December. )

Um, I don’t think anyone needs this, but I decided to make TWST OC templates in between my chores so…I don’t even know why I made these lolol~

The so-called, “oc template market” is already so saturated, but I’m sure the fandom can handle one more—

I don’t have a sample right now, but the template is pretty straightforward. In the brackets, you input your oc’s name in katakana, and right below that, in English lettering. You can add your desired CV right above the line before the “age,best subject, etc.,” slightly lower than the English lettering of your oc’s name. (I hope that makes sense.)

Then, at the very bottom, beside the “Unique Magic,” input the name of your oc’s Unique Magic there, and a short description of what it does under the line. I do hope you guys enjoy using this template!

Please don’t remove my watermark when you do use it so that people may be able to find the rest of the templates!

Fee free to tag me when you do use them, I’d love to see the twst oc’s I haven’t come across yet! It’s always a pleasure to be able to see how creative the fandom can get when it comes to designing and curating stories for their ocs.

Twisted Wonderland “Twist-and-Drag” Series #9 ~ Boys with a Crush don’t act like themselves

tried to keep it IC but might end up with very counter-intuitive results after screenshot xDD

For this series, I’ll be queuing them on Wed & Sat, under the hashtag #NRC twst-and-drag so feel free to check them out and comment if you have funny ideas (no promise, but I may use some ideas for future ones)

Have fun~~

P.S//  it might sound obvious but do NOT reuse these gifs pasting another title on top of them and saying you made them, it’s rude ヾ(｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ)ﾉﾞ Here on Tumblr, Alchemivich is very kind to extract most assets from the game and share them for everyone easy edits, so go and spam Chemi with love and have fun making your own gifs from scratch~

Twisted Wonderland “Twist-and-Drag” Series #10 ~ Villains do know their classic Disney Romance Songs

taking no reclamation if Grims starts singing xDD

For this series, I’ll be queuing them on Wed & Sat, under the hashtag #NRC twst-and-drag so feel free to screenshot-and-reblog, and comment if you have funny ideas (no promise, but I may use some ideas for future ones)

Have fun~~

P.S//  it might sound obvious but do NOT reuse these gifs pasting another title on top of them and saying you made them, it’s rude ヾ(｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ)ﾉﾞ Here on Tumblr, Alchemivich is very kind to extract most assets from the game and share them for everyone easy edits, so go and spam Chemi with love and have fun making your own gifs from scratch~

Twisted Wonderland “Twist-and-Drag” Series #11 ~ if the Sports Festival at Night Raven College didn’t have Magift

no magift makes it feel awfully normal for a Magic School, lol

For this series, I’ll be queuing them on Wed & Sat, under the hashtag #NRC twst-and-drag so feel free to screenshot-and-reblog, and comment if you have funny ideas (no promise, but I may use some ideas for future ones)

Have fun~~

P.S//  it might sound obvious but do NOT reuse these gifs pasting another title on top of them and saying you made them, it’s rude ヾ(｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ)ﾉﾞ Here on Tumblr, Alchemivich is very kind to extract most assets from the game and share them for everyone easy edits, so go and spam Chemi with love and have fun making your own gifs from scratch~

Twisted Wonderland “Twist-and-Drag” Series #14 ~ Eat , Drink , Love

I totally blame Grim for making think about food all the time *shot*

For this series, I’ll be queuing them on Wed & Sat, under the hashtag #NRC twst-and-drag so feel free to visit, subscribe, screenshot-and-reblog.

Have fun~~

P.S//  it might sound obvious but do NOT reuse these gifs pasting another title on top of them and saying you made them, it’s rude ヾ(｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ)ﾉﾞ Here on Tumblr, Alchemivich is very hard-at-work to extract and share most assets from the game, so go spam Chemi with love and have fun making your own gifs from scratch~

Twisted Wonderland “Twist-and-Drag” Series #15 ~ NRC Cultural Festival

If there hadn’t been VDC and NRC had the cliché attractions of Japanese school festivals x3 Butler Café CGs are inspired by a recent post from Chemi, I simply edited the boys in white suits based on their texture atlases *easier-said-than-done shot*

For this series, I’ll be queuing them on Wed & Sat, under the hashtag #NRC twst-and-drag so feel free to visit, subscribe, screenshot-and-reblog.

Have fun~~

P.S//  it might sound obvious but do NOT reuse these gifs pasting another title on top of them and saying you made them, it’s rude ヾ(｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ)ﾉﾞ Here on Tumblr, Alchemivich is very hard-at-work to extract and share most assets from the game, so go spam Chemi with love and have fun making your own gifs from scratch~

a replaced!mc au pt. ii〚Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.〛

"If I cannot bend the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell."

part 1

This series was inspired by the writings of @wafermelons and @pen-ink-therapy whose work showed me how cathartic writing and reading angst could be.

Imagine an alternate universe where the seven avatars who have come to love the MC with everything they have, reject them for another. Old wounds are ripped open and laid bare for all to see. Grudges are brought to light, but with it comes an inner peace MC hasn't felt since they became the emotional support of the seven demon lords of the Devildom. Through trial and fire, MC will begin a new journey and the brothers will lose what cannot be replaced.

Warnings: mental abuse, emotional abuse, acts of violence, suicidal ideation, poor mental health, angst, mentions of past death, MC chose violence.

Note: There will be n/sfw and yandere content in future installments because I am a ✨ w h o r e ✨

The look on Mammon’s face—for lack of a better word—was priceless. One sentence. One response from you was all it took to crack his face in two. Your softly smiling lips and impishly twinkling eyes didn’t betray your emotions like his did, but inside you were just as surprised at yourself. The sentence flowed from your lips like a cool breeze on a warm summer’s day. It should’ve hurt, or been scary, or sent you into a panic attack afraid of all of the things that could be done to you in retaliation for daring to talk back—but it wasn’t and you didn’t. You forgot what this felt like, defending yourself against those who sought to tear you down with their hands or their words. It was always scary at first. The buildup of anxiety that festered the longer you took to defend yourself, but once you did, they almost always backed down because they thought you were an easy target and you proved you weren’t.

It was like how a bully's face crumbled in humiliation when you snapped back. They thought you were prey to make an example of in front of your peers, but they were so wrong. You could recall a relative who thought their blood ties could excuse bad behavior, only to get settled in front of the whole family, consequences be damned. You forgot what this felt like. To care about yourself. To begin to love yourself again. When you defended yourself, no matter the outcome, you were affirming your worth and your dignity was not something that could be taken away no matter how daunting the foe. You stared the second strongest lord of the Devildom in the eye and quirked an eyebrow. If you were to die for this, you sure as hell were going to get your money's worth.

You had always been worth so much more than you ever believed, MC.

While you had been invigorated and ready for conflict Mammon’s face had cracked, but by the grace of Diavolo it didn’t betray the mayhem raging inside. His eyes were wide with trembling pupils as if he was having trouble focusing on the human standing not even two feet away from him. Mouth slightly agape, no sound came out. His brothers, the mighty avatars, were frozen where they were. Asmodeus had been curled up on the couch with a throw blanket, but now his eyes were wide, and lips a wobbly line. Belphegor and Leviathan who had been grabbing for Danielle who had been scrambling towards you, were now frozen with their arms extended.

Satan had been stalking towards you with nostrils practically flaring when your words brought him to an abrupt halt. Beelzebub who had been seated on a chair was now sat upright, confusion and concern marred his features as once again he was at a loss of what to do. Lucifer stood the closest to you and Mammon, but he too had paused. He didn’t register that a mere human’s words had halted his movements and if he realized or someone was suicidal enough to mention it, he would surely combust on the spot. The silence was going on too long for your liking. I mean, you had places to be tonight. They had wasted enough of your valuable time—time a mere mortal like yourself couldn’t get back—and you’d be damned before you let them take a second more. Hurry up and start the confrontation so you can get the fuck on.

“What’s the matter, Mammoney? Cat got your tongue?” You used the old nickname he once wore like a badge of honor. He’d go out of his way to have you call that name in public, wanting the world to know that he was yours. Things had been so good once. You were so happy. Don’t worry MC, you can be happy again. It just won’t be with him.

Mammon had to shake himself from his stupor. He hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, and for some reason unknown to him, his heart ached. However, he couldn’t think over these foreign yet familiar feelings now. His brothers were watching and he wasn’t about to let himself be cowed in front of them.

“What the fuck did you just say to the Great Mammon?” His canines seemed more prominent, and his eyes flashed with a danger never intended for you before. His fists were balled and trembled slightly, and you could see the you of the past throwing yourself out of the way, so terrified of an attack. That was no more.

Your smile never left your lips, you didn’t even hesitate, “You’re a goddamned hypocritical little bitch and caring about you was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.”

He stumbled backwards and the bubble burst. Lucifer was charging at you, drawing up to bring his full form over yours. He was darkness and the odor of burning blood and rusty iron from chains and torture. “MC! How dare you—!”

You turned your head to the left to lock eyes with the looming demon. He thought he was so scary, but the flash in your eyes was murderous. He had always thought he was so intimidating. A word from him, and everyone would fall into line, but you weren’t one of them. You looked at him and all you saw was a waste of space. His booming voice that seemed to reverberate in the common room and the hellfire that was his eyes, did nothing to you. Instead, your own eyes were alight with unbridled rage at his insubordination.

“Shut the fuck up!” Your voice was a growl, a beast that long lay dormant inside was awakened and out to protect you. "I am your master and you will obey me."

Every demon in the room was thrown back as strong gales of wind spun with you at its center. All were tossed back from their spots and sent crashing into furniture or the walls around you. Beelzebub was thrown into a display shelf, glass and priceless, older-than-man antiques were destroyed beyond repair. Asmodeus was thrown up where his head hit the ceiling on a tender spot that sent tears blurring his vision. He fell on his side and could immediately feel the bruises forming. Belphegor had been ripped backwards where he skidded across the carpet and bumped into an end table that fell over to crush his thighs.

Leviathan was ripped from his seat and spun in the air where he was thrown at the door where his head collided with the doorframe. His vision blurred and mind raced, unable to latch onto any thought but of terror and confusion and the splinters stuck in his scalp. Satan felt a punch to his gut that propelled him back into the lit fireplace. It took agonizingly long seconds before his body registered the heat. Then, he quickly threw himself on the rug before him and rolled to extinguish the flames, being too stunned to even think of a spell to put them out. Mammon was thrown back where he slid across the carpet and against the wall. Family photos and memories fell from the surface onto and around him. Glass shattered and frames broke and a picture of you and him on a rare trip to the human world caught his attention. You were holding his hand and beaming like it had been the happiest day of your life.

Lucifer should’ve been the one out of the brothers who could stand his ground, but his knees were kicked in by the invisible assailant that was the wind, and he was tossed aside like a ragdoll. His wings wouldn’t listen to him and appear to catch his flight, so he was cast aside like something insignificant, an indignation he was sure he had never felt in all of his days.

The epiphany came too late. The paltry amount of magic Solomon had leant you at the beginning of your first semester was overwhelmed by your natural talents. You were able to summon the brothers to your side without a formal invocation and they had been imbued with strength they had never felt before from a pact mate. You were far stronger than they had realized, but somehow the fact had been forgotten. Why did they forget? Because you never used your pacts. You treated them like friends and only called when your life was threatened. You never asked for anything, but a bit of their time and they couldn’t even give that. This time, your command wasn’t imbuing them with power, but draining them. While all of this was happening, no demon uttered a single sound, not even a pained groan from their throats, because that was your command: To shut the fuck up. Their bodies listened and obeyed.

You exhaled. You had been afraid for nothing! All this time you held your tongue, bowed out with your tail between your legs and avoided confrontation like it was a fatal contagion because you felt it could kill you. Your life had been threatened in every possible way it could be and you still had panic attacks at night. You would awake unable to move and the air leaving your lungs. You couldn’t breathe or make a single gurgle inside of your throat and your vision would begin to go spotty. Every time that happened you were taken back to your throat being crushed by the hands of someone you foolishly trusted. Your lungs failed you and desperately clawing hands made no scratch on the demon who straddled your weakening form. You couldn’t have done anything to protect yourself back then, and it had hit you long ago how insignificant you truly were.

You could be killed by these creatures who didn’t view you as more than a fly—they had killed you like the fly they saw you as—and every threat may have been filled with truth. Almost eaten in a fit of rage because you were close enough and food. Almost ripped apart because you dared to say 'no.' Almost maimed over a stupid game that didn’t matter. Threatened to be sold or killed or disfigured or tortured until you were actually killed and brought back like exchanging a faulty product for a new one in store. Maybe you had been replaced long ago by a new you who they didn’t bother to ask how you felt. A new you who forgave and forgot.

In the chaos, Danielle was the only one left untouched. There was a slight tremor in her legs as she walked towards you, but it vanished the closer she got. Her back straightened and eyes never left your own. She stopped short, not wanting to invade your personal space, not from fear but from compassion. “MC, are you okay?”

You always looked at her with a softness your eyes had lost towards the brothers, and your smile bloomed into something shy and incredulous. “You’re something else, Danielle. You know that?” She shook her head, worry evident on her features. She pointed towards your hand that glowed with the signature colors of the demons you were in a pact with. The sight soured your expression.

Raising it to get a better view, these colors once gave a feeling of security but now they were a ball and chain you needed to find a saw to cut off. You wiggled your fingers and glanced at her. “Y’know, I was tricked into making these pacts.” She perked up then. She didn’t know how it happened and she never asked because she felt it hadn’t been her place, but she had been waiting to hear your side of things. “I thought I was helping,” you turned away from her, her honest eyes doing something to you, “but I was the only one hurt in the end.” Your throat became sore.

“MC?” Danielle started.

“Yes?”

“I’m on your side.”

You laughed. Come on, now. This had to be a joke, but Danielle stared at you with a resolve that you knew you couldn’t shake. You shook your head as you gazed at her, “I wish that we could’ve been friends.” You smiled and she could feel that same shyness she felt when first meeting you. She had always wanted you to like her, but she didn’t get the chance. “You should go.” You inclined your head to the door. “There’s something I have to do and…I don’t want to scare you.” You couldn’t budge her. “I’m not afraid, MC.” She was already going back to her spot on the couch where she sat crisscrossed. “And I feel like I should be here. Everything needs to come out in the open and I understand if you hate me—.”

“I don’t, Danielle. I could never hate you.” You smiled and she had to look away and clear her throat. Please don’t look at her like that when she’s trying to be serious and supportive here! “Well, no matter what happens here, I just want you to know I’m on your side.” she forced her eyes to meet yours again. You shook your head again, but maybe you didn’t hate the fact that she was here. What was going to happen in this room would sever the ties that bound you to this house and everyone in it, but that thought didn’t scare you like it once did. As cliché as it sounded, you truly could see the light at the end of this tunnel.

Turning away from her, it was time to get started. Your voice was clear and even when you turned your attention to Lucifer who had pulled himself up from the crumbled heap he once was. “Kneel before your master.” Avatars were drawn from their positions and forced to form a circle around you. All were forced to their knees, crashing harshly against the floor and nearly shattering kneecaps. The loudest of the brothers, Asmodeus and Leviathan, weren’t allowed to even make a peep. It was so nice to not hear their shrill voices for once. You basked in the silence, but your attention never left Lucifer whose eyes tried to express every vile intent and curse he could muster, ruby red eyes shaking and mouth drawn tight. You weren’t satisfied.

“Lower.”

Shock appeared on every brother’s face. Even Lucifer’s eyes widened as he was forced down onto his elbows where his fingers laced before him as he faced the floor at your feet in obedience. This still wasn’t enough. “Lower. Face down, ass up.” The smile that adorned your features was salacious. His once proud form prostrated himself in the same humiliating position you had been in not hours before. Forehead pressed against the floor and his ass being the highest point about him as it was raised in the air, he looked like a servant in devotion to their master.

“I’ve called you here for one last family meeting. You will listen to every word I speak and commit them to memory where they will forever be engraved on your hearts. They will invade every moment of silence you’ll ever experience. They’ll haunt your dreams and never let you rest. If I had to suffer from your words, so should you.” They must obey. Their confusion and fear were tuned out in favor of their ears and minds focusing on you and what you had to say. What was going to happen? What do you mean you suffered? You didn’t care for easing their anxieties, instead reaching down to take a fist full of Lucifer’s always perfectly styled hair painfully by the roots to jerk his head up to face you. Your eyes scanned his face looking for something of substance or value. Your eyes were unreadable, and he could feel an anxiety from being judged rise inside of him. Finally, your eyes flashed as you came to your conclusion.

“You look pretty like this. No wonder Diavolo keeps you down here—on your knees where you belong.” If they could’ve there would’ve been audible gasps heard in this room. “Just don’t forget who else owns your ass.” The look on his face should’ve been memorialized, but you didn’t waste time on him as you released his hair—now messy—and his head fell to the floor once more.

You retook your place at the center of the circle and gazed at every face. Every single one you had cared for in some way, but now those feelings had burned to ash, and something new thrived in its place. You needed to quench its thirst. As far as humans go, you tried to be good and kind. You tried to extend the same kindness to others that you wish you had been given at some of your lowest points in life. You never wanted others to feel the same hurt you did, but at the expense of your own health? You should’ve treated others like they deserved to be treated, MC. Don’t be good and kind; don’t be their Lilith. Let that vindictive bitch inside out.

“There are some things I have to get off of my chest.” You started, “Everyone else got to share their feelings, so I should get a turn before I go. Just remember: You unloaded all of this on me to fix and didn’t realize you were giving me ammo.”

You sauntered over to Mammon breezily. The look in your eyes felt so disconnected to what he was used to as you gazed down at him.

“I guess I’ll start with my first,” you grinned, but he couldn’t feel the butterflies he used to. He felt cold. “Everything you did hurt the most, Mammon, because I loved you.” His eyes widened and he struggled to open his mouth or even whine, but nothing would come out. His throat was numb.

“You always pushed me away, but I couldn’t help but care. I never felt safer than when I was with you, and I trusted you over anyone else.” You searched his eyes, and he could feel the emotion. You were hurting and he was the one who caused it. How did he let it get this far?

“I was so stupid.” Wait, what?

“Everything that your brothers had ever said was true. You’re lower than shit, and not even half as useful. You go on and on about being the greatest but you’re a slave to some fucking witches who’ve made you their bitch and you let them. Either you get trapped in schemes that anyone could see, or you throw yourself into shit chasing coin that you never get to keep. You debase yourself for things or money that mean nothing, and in the end, you’re left used up and empty. You’re the cheapest fucking thing on the market, but no amount of grimm can buy back the dignity and respect you lost. What’s the point of making a pact with ‘the Great Mammon’ if everyone gets a turn? How many people have you had to suck and fuck to get out of debt just to fall into an MLM? You ask for respect, but when have you ever been worthy? When have you ever been someone to be proud of?”

You kneel down in front of him, his trembling pupils and glassy eyes can no longer reach your heart. “The Great fucking Mammon is a delusion to save your shit self-esteem from everything people say because you know it’s the truth. You’re a greedy pest with no sense of self-worth so you take and take from everyone around you to bring them down to your level.” You tap a finger to his heart, “But no amount of grimm will change what you are or what people say. The only thing that can make the change is you, and you gave up a long time ago, right? You tried to play the good guy with me, but that crashed and burned. ‘I’ll protect ya!’ ‘I’m your first man!’ But how long did that last, Mammon? You kept me alive for what—a few months?—And then watched your baby brother kill me. Did you like it?” You leaned forward, voice dropping to a low whisper that sent chills wracking his spine. “Did it satisfy something in you watching that pesky little human being killed? I bet you liked that I couldn’t bother you anymore. If the human was out of the way, you could have more time to chase that grimm! Mammon, you’re the second born and Belphegor’s the weakest. If you wanted to save me, you would’ve. For once, just accept the truth. If you really cared you would’ve done something about it, but you chose you brother over me. You all did. Give me back the time I wasted loving you.”

You gently touched the gold change around his neck, only to cruelly rip it from his throat. A spell in your mind, a reverse alchemy that regressed an item to its basic components had the ‘gold’ chain reduced to mere copper. You stared down at the mineral blankly, then chuckled. “Cheap and tasteless. Typical.” You dropped the ash and grains at his knees and stood up to find Leviathan. When your eyes locked on his, he wanted to shrink in on himself and disappear. His turn was coming.

“Leviathan, you were wrong. People don’t hate you because you’re some yucky otaku.” Your voice was reassuring like the times you talked him down from his self-deprecating tangents. He foolishly let himself relax. “Please smile for me.” You cooed and his muscles drew back to expose his pearly whites to you despite his eyes betraying his fear.

His tense muscles relaxed the moment before your foot collided into his mouth.

Your shoe was a battering ram against his teeth, knocking his head back with a snap and him tumbling backward and on his back. The entire time, he didn’t make a sound. Some teeth loosened while his front ones chipped and broke. His mouth wasn’t allowed to open despite filling with blood and fragments of a broken smile, so he had no choice but to swallow it all down. The blood wouldn’t stop but he choked it down all the same. Tears poured from his eyes pathetically, but he couldn’t even sniffle.

“People hate you because you’re a manipulative, whiny, bitch-ass bastard who sucks the joy out of every place you go. You’re almost as much of a blackhole as Beelzebub, listless and empty, and like your older brother you take, and you take, and you take. You take good will, you take patience, you take the last shred of sanity needed to deal with a pathetic fuck like you! You take more than a person can give and you want more, but Leviathan, I have to tell you—you’re not worth it and you never will be.” Your once low voice when berating Mammon rose an octave, showing how annoyed you had been with Levi all this time.

“The most insecure are always the loudest, and you never shut the fuck up. If you hate being such a bother, why don’t you just disappear? The third born and leader of a fucking navy, but you can’t make any friends or inspire anything but pity. You need your hand held just to leave your room, but at least you’re considerate enough to know that no one wants to be seen with you.” You sneered down at him. He had truly been an annoyance for so long. You found a kindred spirit in him, his raw insecurities mirroring some of your own, so maybe that’s why it hurt so much to be left behind by someone you thought understood you. “Now don’t go withdrawing into yourself now. You’re always so expressive when playing those video games with the other scrotes who only have experience with their free hands. You’re so good at games, that’s the only thing you can be confident in. But when you lose? Everyone loses. They lose a tooth, they lose a friend, they could even lose their lives. Misery loves company because the only company you can keep are those you ruin.

“You’re weak and bitter, and not everyone is going to fall for your shit. What else can you offer than that? What more can you bring to the table, Levi? Nothing and you know it. Shove a loli figurine up your ass, you fucking degenerate, and throw in the fucking towel.”

You were out of breath at the end, but felt so fucking alive. You had cared about him once. The social anxiety was real, and you wanted to help him and grow together, but he let go of your hand. You were just paying back what was owed.

You turned to Satan and frowned. His eyes were like those of a caged animal, parts afraid, but parts ready to rip the keeper limb from limb if they dared approach. “Well, if it isn’t Lucifer’s precious little boy. His happy little accident.” You grinned wickedly and his eyes widened. “An amalgamation of some of his worst parts, but nothing left to stand on your own.” You raised a finger and he rose to his feet without hesitation. “At least you know a few tricks.” You continued, “Maybe show me what you did to me that one time.” His eyes widened, as his body levitated in the air and crashed into the wall behind him. Maybe it was your own influence, but the wall around him seemed to erupt as he went back as far as the wooden and stone beams lining the foundation of the home. Dust and cobwebs and construction fell around him and sent plumes of dust around the room, but you just stood and stared with your hands in your pockets. “Make yourself comfortable.” You said and his body began to grind into the beams and plaster with every bit of harshness and pain you had felt tenfold. You could see the veins straining in his neck and chose to let him slowly grind to a halt. His skin blazed a brilliant red from beneath his shirt, up his neck and to his ears.

“Are you angry?” You raised an eyebrow with a bored tone. “You’re so predictable, but it makes sense. You’re a product of a single emotion so how complex could you really be, right?” You didn’t wait for an answer as you mused over his existence, “Born from rage, you were conceived from trauma, but lots of people were so don’t let that get you down. You were never wanted and never meant to be anything more than a product of the worst moment of Lucifer’s life.” Your smile widened just a bit and the lights were dancing in your eyes. “You’re nothing more than an extension of someone else, and because of that you’ll never be whole. You can read every book from the Great fucking Library of Alexandria, but that won’t teach you what it means to feel. You can read about people’s lives and their dreams, but that won’t give you your own. You’ll never be able to be anything more than what you were after the fall. Wrath and hate and violence. You’re no more than a shade with one purpose and that’s just to be. So fucking controlled by your rage, do you even have a free will or to this day, do you still unconsciously act on Lucifer’s feelings? Could you ever exist without him? Do you even exist now?” For once, it looked like the demon would shed tears from anger, but you didn’t care. The look on his face was kind of cute in a way.

“Also, before I forget, you’re a pretentious prick. Yeah, you’re well-read but how could you not be when it’s the only way you know to live? You try not to be like Lucifer, but you’re copy. Wake the fuck up. Everything you loathe about him you have right in here.” You point to your heart, “And that’ll never go away as long as you live. You could never exist without him, but he can without you, and you know that.” He stared at you from his crucifixion pose in the common room’s wall and it looked like all of the fight had left him. He almost looked like the cute kittens he loved so much. You had bested Wrath.

You turned on Asmodeus and could see the teeth chattering behind his lips. You stood above him and scrutinized his features. Was he beautiful? Well, everyone else said so. What were you not getting?

"The Jewel of the Heavens," you started, "turned public toilet."

The tears spilled from his eyes and that fueled you. You had cried in front of him so many times; His words dressed you down to every insecurity you stupidly shared when you trusted him, and he turned them into knives and spit poison at you. Everyone had flaws, but his fault was acting like he had none. He was a huge slut with no self worth, yet acted like something to be treasured. "Free to use."

"You think people like being around you? You think they love you?" You began, "but people only like what you can do for them or what you let them do to you, Asmodeus." Your voice took on the faux compassionate tone his would take when giving you 'advice' and you even gingerly placed a hand over your chest and tilted your head, eyes boring into his own. "People don't want to hear your opinions. It doesn't even matter if you lay there like a dead fish, because dildos and fleshlights don't need feelings."

"That 'love' is dopamine, sweetie. When people cum, they feel a rush of neurochemicals that trigger pleasure, motivation, and desire. People will say anything before post-nut clarity kicks in and one of the biggest little lies they'll say is that they love you." You looked down at him like you truly pitied him and maybe you did. Even you wouldn't let yourself be as delusional as he is. "People don't love you, but they sure love fucking you, and you're not too picky as long as someone throws a few compliments your way. When you tried to get me into bed after complimenting your hair, I thought: This bitch is a lost cause." You grinned recalling that memory that seemed so long ago.

Your brows furrowed and the smile you sent looked apologetic, as if you were trying to break the news gently, “Y’know, Asmo…” You started—spurred on by his puffy and red face, wet cheeks, snot, and shaking lips—“How your powers don’t work on me?” You stared him deep in the eyes with a smile that he once called beautiful. “Maybe I’m not immune, and maybe you’re just a basic little bitch.” His expression shattered into a million pieces and the tears were back in full force. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I’ve always been able to see right through you. So, maybe I can see your disgusting insides on the outside? Something about you was always a little disgusting to me. Everyone and anything could touch you and your touch felt like an infection to me. I washed my sheets at least three times after you slept in my bed." you shivered involuntarily. "Something just made my skin crawl, y'know?” You added conversationally like you were shooting the shit on an average Sunday afternoon.

“You embody your sin just like the others and you’re good at what you do, but would your fans feel the same if they could really see you? The insecurities and the viciousness are really fucking ugly, and you do not wear them well, darling. You can fluff yourself up as much as you want, but we both know what you truly see in the mirror and it’s not pretty. You take care of yourself, but what’s left? Nothing. Asmodeus, you want love, but the only love you can get is physical and skin-deep. I promise you that no one could stand to be around you for five minutes if they had to do anything with you other than fuck. How could I stand you? Because I accepted it. I accepted the ugly parts because everyone has them, and I didn’t hold you to the impossible standards that you did.” You sighed as if tired with him and it all, “But for a former Jewel of the Heavens and fifth demon lord, you’re pretty fucking bland. Safe and without substance.

“How much further can you go, Asmo? Can you keep that mask on for long? What will the people think if they see the fucked up face beneath? How much is that ‘love’ really worth? You can fill the holes in your head and your ass, but you’ll never fill the one in your heart. You can’t give love and you can’t get it, sweetie. I pray you never lose that face cause you’ll really have nothing left.” You smiled as if giving heartfelt advice and turned your back to him just as quickly. He was shut out and discarded like last week's trend

Your eyes found Beelzebub but his were looking anywhere, but at you. He knew what guilt felt like, but never did anything about it. “There’s my big strong protector.” You could see his Adam’s apple bob. “Well, you’re good at protecting everyone else. You’ve got Lucifer’s back even though you don’t know what the fuck’s going on most of the time, and you could even back up a murderer over me.” His eyes found yours now. “You try to be the strong silent protector, but you’re more of a bitch-ass hypocrite than Mammon. Clap it up.” You clapped for him with a grin, “You’re as much of a drain as Leviathan and a one dimensional, listless bastard as Satan. You were always good at following the others, afterall.

“You hold onto the past and let it tear you up inside and you eat to fill the emptiness for a little bit, but you’ll never be whole, Bumble Bee.” The nickname made his heart ache. “You’re an empty hole that’ll never be filled just like Asmodeus, and the same way you followed Lucifer into Hell, you’ll follow anyone because you don’t think for yourself and a little simple in the head. If you weren’t a shadow or up Belphegor’s ass, you’d be nothing, and it’s sad you’ve never realized this. You think you’re kind and compassionate? You’re a dumbass that follows the leader, let’s not dress it up as something else.” You pulled out your ace. You didn’t care what would happen to you. After everything that happened, you’d sure as hell take someone down with you.

“Can we talk about Lilith? You should really stop blaming yourself. What else could you have done? I thought that it wasn’t your fault, but the second time you let someone be killed in front of you I started to notice a pattern. When it was my life on the line, you chose your twin—you always choose that trash in the end.”

You knew that your words should’ve gotten you killed, but your powers were too strong as your words penetrated their minds and nestled in deep. “Just admit it, Bumble. You don’t care about anyone else but keeping him alive even if he’s a genocidal maniac. It’s not sibling love, but dependency because you’re too afraid to live for yourself. No matter who it is, or what stake, you’ll always choose him. I did everything I could to help him for you. You cared so much and were hurting and I…” Your eyes got a little glassy and you paused to stare him down. “I wanted to help you forgive yourself, but you never should. You should live with your decisions for the rest of your shitty life and let the regret eat you from the inside out. I hope that at the end there'll be nothing left of you.”

You stood still for a moment before turning. There were no more smiles, but a burning ice in your veins. Violence hadn’t been your first instinct for so long, but gazing at Belphegor’s neck, it looked so scrawny and you could practically feel the bones breaking in your hands. “Belphegor.” You could feel the rage rolling from him in waves. He would have your life for what you said to his twin, but not if you had his first.

“Did you really think it was over?” You wanted to kick him, to crush his throat, to rip every strand of hair from his head, but that could wait. “What was it about you that made me want to help you? You had his eyes so I trusted you. I shouldn't have been so sentimental.” You gazed at him wistfully, but a chill ran down his spine. “Do you really believe I ever forgave you? Every time you hugged me, I wanted to throw up. When I was alone with you, I felt your hands around my neck and I was fighting as hard as I could, but no one came to help me. It took so long to die. I tried so hard but that meant nothing in the end. I felt myself die and everyone just watched. Surrounded by people, but I was all alone.”

They thought you had forgotten. This timeline’s MC had died, so those shouldn’t have been your memories! It should’ve been a clean slate. They stupidly forgot that if you remembered the good times pre death, how could you not remember the most traumatic event of your life? Your throat was growing tight, and you unconsciously touched you neck, “I can still feel how your hands were positioned. I can feel the blood vessels bursting in my neck and eyes. You were the last thing I saw as I died, and to the end I was wondering what I did wrong. 'How did I make you turn on me? Did I offend you? I thought I had been helping.'

“But it’s okay, Belphegor. I got a second chance to see where I went wrong and I can see that you were always a greasy bastard so caught up in the past and your survivor's remorse sister complex. I wish God had wiped you out of existence before you even landed. You wanted to end humanity, but you should’ve started with yourself. The problem was always with you. Always you. Blaming your problems on others, you even blamed Beelzebub for saving your sorry ass and I hate that he saved you too. Meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to me, and I wish I had listened to that arrogant bitch about the stairs, but you should know better than anyone that we can’t go back. We deal with the present.

“Do you think Lilith is proud of you?” his eyes were wild, silently screaming to stop talking, but you continued. “I’ve felt her since my first day here.” You said, and that was the truth. You had never been alone when you arrived, but her form was not enough to interfere or protect you. “She had always been watching you all… She saw everything but loved you anyway.” You were looking him in the eyes and the anger turned to pity at his foolishness, “She. Saw. Everything. She was there when you killed me, and she’s been angry with you ever since. When you fell from Heaven, you fell somewhere too low to reach. You’re irredeemable and I wash my hands of you."

You huffed and softly shook your head like a disappointed parent. “Just do one last thing for me, Belphegor." You looked at him now and he recognized that expression. After a long day of coddling the brothers, you would be emotionally drained but he still sucked every drop of attention you had to offer until you had nothing left to give.

"Close your eyes."

His eyes closed immediately.

“Now, fall into a never-ending nightmare where you’ll feel everything I felt. Die then revive and die again staring up at your own face killing you.” Beelzebub would’ve yelled out, he would’ve ran to catch his brother from falling to the floor in a heap, but he couldn’t do anything for anyone. Belphegor began to twitch and squirm on the floor, then he started to convulse and buck as if trying to throw someone off of him. His hands desperately clawed at his neck, trying to pry something off, but he only tore into his own flesh, drawing bright red gashes. He wheezed, and you could see his chest desperately rising and falling as he choked down shallow breaths until his chest couldn’t rise any more. He fell limp for a few moments, and then reanimated again where he started the horrible cycle all over again. Seeing that your work was done, you turned to the last event.

“Lucifer,” you called softly to him like you did before entering his office, “Have you thought about what you’ve done? No, I’m not talking about the lies and the imprisonment. I’m talking about the threats and the violence and everything you’ve ever done to the first human in your care.” His mouth stayed sealed, and you smiled at the back of his head that was facing you.

Then, you raised a foot and stumped his head further into the floor.

One.

“You always acted like you were better than everyone else.”

Two.

“Because you felt like you were the lowest.”

Three.

“There’s a limit to how much you can fake it, Lucifer.”

Four.

“Everyone can see you for what you are.”

Five.

“An angel fallen from glory desperately clinging to a pride he doesn’t have.”

The violence made you feel a little better, but it didn’t help. You could never change a demon and he would never understand how much he hurt you. “Look at me, Lucifer.” He groggily raised his head and although the fight left his eyes, he was still alert and aware, and his body awaited your command. A brilliant red spread from his broken nose and across his face. How the mighty had fallen. “You hated me from day one and it’s always been mutual. You’re a pompous bitch who thinks he can micromanage everyone around him, and be the pinnacle of perfection we should all strive to emulate, but don't delude yourself, the only thing you can be proud of is your place at Diavolo’s feet. You went from being a lapdog for one master to another, and you don’t even see it. Maybe you’re not that smart after all.” You tilted your head quizzically. “I hate everything about you because you’re every trait I’ve ever seen in an abuser back in the human world. Mammon takes, and Leviathan manipulates, Satan rages and hurts, and Asmodeus tries to destroy people from the inside, and Beelzebub betrays, and Belphegor should’ve been destroyed so many times over.

“And you think you run a tight ship? You think you have the right to fucking discipline me, but you can’t even control your damn family! Everything was falling apart, Lucifer. Everyone hated each other and themselves, and everything was on the brink of imploding because you were too incompetent to keep your little brothers in check. One wanted to destroy humanity and you were too much of a pushover bitch that you couldn't give him a spanking—just sent him to his room and called it a fucking day. Excellent parenting, by the way! No wonder the others are goddamned tragedies: They're true testaments to your capabilities as a leader." You hissed through your teeth and looked down at him like an insect too much of a pain to even crush underfoot.

"You’re not superior, reliable or the most capable person in the room. You’re a wine mom trainwreck that’s trying to prettify the disaster that is your life. You're a fucking mess—a walking moral story to never be like you. Never in my life have I ever seen someone ruin everything they fucking touch! In this, you're truly superior." You clapped mockingly. "I may be a human, but you’re a disgrace, and unlike me, you don’t have the capacity to change. Stay bitter and twisted for all of eternity, you melancholic bitch. Every time you look in the mirror see all of the ways you failed everyone you ever cared about. Remember that human who almost trusted you and died for it.”

You stepped back and finally exhaled. Anxiety and self-doubt fell from your shoulders. Every way you thought you were undeserving of love was untrue, and you thanked whatever power was out there that you realized it before something irreversible happened. You had been teetering on the edge of oblivion for so long, and tonight may have been the night you ended it all. Checking your phone may have been the thing that brought you back. You chuckled and tilted your head back with your eyes closed. It wasn’t raining but you felt refreshed. “I wasted so much time here stressing over things that never mattered. Killing myself for nothing.” You sighed again and rolled your shoulders, already thinking of plans for the future. You had far too much to catch up on!

But first…You turned on Mammon once again, “Mammon, retrieve my grandmother’s ring in pristine condition. The same way you found it when you stole it from me. I don’t care if you have to lie, cheat, steal, kill or debase yourself in anyway—I want my fucking ring.” Your lips curled, “Even if you have to humiliate yourself, preferably with video evidence, do what needs to be done to get it back.” His face paled and lips trembled pathetically. You weren’t doing anything worse than what Lucifer would’ve done. Honestly, he should be grateful to have such a kind master.

“You have five minutes.” His wings were already ripping from his back and propelling him in the air. “Oh, and Mammon,” he looked to you, and you lifted the corners of your lips with your fingers mockingly, “Do it with a smile!” His mouth contorted into the pained open-mouthed grin of someone trying to hold back tears. You waved him off and turned around to see Danielle standing behind you.

“Oh! Ah… You saw all of that, huh?” You asked sheepishly. Danielle stepped towards you until you were as close as you two had been when she tried to press you back outside, so close you could almost hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest. “I didn’t want to scare you.” You said.

“You didn’t, though!” She was reaching for your hands and taking them up in her own. Her hands were so small and soft and a loneliness you were trying to ignore for months hit you at once. When was the last time you felt such warmth? Even holding another’s hand was now foreign territory and your hands shook with nerves. “I told you I was on your side, MC.” She affirmed like you should’ve never doubted her. “I don’t know all that happened, and I won't pretend to, but did they…were you…” She didn’t know if she even wanted to know, but it would explain so much! The fear and the panic attacks and the signs of PTSD were so familiar to her. She had witnessed similar symptoms from abuse survivors, and she had done her best to not isolate you, but then it came to the point that she had to avoid you for your own safety. She took a quivering breath, not aware that her hands held your own tighter and that she was shaking.

“It’s in the past, Danielle.” You squeezed her hands back and released them, drawing away from her as she desperately wanted to reach out and take your hands again.

“I’m leaving. I don’t know where I’m going, but forget about me, okay?” She was about to argue, but your smile and the tender hurt in your eyes silenced her. “You make everything better just by being. Stay here and be happy." You nodded your head affirming your beliefs, "You deserve to be happy.”

“But where are you going? I can go with you!” She was leaning into you, wanting to invade your space, but holding herself back. You tucked a loose stand of silky hair behind her ear and slipped away before she could grab you and never let go. “For now, just forget I was ever here. I want to disappear, but on my own terms.” You began walking to the room that was never yours and she followed after. You two had left the six remaining demons to kneel in the common room completely forgotten.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, a strangled whine left her throat. You had already packed! You had planned to leave from the start. “If you don’t feel safe here, just tell me or Diavolo or literally anyone else and we’ll take you somewhere safe.” You looked at her with concern, “Do you feel unsafe here, Danielle?” She couldn’t lie. She knew that things were fine for her here, and she couldn’t lie to you just to follow along. She could tell you needed to be away from everything that reminded you of the pain, and that may have included her.

“I’ll be okay, but I won’t forget you and you can’t forget me.” She commanded and you laughed. You both returned to the common room where Mammon was already waiting with the others. He was out of breath and covered in foliage and sweat, but he had made it in time. Extending a hand, he placed your ring into your waiting palm and you turned your back on him without even a glance. Danielle watched you examine the ring and put it on your finger to admire. Your guard lowered the slightest bit as you gazed at the precious keepsake, and she fought the urge to reach out to you. She didn't want to ruin this moment of peace for you.

Soon, you looked up at her refreshed and ready to depart. “If we had met in the human world, I would’ve been drawn to you, y'know?" Your expression became bashful. "I really would've wanted to be your friend.” You said and that only made her sadder. “I wish we could’ve been friends.” you mused, and she balked at that. “W-we still can be!” You looked at her carefully and then nodded. “Yeah... Yeah, you're right! I still have your number and you have mine.” An easy smile was on your lips as you were once again thinking of the future. “When I get to where I’m going, can I text you?” “You better call!” You both giggled and for a moment, things felt normal.

It was so nice to finally talk to her, but now that you could you were at a loss at what to say. All you wanted to do was open your mouth and let everything spill out.

“I… Danielle, I’ve died every day since being here. Things were so good for a time if I just forgot everything that happened to me and forgave it all, but I was killing myself to make others happy and I don’t want to die again.” Your eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and you tried to sniffle without her hearing. You could read her thoughts and stepped back before she could advance, “Please don’t. If you hug me, I really might break down.” She held her arms to her sides and tried to make a stiff upper lip. She wouldn’t make you cry.

“Promise to call me and I won’t.”

You sniffled and burst out laughing. “Okay, I promise.”

You stood around and smiled at each other while Belphegor spasmed beside you. Her eyes dropped to his form, annoyed that he was ruining her moment before your left.

“What are you going to do about them?” She pointed at him, but you were already walking to the front door. Turning back, you cast a glance at the wreckage you caused: the room that a literal twister had gone through, the blood and bruises and the broken bones and the demon trapped in a nightmare of his own design.

You smiled a devil may care grin, “That's not my problem anymore!” and shut the door behind you.

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊    ┊        ┊

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊   ˚✩ ⋆｡˚  ✩

┊         ┊       ┊   ✫

┊         ┊       ☪⋆

┊ ⊹      ┊

✯ ⋆      ┊ .  ˚

˚✩

You were on autopilot tonight. Your steps felt feather light against the cobblestone that once marked impending doom, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves around you and filled your lungs with fresh air. This time, you were leaving the House of Lamentation with no intentions of returning and the taste of freedom was sweet on your tongue.

You trusted your instincts to guide your way and found yourself at the gates of the castle. The iron gates stood tall and foreboding before you, but they opened before you could even stop and consider your options. A svelte silhouette stood beneath the moonlight, pressed uniform catching the light in his polished buttons and buckles. “Welcome MC, it’s a little late for a stroll, isn’t it?”

Another elegant figure stood beside the first, clothes and shawl glowing faintly from a fine material out of this world. Posture relaxed yet regal while the other was perfectly poised, they both felt familiar and safe to you. “Right on time! We were on our way to retrieve you, but you came to us.”

Stepping forward you grasped the outstretched hands waiting for your own, and left the shadows behind.

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊    ┊        ┊

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊   ˚✩ ⋆｡˚  ✩

┊         ┊       ┊   ✫

┊         ┊       ☪⋆

┊ ⊹      ┊

✯ ⋆      ┊ .  ˚

˚✩

To be continued~

Hey hey hey~ that line about fixing problems and being given ammo? Totally took that from @romancedeldiablo when we were chatting 😘

@romancedeldiablo @magneticwimp @yaboihack @jisoosupremacist @da-sinnamon-roll @idobvibing @kita-sds @neptune-cinths @anotakugardener @tinygremliin @bby-sparkler @crystal-freak24 @road-k1ll @nice-try-time-isn't-real @ghostl1ykisses @riordanversexreader @blacktailedfox @foxlikeeyes @prefesro @sadgirlstuffsstuff @ckapoteinterreson @flareon2005 @rose2889 @wawadraws12 @maessite @loev4eva @mythsofkairos @keshieowo @itsuki-yuuma @noodlesthesimp @galaxy-luvletters @here-queer-and-confused @gayassfuckinghomosexual @itshimbotime @pen-ink-therapy @deltatauri @scfftyy @beef-noodles-with-eggs @imasimpsstuff @books-and-catears @shoukuto @eunn @saintoshi @sunset-murders @gallantys @curatornil @azaleawisterias @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @kittykitkatstrawberry @gene-san @obeythebutler @thesadpinkclown @smikys-stuff @ryokuu @jiminslajibolala @galactic-anarchy @venixxvoid @fallowdoe @comfydrem @sutsuxan @suunao @bear-likes-mushrooms @moontofuu @ellykralie @fuegy-fuegy @wonder-alien @reveltica @hislittlecumwhore @chosomybeloved @1On31y-1OOn3y-1Os3r @sukunas-cult-leader

A couple of things to add on

They accidentally got her from another dimension

They don't know they have space magic

The boys don't know that they can come back from the dead

Okay hear me out, but what about An obey me x destiny crossover? I just imagine the guardian in full fledged armor taking notes on potions for their next class-

Okay hear me out, but what about An obey me x destiny crossover? I just imagine the guardian in full fledged armor taking notes on potions for their next class-

Okay what if Saint and Savathûn as Osiris really did bang and after they were done Savathûn was just like