#‘well maybe i can take the bottle out and show it the ocean’ i say

[lexcys]

★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader

summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort

warnings: blood, wound description

a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry

loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill

the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other

right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting

curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe

whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind

you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him

after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you

you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight

being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs

you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room

the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead

the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space

he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers

he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word

carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him

analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing

right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter

the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.

quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows

you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face

''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts

you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,��� you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding

his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters

''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''

you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge

seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand

you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else

slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this

you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him

silence

rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again

he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing

defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him

suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps

you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did

he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes

rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do

relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''

''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering

you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink

a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself

rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid

right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first

you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took

ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds

he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip

you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way

you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible

his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness

settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong

while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you

you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers

the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing

after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place

you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself

by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze

you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.

you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.

you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid

you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow

it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face

his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash

you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in

you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was

''done''

the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart

his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank

his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go

you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back

rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back

you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''

he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher

his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts

seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch

as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''

fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred

rafe nodded

you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on

he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you

you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion

''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted

you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back

rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw

without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''

he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''

you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold

your eyes flicker back to him

“stay”

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Until i found you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

You always felt lost, adrift, until you found him. Oddly enough, Daryl always felt the same way, until he found you. From the moment you two met until your life together in Alexandria—quite a story.

A/N: Just a short imagine. Hope you like it!

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to fight, to survive, to protect. But in the past, Daryl was a reckless young man with nothing to lose, without big emotions, bottling everything up so as not to feel too much—Until he found his person, a purpose, a reason to want to see the sun rise one more day, until he found you. You were always a flight risk, scared to feel too much too, until one night, you flew away from that place called "home", landing in that seedy bar forgotten by God himself, the place where you met him.

Daryl was attractive, very attractive to a point where it must have been forbidden to look like that, with his broad shoulders, his long dark hair that made him look like a goddamn rock star, with his strong arms that his shirt showed off mercilessly. But young Daryl Dixon looked lost. Adrift. Without a sense of direction—just like you.

“I’m actually running away from daddy.” You answered his accusatory question, so calmly that it caused some astonishment in Daryl, although he didn’t show it. “Daddy was forcing me to marry the son of a mobster or something like that, a rich guy who would forgive daddy the debts he started to have after his gambling addiction started, so his little princess ran away from home taking with her his only chance to get out of that debt alive. However, I don't hate my daddy or have any kind of daddy issues, but I hope he gets what he deserves for trying to sell me like a fucking thing.” You smiled, mocking him, challenging him to say something witty after that revelation. “What do you think about that, Daryl? Pretty surprising, huh?”

“Shit… M'sorry. That sounds pretty fucked up.” He said breathlessly, looking at you with an almost sad expression. Then, Daryl fell into a heavy silence, but he could tell you were feisty, fighting to keep yourself alive, like a force of nature. “Well, if it helps, there’s a couch in ma apartment. S’old as fuck, but it does the job.”

The way you looked back at him was almost overwhelming, so deep as that color of your gaze, but you could say Daryl meant it. The color of his eyes, blue like a new kind of ocean, were beautiful and transparent, but dangerous with that warning that you could drown in them if you weren't careful.

But to his surprise, you agreed.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I really don’t have anywhere to go and you don’t look like a serial killer… well, maybe a little.” You chuckled, earning a scoff from him that made you laugh some more. “But I studied to be a vet, so if you try anything, I’ll just tell you that I know exactly where to cut you to make you bleed out. And I also have a hell of an aiming: I swear, if there is ever an apocalypse, this will save my life.”

Daryl blinked.

“Ya shittin’ me.”

You shook your head, hiding a smile.

“No, pretty boy, I’m not kidding.”

He scoffed, just to hide the slight nerves that being called that made him feel.

“Okay. Let’s go then.” Daryl stood up, taking a few bucks to pay for his drink and yours before you could do it yourself. “This is on me. Ya can pay the next one.”

Saying no more, he walked away first, leaving you alone and thinking what he meant by that. But when the girl in the bar gave you a silent look, like she was screaming at you while asking you if you were really going with him, you shrugged before grabbing your backpack and leaving the bar, too.

You two were like an unlikely duo, but maybe that's why you both looked good together. Even Merle, the asshole, said that when your one–day stay turned into a week, although to shut him up you told him the apartment needed some color so you didn't mind painting the walls red with his blood, with the gun you stole from your father. He loved you after that. And eventually, you got a job, helped pay the bills, and even cooked for everyone—forming a very strange family.

You and Daryl were quiet, always watching each other when the other wasn't looking, but it all felt like tiptoeing, on shaky ground, silently so as not to scare the bird. However, your “relationship” started with some drunken kisses, drinking Merle's alcohol to get the courage to take the first step. And you two continued like that for a while, without a title, moaning and grunting in each other's lips inside his room that was yours now.

Until one afternoon, you heard a song in the radio.

Oh, I used to say, I will never fall in love again, until I found her. I said I would never fall, unless it’s you I fall into…

And like that click that two pieces made when they fit together perfectly, your feelings made more sense then, as if the panorama was clear, as if life had decided to unite all those words that didn't make any sense separately, but together, they explained everything, about you, about Daryl, about the fear of falling in love, until life, God, or whoever you believed in, left in front of you that someone you desperately needed, who, despite his own pain, showed you that people deserved to be loved completely or not at all.

There was no middle ground, because love didn't work halfway.

And you found a shelter in his arms, a real home with him: especially after a new world arose when the dead began to rise too.

Now, you are 6 months pregnant, with a bladder that is used as a soccer ball, and a baby (that was being cooked in your belly as Daryl used to say) who woke you up at odd hours demanding something to eat: so you have to listen.

When the moon takes its place at the top of the diamond sky and while the wind brings the last airs of the cold winter, the candle in the center of the dining room table keeps you company, and it's as if the silence mixes with the chorus of thoughts traveling at a thousand miles an hour inside you, along with the images your mind tries to make when you think about what the baby will be like when she or he is finally born. And it's terrifying to think about that again, but there's also a liberating emotion that allows you to stand firm on the ground, tall and strong despite your fears, with a fighting spirit that holds you up like gravity to the earth.

But between the shadows of the house that the candlelight tries to fight, you can see Daryl coming down the stairs, wearing those loose grey sleep pants even when he kept saying he looked stupid in them, shirtless, with those broad shoulders and the tattoo on his chest. It is a hot picture, kind of dirty because he is hot, older but too hot still, maybe that's why you let him get you pregnant.

However, when Daryl reaches the dining room as you finish the second brownie, you can see clearly his brow furrowed even though some of his long hair covers part of his forehead.

“Sup?” You joke, with a small nod.

“Sup? Really?” His voice is always low, deep, but in the middle of the night, it grows even deeper. “The fuck are ya doin’ here alone?”

“I’m eating, isn’t that obvious?” You show him the new brownie in your hand, trying to contain your laughter at his constant overprotectiveness. You loved that, but sometimes he treated you like you were suddenly made of porcelain. “And you?”

Daryl scoffs.

“Me? Jus’ woke up and saw that ma very pregnant wife ain’t where she should be.”

You chuckle.

“Daryl, I’m pregnant, but I still can come down on my own and eat in the middle of the night when the baby demands. If you have any complaints with she or he, please put them in writing, but I can tell you that there is a waiting list of approximately 3 months.”

He tries, he tries really hard no to laugh at the silly joke, but in the end, Daryl chuckles as he pulls the chair to seat on the corner of the table.

“I see ya’re feeling better, sweetheart, considerin’ how grumpy ya were this afternoon. But if ya get hungry when ya’re in bed, ya can jus’ tell me, y’know? I can bring ya up whatever ya need. And where ya got those damn brownies from?”

“Carol made them. Even when you told her to stop feeding me so much sugar.” You take a bite before answering, earning another scoff from him. “You look very domestic with those pants; you know?”

Daryl lets out a small grunt of frustration.

“I look stupid, but this is more comfortable than sleepin’ with jeans.”

You nod, thoughtful.

“You can always go back sleeping in boxers.”

Daryl chuckles.

“Ya are pregnant and yet ya’re tryin’ to get into ma boxers.”

You chuckle, too.

“I was just making a comparison!”

“Oh, yeah?” The corner of his lip curves into a smirk. “Then ya got to know I don' sleep in ma boxers anymore so ya don’ try to ravish ma body in the middle of the night. Yer poor husband jus’ wants to sleep while ya try to make him uncomfortable when ya pressed yer whole body against mine all night.”

Half surprise, you laugh.

“I get cold at night, you asshole! That's what I get for having to carry your baby.”

Daryl chuckles, placing his elbow in the table to hold his chin in his hand, closing his eyes as he tries to fight off sleep.

“Jus’ finish feedin’ the baby so we can go back to bed.”

You take another bite before talking again.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m stayin’.” He says, barely a second after you finish speaking.

You shrug even though he's not looking, eating another brownie that probably won't let you sleep, but the baby kicking your organs won't either, so. And for a moment, lost in your own thoughts, you miss the way Daryl opens his eyes after a while, taking in all of you.

You're wearing a loose white t–shirt, but somehow, that piece of clothing, which doesn’t show your figure at all, makes you look younger, like the person he met in the bar that night—your hair is tied in a half ponytail, the rest of it falling over your shoulders and back. But Daryl loves that until that day, you stand out in that world too, and it’s like seeing a brilliant sapphire among a pile of discolored rocks. And for a moment, an overwhelming nervousness takes over him when you lock eyes with him, feeling that young man you met years ago.

“What?” You chuckle.

“Ya’re beautiful.”

He just says it like that, and you smile a little bit, trying to hide your shyness.

“Thanks, love.” You say softy. His voice is deep but is soft, honest, like the beginning of your story, and with your plate empty, you wipe any crumbs from your mouth before standing up. "Come on. Let's get you back to bed."

There, when you both reach your bed, he lies on your chest while you stroke his hair, his hand on your belly. Daryl stays in that position almost all night, eyes closed to focus only in the sensations, remembering the first night when he fell asleep with his head on your chest, with your hand caressing his scalp, a gentle massage with your soft fingers. And now, he can still feel that and the baby's movement.

Yeah, you were a flight risk, until you found him.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. 

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach. 

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!" 

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP! 

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same. 

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be. 

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy. 

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of. 

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can. 

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor. 

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard. 

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek. 

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early," 

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness. 

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes. 

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen. 

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase. 

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims: 

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip. 

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans. 

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too. 

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side. 

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple. 

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways. 

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your��informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open. 

"Which one of you is Arlong?" 

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear. 

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?" 

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him. 

Maim him. 

Crush him until his bones break. 

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh. 

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here. 

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light. 

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands. 

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there. 

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with. 

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious. 

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy … 

His head is on top of the kitchen table. 

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[pjoxreader]

Hey! Doing good I hope?

I’ll make this quick, I would like to request a child of Hecate reader who has powers that are similar to the Scarlet Witch? (So they’re really damn powerful 👀😬), and I was thinking they can be paired with: Jason, Leo, and Percy? So, everyone else fears the reader, but those three.

Thank you!

Powerful Reader Feared By Camp

((I'm hanging in there thanks for asking! Reminder to everyone that all nighters suck lmao))

Jason Grace

-You were used to people being scared of you, that’s just how things were. Even your own siblings had come to avoid you. You didn't mind too much, you were used to being alone. That was until he showed up.

-You had helped with the war and were working on recovering when he walked into the infirmary eyes instantly landing on you. “You’re amazing!” he says, going to your side. You pause looking around to make sure he was talking to you.

-Once you were sure he was in fact talking to you, you stare at him in surprise. “uh… Thanks…?” you manage to get out but feeling the stares of the others in the infirmary you tense up. “You… Shouldn’t talk to me… You’ll end up an outcast…” you mutter softly anxiously rubbing your arm avoiding looking him in the eyes.

-Despite having fought for your camp it just seemed to make people more scared of you. Jason goes quiet with that seemingly debating his words. “Well… It’s a good thing I’m already an outcast.” he says and sits down beside you with a little smile, offering you a water bottle.

-”Maybe we can find our place together.” you stare in surprise at that but can’t help a little laugh a subtle blush on your cheeks as you take the water. “That’s cheesy...” But you couldn’t deny you liked it.

Leo Valdez

-You were just enjoying your privacy talking a walk through camp when you bump into him. “Ah, sorry.” you say quickly assuming the person would go into a panic. However they just lift up their goggles from their face and stare up at you.

-”Woah, you are one fine king, queen, or monarch.” He says as he gives you a little grin trying to lean against the cabin and missing proceeding to fall. He at least quickly recovered, getting up and leaning against it correctly.

-You kinda just stare at him not expecting that, but you can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your throat. That just seemed to encourage him as he got a big grin on his face. “Oh I have so many more of those.” 

-You really didn’t expect this to be the way you spent your day, having Leo Valdez, hero of Olympus following you around and giving you horrible but adorable puns. He did start to run out so just went on to horrible jokes. -”This one is Percy’s favorite. What is the best tool in the ocean?” After a dramatic pause he gets a dorky grin. “A hammerhead shark.” You groan loudly and dramatically but also give him a little chuckle at least.

Percy Jackson

-You were enjoying a quiet moment by the lake, dipping your feet into the water to cool them down during the hot summer. You lay back on the beach with a small sigh of relief looking up at the sky to cloud gaze.

-”You can come swim, you know that right?” A voice calls surprising you. You sit up quickly, eyes going red as you get ready to use your magic but Percy puts his hands up in surrender. “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.” he says with a little laugh.

-Seeing it was just Percy you calm down sighing a little. You had seen him around camp but hadn’t gotten to know him that well… “Yeah… Yeah I did know that just… No one really wants to swim with me and I’m not that strong of a swimmer.” You admit, a bit embarrassed.

-Percy hums softly in thought. “I’ll teach you then! Swimming is a really important skill after all.” he grins offering you a hand to help you into the water. “Who better to teach you than the son of Poseidon! Come on, I'll have you swimming laps around the other campers by the end of the week.”

-You can’t help but huff a laugh at that. “I’ll hold you too that.” you decide on taking his hand to join him in the lake and that’s how your swimming lessons with the son of Poseidon began.

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ortho Shroud - Playful Gear Vignette

"That's super rare and amazing"

[Playful Land – Stage]

Ortho: Heheh, I got to sing and dance with everyone from Night Raven College, as well as all the other guests…

Ortho: That was the best stage show ever. I'm super glad I got to come to Playful Land!

Ortho: Now then. Time for me to check out some more places.

Ortho: I was at the game corner with Vil's group earlier, so maybe I'll get on some rides in a different area.

Lilia: Well then, how about you join us, then?

Ortho: Oh, Lilia Vanrouge-san, and Trey Clover-san!

Ortho: Thanks for inviting me to go with you. Where are you two heading now?

Trey: We're heading to the Undersea Walk area. Apparently, they make it look like you're actually at the bottom of the ocean there.

Trey: Really makes you feel like we're in a theme park, huh. Just walking through that will probably be fun.

Lilia: And of course, we're gonna find stuff to ride, as well. The one I'm looking forward to ride is the 'Whirl Bottle"!

Ortho: "Whirl Bottle"… That's one of those trackless rides. According to the park guide map…

Ortho: "This is a thrilling attraction where carriages shaped like glass bottles spin around on a revolving floor."

Ortho: "Once you climb on board, all that's left to do is to leave your fate to the ocean's tides! Careful not to become too dizzy."

Lilia: Yup. Doesn't it sound like a swell old time?

Trey: So basically, it's a teacup ride.

Trey: Back home… At the amusement park in the Queendom of Roses, just like the name says, the ride is with teacups.

Ortho: I bet that's 'cause the people in the Queendom drink tea basically every day. It's fascinating to see the differences just based on the region.

Ortho: Since the Playful Land's attractions are all based on the Wish Upon a Star story…

Ortho: Whirl Bottle must be modeled after the scene where the Wooden Puppet's teacher braved the stormy seas by using a bottle as his ship, right?

Trey: Aah… That makes sense. Now that you say it that way, I can see it now.

Lilia: I can't wait to see it in person. So let's hurry and get on to check it out ourselves!

Ortho: YEAH!

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Lilia: ALRIGHT YOU SCALLYWAGS, TURN THE WHEEL, TURN THE WHEEL～～～

Ortho: AYE AYE SIR!! LET'S GOOO～～～!!

Trey: Both of you don't go so hard…! Urgh, I'm starting to get dizzy…

Trey: …That was a much harder ride than I was expecting. My head is still going in circles.

Ortho: Trey-san, are you alright? Did you get motion sickness from all of our spinning?

Lilia: I'm perfectly alright, but… Guess I just trained my inner ear better.

Lilia: Here ya go, I brought you water. You should take a rest on that bench yonder.

Trey: Thanks, Lilia. Once I feel a bit better, I'll go see how Ace's group is getting on and take a stroll around the park a little.

Trey: So you two go on ahead and have some fun. Go and enjoy Playful Land.

Ortho: Oh… Alright. Then we'll head on out.

Trey: Yeah, go on. Take care, have fun.

Lilia/Ortho: Yeh! / Okay!

Ortho: Trey-san said he'd be alright so we just left him there, but… Was that really okay?

Lilia: Kufufu, no need to worry about him. He said it himself, didn't he? It was just a slight bit of motion sickness.

Lilia: He's the Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul. There's no way he's that weak of a person.

Ortho: I don't think being the Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul really matters… But I do agree that he's not weak.

Ortho: But that ride just now…

Ortho: …Honestly, it wasn't too wild, right?

Lilia: RIGHT!? I was just thinking that it wasn't thrilling enough.

Lilia: Just as you surmised, the Whirl Bottle ride was based on the scene of the Wooden Puppet's teacher floating on the stormy seas.

Lilia: So don't you think that they should have had water splashing us, or a giant seagull attacking us during the ride?

Ortho: Absolutely! And instead of just spinning around and around, I would have loved being shaken all up and down, left and right too.

Lilia: Mhm. That would've been a great idea. There's not many rides out there that can give you the feeling of roughing it in a storm.

Ortho: But if we want to implement more random movements, we'd have to completely redesign the attraction's structure…

Ortho: Ah, but if we just adjust the program, maybe the movement and spinning could become even more random.

Ortho: It would be much more exciting to not be able to predict which way it'll move next, don't you think?

Lilia: Mhm. That's because it's just as thrilling whenever you face a foe that doesn't showcase their next move, after all.

Lilia: ...AH! ORTHO, CHECK THAT OUT!

Ortho: EH!?

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Lilia: ...AH! ORTHO, CHECK THAT OUT!

Ortho: EH!?

Ortho: THAT!? …WAIT, WHAT THING!?

Lilia: When I say that, I of course, mean that. The ever exciting…

Lilia: GIFT SHOP!!!

Ortho: A gift shop…? Ah, I see it. They have a lot of character merchandise and sweets on display.

Ortho: It's probably a little too early to even think about going home yet… But are you thinking of looking at souvenirs already?

Lilia: Mhm. So actually, last night I tried to invite Silver and Sebek here too, but…

Lilia: Neither of them had the slightest interest in skipping school.

Lilia: Malleus had gone off somewhere on his own again, so I couldn’t find him. I wasn't able to invite him at all.

Lilia: That's why I thought I'd at least bring home some souvenirs from Playful Land for them.

Ortho: I'm sure if you got them special Playful Land merch, it'll be just like they came here with you.

Ortho: In general, the souvenir shops get crowded near closing time, so…

Ortho: The risk of the item you wanted selling out, or rushing and forgetting to buy something you wanted may increase.

Ortho: I've decided! I'll shop for souvenirs with you, Lilia-san.

Lilia: Good. Then, let's go on a little treasure hunt!

Ortho: They have chocolate crunch, cookies, and candy… They have the whole array of standard theme park fare.

Lilia: These are marshmallows, hm. I'm not really a fan, but the package is so cute that I'm seriously considering it.

Ortho: Ah! This pasta snack is made into the shapes of the Friendly Fox and Gentle Cat.

Ortho: This looks easy to eat even while gaming… I think I'll get this for my brother.

Fellow: Well, well, what a discerning eye you have, young scholar! That pasta snack is the third most popular gift here.

Gidel: … [nods]

Ortho: Fellow-san, and Gidel-san! You surprised me showing up out of the blue.

Lilia: It's usually my forte to catch others unawares, but… Looks like you've won this time.

Ortho: You said the pasta snack is the third most popular, right? So then…

Ortho: The assortment tin that had plain cookies in the shape of the Friendly Fox and cocoa cookies in the shape of the Gentle Cat must be the second popular!

Ortho: And the chocolate crunch with 12 different kinds of little charms randomly thrown in must be the first popular!

Ortho: …Is my calculated prediction, how did I do?

Fellow: Amazing deduction, young scholar, what keen insight! However… Mmm～ You're just a little off!

Fellow: You're correct about the second popular. However, the first popular is something else entirely…

Ortho: Ehhh～ I was wrong? I chose those based on the rankings of other theme parks in general, though.

Lilia: Kufufu… How naïve of you, Ortho. I knew at a single glance, you know.

Ortho: Eh, really?

Lilia: Mhm. The number one popular souvenir for Playful Land is…

Lilia: WITHOUT QUESTION, THE WHALE FIGURINE!!

Ortho: EEH!?

Lilia: Those raging waves, the violent sprays of water, and the lone figure of the fiercesome whale that opens its mouth widely to swallow everything it can!

Lilia: I'm surprised an amusement park has something of this quality. Isn't this more of a work of art?

Ortho: Hmmm… I do think it's really well made, but… Isn't think too big to even fit in one of the park's lockers?

Ortho: It looks heavy, too, and I don't think it'd be a great souvenir to want to haul home after a long and tiring day at the park.

Ortho: Besides, the scene depicted here is one of the scariest scenes in the Wish Upon a Star story.

Ortho: I can't expect this to be anywhere close to the top of the popularity rankings.

Fellow: Well now, how astounding that this figure caught your eye. You certainly know your stuff!

Fellow: This figure was made as a souvenir for those who have ridden the Expedition Whale ride.

Fellow: The whale's teeth, the waves, and the spray of the water… Everything is so meticulously added down to the smallest detail!

Lilia: As I thought. Come now, Fellow, tell us. Where on the popularity scale does this figure fall!?

Fellow: The rank of this figurine is…

Lilia/Ortho: Is…?

Fellow: Dead last.

Gidel: …

Lilia: DEAD LAST…!?

Fellow: Indeed. Rather, ever since this park opened, never has a guest actually chosen to buy this item.

Fellow: Ortho-kun hit on every possible reason. It's heavy, unwieldly, and above all, terrifying!

Fellow: It seems our pursuit of quality was our downfall. Ahh, how disastrous!

Ortho: That's what I thought… So then, what's the number one popular item?

[Playful Land – Bazaar]

Fellow: Playful Land's number one popular souvenir is… The "apple core" flavored candy.

Ortho: Apple core flavored candy! You mentioned those to us earlier.

Lilia: An apple core flavor is rather unusual. I wonder if it has its own specific tang.

Ortho: Vil-san said that the apple core flavored popcorn just tasted like regular apples…

Ortho: But if you're interested, we can go to Candy Road after this.

Lilia: Mhm. But first, I have to find proper souvenirs to bring home here.

Lilia: Oho, here's a hat that looks like the head of the Friendly Fox! And they have one of the Gentle Cat as well. I need to get both.

Lilia: I'll give these to Silver and Sebek, and for Malleus… I think the goldfish hat would be cute.

Lilia: Oh but wait, would he even be able to wear this with his horns…?

Fellow: Come now, Ortho-kun, you should also pick out something you want. Please take as much as you want home.

Ortho: Thank you! Although, both my carrying capacity and the space available in my room is limited, so I'll have to be more selective in my choices.

Ortho: My brother doesn't really tend to use stationary… Ah, but these might be good!

Fellow: This? Ah, our postcards. They're light, thin, and easy to carry around, so it's perfect.

Ortho: There's a ton of different designs, and there's even some that have a pop-up. I bet my brother would love something like this.

Ortho: It says here that we can drop them off in the mailbox in Gentle Square, but…

Ortho: If I write the address and drop it in the mailbox, will it really reach Night Raven College?

Fellow: Why, yes. It should reach your school in a few days. In addition, it'll come with a special stamp.

Ortho: A special Playful Land stamp! That's super rare and amazing.

Ortho: It'll be a nice little surprise for it to show up in a few days… I think I'll send a postcard to my brother.

Fellow: You sure are rather thoughtful towards your brother, Ortho-kun. Now, what sort of card design are you thinking to choose?

Ortho: There's so many good scenes in Wish Upon a Star, it's hard to decide.

Ortho: This one shows when the Wooden Puppet met the Friendly Fox and the Gentle Cat. Heheh, they're all smiles.

Ortho: It's always great to make new friends. But I think my brother would be more scared that bright and cheerful strangers are coming up to talk to him…

Ortho: This scene of the Old Toymaker and the Wooden Puppet dancing looks really fun too…

Ortho: The card with the scene where they're searching for a whale at the bottom of the ocean is really interesting with these little moving fish and shells.

Ortho: And this hologrammed card is… The scene of the miracle of when the Wooden Puppet became a real boy.

Ortho: Hrrrrm… There's so many that it's hard to choose, but…

Ortho: If I have to pick one to send to my brother, then it has to be this one!

Fellow: Have you made your decision? If so, then please, use our counter available for you in the back to write your message.

Ortho: Thank you! I picked out the card, alright, but now what about the message?

Ortho: If I write about how I had fun hanging with Vil-san and Lilia-san, that may go into too much detail and may hamper his ability to read everything.

Fellow: Oh my, is there that much you wish to write about? I'm so honored that you have enjoyed Playful Land so dearly.

Fellow: Sure hope your postcard actually arrives where you need it to safely～

Gidel: … [nods with smirk]

Ortho: Yeah! …Oh right, I'll write down about the Playful Stage performance.

Ortho: With all that singing and dancing… I had such a great time!

[Ignihyde Dorm - Idia's Room]

Ortho: Nii-saaan, you have a package. It's that thing you mail ordered, and… Ah, this is…

Ortho: As I thought! It's the post card I sent out from Playful Land!

Ortho: All of my souvenirs were left with the amusement park, so I had completely given up hope that this card would ever show up…

Ortho: What a surprise that it actually arrived here safely!

Ortho: I wonder if Fellow-san sent it for me? That must mean they made it safely to some other town.

Ortho: …That was really an ordeal, but I guess it still made for a good memory.

Ortho: I sure hope my brother likes the postcard I chose.

Ortho: Similar to how the Wooden Puppet and the Old Toymaker used their wisdom and courage to escape the belly of the whale like in this postcard art...

Ortho: As long as me and my brother join forces, we can take on quests of any difficulty.

Ortho: That's why next time, I really hope we'll be able to go to an amusement park together!

[reneeluv154]

Anger

I hope you enjoy it!!!🤍🤍🤍

In this imagine you made it to the safe haven and newt helps you through your emotions while your still struggling with the loss of the others.

(More on my profile if you enjoy this one.) 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⚠️Tw: mentions of suicide⚠️

I stared at Newt, glaring at him through the flames of fire between us. We were finally in the safe haven and everyone was happy, everyone but me. I couldn’t remember the last time I truly smiled, or really felt anything for that matter. How could they be smiling and laughing?

We lost so many wonderful lives and they were just over it? I didn’t understand. Having Gally back was relieving, he was never the nicest person, to anyone, but he had grown, and it showed.

“Y/n, you good?” Minho questioned, Newt’s eyes locked with mine and I quickly looked away. “Yeah.” I sounded cold and mean, I held a little bit of anger against them, I just didn’t understand how they were okay. It was selfish, the others would have loved to be here. Yes, we carved their names on the rock but it just didn’t feel like enough. They deserved so much more.

I stood grabbing one of Gally’s drinks while walking towards the beach. I made it to the shore leaving the dancing and laughter behind. I sat down and stared out upon the endless ocean. I wished I could dig deep into my heart, take my pain, and let it drift out into the sea.

“I miss you guys, It’s not the same without you here.” I scoffed, taking a swig. “I’m so fucking angry, why not me. I wanted to die.” I said looking from the sky to the ground.

I whispered, “I still wanna die.”

“Pretty isn’t it?” I jumped hearing the all too familiar voice of a brown-eyed blonde-haired boy. He sat down beside me staring up at the starry sky.

“Yeah, gorgeous.” I agreed.

“I heard you talking.” I was drowning in embarrassment and grief.

“I just want them to know.” He nodded now it was his turn to take a swig. “They know Y/n, they're watching us every day.”

I shook my head.

“That’s supposed to make it easier?”

He shrugged, “Maybe a little, yes. I’m not saying you can’t mourn, because you can, but you’ve gotta learn to move on.” This made me angry.

“Like you? Five fucking day’s after they were gone.”

He looked at me, clenching his jaw, his eyes were angry. “I had to stay strong for you and the others, I’m bloody hurt Y/n. I’ve been hurt for a long, long time! You don’t get to tell me I was a bad person when I was just trying to keep you and the others alive!” He blew up on me, his voice louder and bolder than ever.

I couldn't look at him, the tears in my eyes rolling down my cheeks. Maybe I should kill myself, He would stay strong so the others would be okay, right? They wouldn't miss me, not like I bring anything good to the group. I would get to see the others as well. “I know that look Y/n, I can see it in your eyes, I’ve seen it in your eyes for a long time and I promise you it won’t make anything better.”

How did he know…

“I’m sure y'all would be fine.”

He shook his head. “Nope, we wouldn't.”

“I’m just so angry.” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I sat for a minute looking at the sky when I realized. “It’s like I’m the moon and the stars are everyone in my life.” “

“I think you’ve had a tad too much to drink Y/n.”

“No. The moon and the stars adorn each other. Without the stars, the moon is just the moon.”

“Follow me.”

He stood and began walking, I walked up and stood beside him in front of a cluster of rocks. “I want you to throw that bottle as hard as you can, letting it shatter against those rocks.”

“What?” I asked

He nodded, “Scream as loud as you want, you can even cry if you’d like. Here I’ll give you my glass too.”

I shook my head. “The others will think something is wrong.”

“They can’t hear you from here.” He handed me the glass and backed up sitting on a log behind him.

“Go on. Let it out.”

Taking a moment I took the glass throwing it as hard as I could at the biggest rock there was, it shattered.

A tear ran down my cheek as I grabbed the other glass watching it fly through the air and shatter just as the other one did.

It felt too good tears now pouring down my face, I searched for anything to throw picking up smaller rocks and shells.

“Aghhhhhhh!!!!” I screamed as loud as I could feeling a sharp pain through my head, but I couldn’t stop,

“They should be here!!!”

“I loved them!!!”

“I should have hugged you when I had the chance!!!” I sobbed, still throwing whatever I could find before I ran out of breath and fell to my knees. “It should have been me!” I felt a gentle hand on my back, another on my cheek pulling me into himself.

“Shhh, that's not true love.”

I cried for a long time, even after Newt carried me back to my hut and tucked me in before he sat down in a chair beside my bed to keep an eye on me and calm me down.” I eventually fell asleep having a strong headache but also a sense of emotional relief.

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

CAUTION!: Slippery When Wet

Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

A/N: Mini event as a thank you for 30 followers. You guys are so sweet to me. So as a thank you, I will make you miserable.

tags: gn!reader, bullying, mentions of sui, poll at the end

“Jesus can you just chill out?” You fidgeted with the hem of your top between your tight fists. “You said it woul-” “Plans change.” Your ‘friend’ crossed her arms over her chest. Clearly annoyed with you. It was the last beach trip of the summer before returning to college. She excitedly made plans for the two of you to visit the ocean. You didn’t get out much. You hardly saw the sun unless necessary, or your ‘friend’ gave you delicate promises of a good time. Sometimes it went well, sometimes you felt like they just wanted brownie points for getting a hermit out into the sunlight. 

The issue now was the ocean trip was not just the two of you as promised. It was a group of five extra people who were running around the beach. Your bullies from the moment you started college and until the bitter end. They had made it their goal all of those years, to either push you to suicide. Or to at the bare minimum get you to stop going to the same school as them. Whatever came first. “They’re just really mean to me-”

“Grow the fuck up they are not mean to you.” Your ‘friend’ scoffed as she locked the car with her jingling keys and walked off of the hot tarmac and onto the path of sand. “They don’t like you because you act weird. Now come on.” She waved for you to walk behind her with wide eyes and a jerk of her head. You followed silently, suppressing the urge to sob. They are mean to you. Extremely mean to you. You dragged your brown sandals against the soft, warm sand. For a full seven days in the fall they would shoot fireworks at your dorm window all night until they were chased off by security. They poured spoiled milk down the back of your shirt one spring and would block your chances to leave school to change until the end of the day. Before the summer started one year, they had thrown all of your clothes out of your dorm room and into the hall. Taking your underwear and nailing it to different doors for everyone to see. One winter they collectively pinned you down in an empty classroom to take turns slapping you on the stomach until the skin was red and bruised. When you reported them, you were just waved off by the headmaster. You couldn’t recall ever doing anything to them to make them hate you. Maybe it really was just that you were weird. To them you were weird. 

The group had set up towels and colorful folding chairs in a small circle. A cooler was nearby filled with an arrangement of condensating pop cans, brown beer bottles, and a few water bottles that began to concave from the ice surrounding them. There were a total of seven chairs. Meaning they knew you were coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“See that?” Your friend drunkenly slurred beside you as you turned the shimmering can of unopened pop in your fingers. The beer present in her breath made you cringe as you looked to where she had pointed. A large rock formation was on the far end of the beach. It looked like a beached whale with a wide gaping mouth. The tides were low, so the waves only gently brushed against the opening. “It’s hic Mostro Cave!” She laughed as one of your bullies chimed in, just as they tossed a match into the makeshift bonfire. “Oh yeah, a sea monster lives there.” They laughed as the others started to chime in. “They say if you go inside as the sun starts to set, the sea monster will grant you a wish. But only if you give it something.” One of the girls cooed. “Like what? Some hole?” One of the boys laughed and the group started to laugh. Your friend shook your shoulder, her beer almost spilling out onto your clothes. “Go get the sea monster!” She commanded with a laugh, and your stomach started to churn. The sun was starting to set. According to the little rumor the sea monster would show up about then. “Yeah, bring us back the sea monster so we can make a wish.” One of the girls commanded as they started to shoo at you. All six eyes locked on you now.

You were outmanned. Of course. “A-Actually I think me and-” One of the boys snatched your friend's keys from their spot in the sand and jingled them before your eyes with a wicked smile. “No sea monster? No ride home. Not that your loser ass has a license.” He laughed as they all waited and watched. You had two choices; sit and wait to get beat up. Or go wander into a cave for a while and hope they got bored and forgot. You rose to your feet with a frown. “... It’s probably just an octopus or something…” You muttered awkwardly as one of the girls cackled. “Then fuck it until it grants you a wish! Now go!” She threw her water bottle at you. It splashed against the sand and against the bare parts of your legs. You walked faster towards the cave.

Hopefully the beast that lurked among the lonely rocks and algae would be much kinder to you than the people that sent you there. It’s unfortunate how wrong you would be.

[onyx666]

☽◯☾ let the moon settle you ☽◯☾

chapter 3

pairing : finnick odair x black fem!reader

warnings : mention of alcoholism

District 11 - [17-19] - Moon (Victors’ Village)

In the days that followed, you found yourself stuck at home.

Even if your world was paused, everything around you kept moving forward.

It must’ve been 2 or 3 PM when you woke up to the sound of breaking glass and shuffling for afar disturbing your sleep.

Stepping out of bed, walking through the corridor, you made your way to the living room.

With a racing heart, you rushed in the kitchen to investigate, finding your mom amidst a mess of shattered glass, her hands shaking as she tries to clean it up.

"What happened?" you ask, concern evident in your voice as you join her.

Shame fills her eyes as she struggles to contain the chaos, the shards of glass cutting her hands.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." she stammers, her voice trembling with exasperation.

Noticing the blood trickling from her wounds, you act quickly, guiding her away from the broken glass and gently tending to her injuries. Carefully, you step out and walk away from the mess to go sit on the couch. As you take a look at her hands, you can smell it.

The scent is everywhere, filling the room, crashing through the air.

Maybe you’re not sure, or you don’t wanna admit it to yourself.

But, the thing is, you’ve already faced this too many times to doubt it.

In the street, the whole District, with your dad.

And especially with Chaff.

She was drunk.

"Let me see" you say softly, unfolding her clenched hand.

As you analyze the damages, you can’t help but exhale at the sight

You finish cleaning her wounds, the sharp scent of alcohol lingers in the air, mingling with the antiseptic. With a sigh, you glance at the clock on the wall.

"It's 10 in the morning, Mom. That's really nice," you remark, your tone full with irony.

Still slightly dazed, she shoots you a snappy retort. "No need to be a little shit," she mutters, her words slurred.

Standing up from where you were crouched beside her, you can't help but feel a mixture of frustration and concern.

"What were you trying to do, anyway?" you ask with a huff,, your voice tinged with worry.

Your mother pauses for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher your intentions.

"I was just trying to clean up," she says, her voice dripping with false innocence.

You scoff, not buying her act for a second.

"Cleaning up with a bottle at 10 in the morning? Really setting the bar high, Mom," you reply, your words laced with thinly veiled sarcasm.

She bristles at your remark, her facade slipping for a moment to reveal the simmering anger beneath.

"I don't need judgment, especially from you" she snaps, her tone sharp and defensive.

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by her attempt to deflect blame.

"Of course not, because you're doing such a stellar job on your own," you retort, your voice heavy with disdain.

"What were you really trying to do, Mom?" you ask, your tone softening slightly as you cautiously approach her.

Her eyes flash with indignation, refusing to show any vulnerability.

" Cleaning, just like I said ," she says, her voice tinged with defiance.

You sigh, knowing better than to expect a straight answer from her.

"Well, mission accomplished," you mutter under your breath, unable to hide the bitterness in your voice.

There's a tense silence between you, the air heavy with unspoken resentment.

"I know I messed up" she finally admits, her voice tinged with a hint of regret.

You resist the urge to scoff at her feeble attempt at remorse.

"Yeah, no shit Mom," you spit, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you turn away, unable to bear the weight of her presence any longer.

District 4 - [17-19] - Finnick (Victors’ Village)

As Finnick emerged from the cool embrace of the ocean, his bronzed skin glistening with saltwater, he noticed an old fisherman sitting on the weathered dock nearby. With a friendly smile, he approached the man, drawn to the familiar scent of the sea that clung to his weather-beaten clothes.

"Beautiful day for a swim, isn't it?" Finnick remarked, his voice carrying the easy confidence of someone who had spent their life on the water.

The fisherman looked up, a weathered grin spreading across his face at the sight of the victor.

"Aye, that it is," he replied, nodding towards the shimmering expanse of the ocean. "Nothing like the sea to clear the mind and soothe the soul."

Finnick nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting out towards the horizon where the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the water.

"It's like coming home," he mused, the nostalgia evident in his voice.

The old man chuckled knowingly, his eyes twinkling with a wisdom born of years spent at sea.

"Aye, there's no place quite like it," he said, casting his line out into the water with practiced ease.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed like the tide, Todd's weathered eyes wandered over Finnick, lingering on the subtle hints of luxury that clung to his attire.

"You’ve been wandering around there for a while, haven't you?" he remarked, his tone casual but observant.

Finnick nodded, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"You could say that," he replied, his gaze drifting out towards the distant horizon.

"I spend some time in the Capitol from time to time."

Raising an eyebrow, Todd’s curiosity piqued.

"Ah, the Capitol," he mused, his tone tinged with a mixture of reverence and skepticism. "A world unto itself, they say."

Finnick chuckled softly, a hint of melancholy in his laughter.

"That it is," he agreed, his mind drifting back to the glittering halls and lavish parties of the Capitol elite.

"But sometimes, even the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows."

The fisherman nodded in understanding, his expression thoughtful.

"Aye, that they do," he said, his gaze lingering on Finnick for a moment longer before returning to the gentle sway of the waves.

He nodded knowingly, his gaze drifting back to Finnick.

“You’ve been on the screens a fair bit lately,” he observed, his tone neutral but perceptive. “Seems like you’re a regular fixture in the Capitol.”

Finnick’s smile waned, a pang of regret echoing in his heart.

“It’s… part of the job,” he admitted reluctantly, the weight of Snow’s expectations pressing down on him like an anchor. “But sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it.”

They sat in companionable silence, the weight of unspoken truths hung heavy in the air.

No matter how far he roamed, Finnick couldn’t help but feel a twinge of interrogation deep within him. Despite years passing, Snow’s grip on his life still felt as tight as ever. He wondered if he would ever truly be free from the clutches of the Capitol, or if Snow would always hold a piece of his youth captive.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, he realized that even in the company of the sea and the camaraderie of kindred spirits, it was time to go home.

Finnick reluctantly tore himself away from the beach and made his way back home, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his thoughts.

Finnick’s footsteps echoed softly against the wooden planks of Four’s docks as he made his way towards the shoreline.

The salty breeze tousled his hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of the ocean that never failed to soothe his restless soul. Today, however, even the calming embrace of the sea wasn’t enough to ease the worry that gnawed at his heart.

Upon his arrival, he found Mags, the elderly woman, a winner herself who had taken him under her wing after his victory in the Games, sitting in front of the television.

“Mags,” Finnick greeted her with a warm smile, though the concern in his eyes betrayed his attempt at nonchalance.

Mags replied silently by returning his smile with a knowing look. She could see the turmoil that churned beneath his calm exterior, the worry that etched lines into his youthful face.

Setting bags full of fresh fishes that Todd caught earlier today on the table he notices the activity on the screen.

Finnick joined her in front of the television, his gaze fixed on the screen as the Capitol’s channel aired a recap of your interview following your victory in the Games.

He watched intently, his heart aching at the sight of you, knowing that you bore burdens far heavier than any tribute should.

As the interview came to an end, Finnick couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. And though he was miles away, he vowed to do whatever it took to ensure that she found the peace and happiness she deserved.

With a heavy sigh, Finnick turned away from the television, his mind already racing with plans to reach out to you.

But before he could gather his thoughts, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Mags, gesturing towards a piece of paper in her hand.

With a curious expression, Finnick took the paper from her. And just like the teenager that he was, his heart was racing as he ran in his room under the smiling gaze of the elderly woman and he unfolded it.

(not proofread again im so sorry hdjsissisjsj)

[gggreengoblin]

702 words, inspired by this, After a brief and weird interaction with a ceritain American comedian, Daniel came to his best friend's room to vent.

Daniel had experienced a lot of weird days in his life, nothing new. But his interaction with an American comedian today was an out-of-body experience. Man, that person was a strange creature. Daniel knew he would say some of the most unhinged, out-of-the-box, bizarre things but nothing had prepared him for one-on-one interaction with that man.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. How it went down quickly. He kept replaying that interaction in his head. During his shower, while he was eating his dinner, when he walked to Max's room.

When Max opened his door, he was just wearing his jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped. His hair was still wet from his quick shower.

He entered the room and lied down on Max's unmade bed. "Isn't it weird that people still think we are dating?"

"Are they still doing that?" Max said while applying his deodorant. "I thought that rumor died years ago."

"Apparently they still do that, Maxy." Daniel couldn't help himself to not take a deep breath when Max sprayed his perfume on his skin slightly damp skin. He loved this smell, clean, aquatic, and refreshing. He wanted to buy this perfume, bottles of them, and hide them in his secret drawer under his bed. It is weird if you want to sniff your best friend's perfume all the time, right?

"Listen, you know today, before the race, Theo Von visited your garage, right?"

"Yeah."

"I met him, for PR stuff. I told him that we went to his show and he said wild things about it. I told him we made an agreement to watch his show together."

"Right." Max nodded. Making sure Daniel knew that he was still listening even when he did something else. He needed to get ready for their post-race party after all.

"And in February, I was in LA and you had a weekend off. You went from Monaco to LA, picked me up, and we flew to New Jersey to watch his show."

"What did he say exactly?" Max chose to wear an ocean blue crewneck sweatshirt. It fitted him perfectly.

"At first he was like, 'Bro, you made your boyfriend fly from Europe to America just to have a comedy night date at my show? Damn! You need to up your game, My dude.'"

"And I said, 'No, we are not dating. We are best friends.'"

"He looked me dead in the eyes and said that it was a 'unique' agreement and men don't fly with their best friend to watch a comedy show together."

"And when I tried to clear things up, like- gave him more context, he said, 'Woah! Daddy! This sounds like homoerotic, Brother, to be honest with you. I am not judging you. It's super obvious you are a gay man, if you are not, then you're surprising a lot of people', you know, because apparently a lot of people think we are a gay couple."

"Fuck that, Daniel. He doesn't know us enough to have an opinion on our friendship." He combed his brown hair into his usual side part classic quiff. "And nothing wrong with me taking you on a date."

"Was it a date, Max?"

"Well- Would you take a long plane ride from LA to Europe just to take, maybe- Lando for example, to a comedy show?"

Daniel tried to imagine that scenario. "Nah, I don't think I would do that. But I will do it for you, though."

"It can be a date if you want it to be. Girls take their best friends out on a date all the time. Why can't guys do the same thing?"

Well, that was kind of true. Why he and Max couldn't do that? They loved each other's company, and no one got hurt because of it, so where was the problem?

"And, of course, we go out for dinners, at least once a week if we are in the same city," Max said.

"Wait, does it mean we are dating if we go on dates and dinners all the time?"

He lied down, on his side, next to Daniel. Putting his newly styled hair on a pillow. "If you want us to be, then yes."

[coffbeanie]

WARNING FOR FAST/FLASHING IMAGES!!

Here with a lil speedpaint because this took me FOREVER bc school is hard so you WILL watch it

Also thought maybe I’d include some info on the episodes she’s in just in case no one bothers to look this up

-So like i said before she makes her first appearance in the “The Joker is Wild”

-The episode starts with The Joker escaping Gotham State Penitentiary via a very large spring during a baseball game, disguising his escape with a smoke bomb

-Word reaches Batman and Robin of this and they go off to the GCPD, where the police show a bust on the spring

-Batman connects this to an exhibit at a museum of comedian’s busts, where there are also a collection of jewels, so they deduce that Joker must be going to steal the jewels.

-We see the museum, which is closed, and a Joker bust is seen, and it’s revealed that Joker was hiding in his statue, and his henchmen were hiding in the other comedian statues.

-Even though the museum closed, Batman realized that while someone can’t break into the museum, they could break out if they were already inside

-Batman is able to catch Joker and his henchmen in the midst of their robbery, and they fight, and they are able to knock out Batman and Robin, but when Batman regains consciousness he releases a smoke bomb from his utility belt to get out of the hands of the villains

-The Joker and his henchmen escape but the Joker swears that he will never be tricked by that utility belt again

-We then go to the Joker’s hideout (where we first see Queenie!!) and he reveals his own utility belt, which he will use to help him get a new ocean liner

-Bruce and Dick Grayson are at the GCPD, talking about how Batman and Robin are gong to christen the ocean liner when a clown doll is thrown through the window.

-Deciding that the doll is not that important, Commissioner Gordon allows Bruce to take the doll with him.

-Bruce is able to guess that the doll is a clue relating to an opera with a clown as a main character, which is going to be performed later in the day

-Batman and Robin are at the opera and they realize the star of the opera is actually the Joker, and the Dynamic Duo are captured, where it ends with Joker claiming he will unmask the two live on television

-The following episode is “Batman is Riled”

-It starts back up with the captured Batman and Robin about to be unmasked, but Batman uses a flash grenade, where The Joker counters this with a smoke grenade

-They chase after the Joker, but he restrains the Batman with steamers, so he is able to escape as Robin goes to free Batman.

-On the news, people are discussing that the Joker’s new belt may give him what he needs to finally overpower Batman, but the Joker and his henchman (along with Queenie!!) take over the broadcast to do a gameshow like bit.

-He gives clues to his crime, revealing it involves a belt, and a switch, but not an electric switch.

-The police come to stop the broadcast and they run out, but the Joker gives the final clue: What is wrong with this sentence-he who laughs last, lasts good

-Batman realizes that the word should be best, not good, but Alfred says it should be laughs well, leading them to Professor Laughwell, who returned from Africa with valuable masks.

-Batman and Robin go to break up this robbery, but as Batman goes for one of his own gadgets, he realizes his belt was switched for the Joker’s

-There is a large crime wave across Gotham, and Batman is unable to capture the Joker

-As they try to figure out how they will catch the Joker, we got to the Joker’s hideout (Queenie again!!! ) and we see him swap out the cork of a champagne bottle)

-As Batman and Robin go to christen the ship, Queenie provides the bottle with the trick cork.

-Batman takes a look at it, and advises for him and Robin to take a pill before he smashes the bottle, which releases a gas knocking Batman, Robin, and the surrounding people out so Joker can capture them.

-The Joker is recording a video saying that they will be given the ship or he will kill Batman and Robin, but the Dynamic Duo had taken the universal antidote, suspecting something was up as the cork did not match the age of the champagne, so they fight, and as the Joker accidentally releases knock out gas from his belt, the Joker and his henchmen are captured and the episode ends

[xoteajays]

yessss, please tell me all about rikaine, i love her already !! ( and as i’ve said i think she and my girls lark and star would be besties <3 )

hope you’re doing well, love !! <3

yayyy it's the attention i wanted agsghfsjfjkl so rikaine is her surname, koi is her first name. it's another surname first situation with op. (let lark and koi duet jolly sailor bold so sanji and zoro can collectively lose their minds about it. star and koi 🤝 being hot redhead zoro ships) i'm doing well, thank you! ♡♡

to get the smaller details out of the way: she's a zoro ship, is a half-mermaid, she doesn't have a devil fruit power but does have merfolk abilities, like being a very fast swimmer, breathing underwater, and talking to fish.

okay, so, let's start with her parents. her father is pirate captain rikaine colt. he began his piracy career as a pre-teen, years before gold roger's death. he started out as a powder monkey and eventually worked his way up to captain after he and his crew mutinied against their original captain. to say the least, colt was very charismatic. later, as captain, he met koi's mother, esmarie, a mermaid with a fascination for humans. (esmarie is way more little mermaid coded than koi).

esmarie and colt were never married or anything, but they did have an affection for each other. after koi was born, esmarie was a very hands-off parent, she loved her daughter but loved her freedom more. that didn't bother koi too much since she had her father. colt loved his daughter more than anything. koi probably had the best childhood of all the straw hats tbh. she grew up on - and in the ocean around - her father's ship. just imagine this big pirate dude carrying around a tiny merchild. the crew also adored koi. they rigged up a machine on the side of the ship to lift koi from the water easier; they made a game of throwing her back into the ocean and cheering when she did a flip or a perfect dive. the crew was as much family to koi as they were to colt. they do all try to keep koi out of the pirate stuff though.

all was fine and dandy until koi was about 15. colt's ship was overtaken by the legendarily cruel pirate captain blacktide (real name, lyne tydell). blacktide's own ship was on the way to being totally destroyed after a battle and he intended to take someone else's ship. there was little colt could do when blacktide came aboard and demanded he cede his captaincy; this is because of blacktide's devil fruit, the ubau ubau no mi (or yoink yoink fruit in english), which allows him to take aspects from people and keep them in a physical bottle. when colt initially faltered, one of his crewmates tried to stand up for him and blacktide took his eyes, leaving him completely blind. to protect the rest of his crew, colt handed over his captaincy and ship to blacktide.

of course, there was no time to tell koi any of this and when she came aboard, she was swiftly captured by blacktide. he wanted to keep her as a prize and trophy, as a faux show of wealth to play like the rich people who would spent millions on mermaids. it quickly became obvious how important koi is to the crew though and blacktide decided he could use her as a tool to keep them in line. years later, when koi is closer to 17/18 (maybe older? idk if the la ages are the same as the manga/anime), blacktide discovered rumors of a mutiny amongst the original crew and chose to punish koi to punish the crew; he took her tail. the ubau ubau power is a painful process and koi lists it as one of the worst agonies she's ever experienced. it breaks her father's heart.

colt begs one of his original crewmates, luz, to take koi and free her somewhere far from blacktide's reaches. though initially hesitant, luz eventually agrees and takes koi in the night when everyone else is asleep.

this is where it gets a lil hazy for me. i'm not fully committed to how koi meets the straw hats, but what i have going so far is: luz leaves her on the shores of orange town, it's dark so they don't know that the city is in ruins. by daybreak, koi is discovered and captured by buggy's crew. she plays at being a part of his crew, but he doesn't really have a part for her in his 'show', so she's mainly kept in the back. she was supposed to be keeping an eye on zoro and nami to make sure they don't escape while buggy deals with luffy. she stays hidden from them until she hears cabaji coming and rushes to stop nami from getting caught picking her lock. when zoro, nami and luffy are fighting buggy, she tries to free the orange town citizens but they're too scared to run.

when the straw hats are leaving, she begs asks to come with them. nami and zoro are originally going to say no, but luffy being luffy is of course like 'more the merrier' and lets her come along. as they set off, she explains to them all about her past and luffy is all the more insistent to help her get her tail back.

bonus: blacktide and luz! i cannot find a usable colt fc to save my life.

[zorkaya-moved]

‘you should have a drink, too.’ (belial)

@misreputed

A drink, huh?

Will just a glass be enough? No, not even an ocean will satiate this emptiness and this hollowness. A bottle will be like a drop in that scarlet ocean. Is a drink such a necessary thing? Perhaps, Belial is bored and she is quite sure that Lucilius just kicked him out for interrupting his results. He even told her to not bother him for the next two days, which means that she has a very rare time off. Quit ea strange sensation it is: doing nothing, having no tasks to perform. The idleness grinds her productive mindset, the one their creator made them out to be.

The Primarch of Cunning must be enjoying freedom she isn't allowed to have, and yet, he yearns for Lucilius' attention. Why then he made Belial like this and granted him so much freedom? Why did he give him everything she wanted? This freedom, this rebellion, this indulgence, this seeming fullness. He wastes it on the black hole that is Lucilius' indifference and bitterness. The man with eyes blue and cold as ice will never look at him.

They were all just additional experiments after Lucifer. They are not perfect. They will never be perfect.

However, instead of rejecting his unnecessary offers, Morael glances at the drink in his hand and thinks to herself that - mayhaps - this can be a small enjoyment of freedom from Lucilius' shackles. Her role is obvious only to those who know, the executor and the chain. She is the tool to control other tools. The perfect tool, the Primarch of Control, the Mirror of Lucilius. She hates the one who created her and gave her such disgusting purpose as Lucilius wishes for Bahamut's answers.

Does Belial see the similarities? Is this why he still circles around? Is this why Lucifer wishes to befriend her? She is well-aware that there are primals who wish to befriend her solely because they feel she is lonely, but it's not that. There is simply no need for unwanted company. All of them are just tools serving their own purpose, dancing under this own tunes for the role their creator chose for them.

But only Lucifer and Belial will forever escape the power of Her Word. No, the power of His word. Their Amen.

"Your offer is appreciated," Morael says, but instead of picking up another glass and pouring a drink for herself, there is audacity speaking in her next actions. The Primarch of Control approaches him, her steps seemingly leading to the bottle that stands next to him, but instead of taking another glass, her dainty fingers take his glass for herself. A swift action, but one that still doesn't bring out even an ounce of emotion from her. She is envious of him and his freedom. It's childish how she does this if you are aware of her internal state (no one is, no one aside from Lucilius), but what is his - in this moment just a glass - she'll take for herself. Just one time, she'll rebel. In this foolish and inconsequential way. "Thank you for the drink."

And so, she takes a sip from once-his glass. Eyes of gold do not look at him, not yet, her body language is closed off and she shows that there are still countless walls to be broken to ever figure out what crosses her mind. It does not matter if he already drank from this glass. Actually, if he did, it means she can be a step above to to finish this glass and she took away what was originally his.

But then, a thought crosses her mind. As she finds herself enjoying the taste, eyes of gold look at Belial. She studies him for a bit, as if thinking about what she wants to say.

Is rebellion within Belial what Lucilius cannot accept? The imperfection he doesn't want to admit? His denial of his creation so often is unique. Such obvious favoritism isn't beneficial in all but one scenario: it was intentional. How befitting.

Hm, maybe this can work...

"The taste is exquisite," she admits, holding the glass between her fingers and lifting the glass just a bit above her eyes level to see how the light reflects in the glass and in this liquid. She swirls it around just a bit before returning to look at the personification of cunning. "You have my attention, Belial. What do you wish to gain from this?"

How disgusting, she finds herself thinking. She speaks in the same way Lucilius does. This higher than thou voice, this authority, this cold and analytical way of viewing others. The envy must be his too. The yearning for freedom from shackles must be the same. Is this why Belial is here? Because she is Lucilius' mirror? The perfect copy of his imperfections, his original lore, his inability to be free. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

Why you - the cunning and the freedom - yearn for the attention of that frigid abyss? He will never look at you how you want. Why do you waste it?

[goldfish-fhr]

Your nails dig into your arms and you resist the urge to further curl into yourself at the sound of her footsteps. Slow and unsure, the sound of them is distant—almost completely drowned out by the frothing laps of the ocean.

You think, maybe you should call out. Reveal yourself to her, but there's a thin mean streak in you that likes to cut through your better sense sometimes—and it’s been slicing you up all night—and you think if she really cares, truly, actually, cares, she’ll find you herself. 

Your eyes feel raw from rubbing at them.

You blink, gently, to avoid disturbing the tears that are starting back up.

Eventually, you hear her approach, she’s not quiet, you think it’s more out of being deliberate than because she’s inebriated, Julia doesn’t want to surprise you. 

You’ve swung at her one too many times, and even though it always ends with kissed bruises you don’t think kisses will sooth either of you right now. 

She takes a seat at your side. Her heels make a hollow noise as they hit the wide flat rock you two share, as she lays them down at her side.

Her bare feet next to your own. You grimace slightly at the sight—personally? Someone couldn’t pay you enough to walk on this dump of beach barefoot. 

She must have noticed, because she bumps your shoulder with her own, she’s gentle about it—or tries to be—but she still manages to knock you off your balance. You have to swing a hand out to catch yourself and when you do—you feel something slimy and wet make contact that has you flinching back into her and running your hand aggressively onto your pants.

When you turn, look at her with a raised eyebrow, unamused; she makes it a point to keep her eyes trained to the sea.

But the tattle tale hand she’s placed on her lips is obviously hiding a grin from you, if the way her eyes pinch up is anything to go by.

You look down—notice all the little bottle caps, plastic and metal shards of ocean smoothed over glass, and you gather yourself as you ask “what are you doing out here?”

You see her look at you from the corner of your eye, hand moving down until she’s leaning back—forced nonchalance. She knocks one of her feet against your own.

“Chasing you down dumbass”

You look up. Incredulously, “I wasn’t running?” You aren't lying but it still doesn’t feel quite like the truth either.

“Well, what are you doing all the way out here then? Leaving me all alone in there?” There’s some force to her smile, strained enough that you do feel some sense of shame.

“You weren’t alone” but the shame alone isn’t enough to smother the bitterness that has grown since you first stepped foot into the club, and when you answer her, it comes clipped and curt—no matter how hard you try to make it sound collected.

And Julia can tell.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You rub at your eye and thank whatever higher force there is that it seems like the tears have finally dried out. 

“It doesn't mean anything.”

“Well—i think it has to mean something ”

“Or maybe it means nothing and you’re just trying to start something again” you regret it as soon as you say it. 

Julia straightens out and loses that false calm to her pose as she turns her body completely to you, her knees knock against you and you hear the slap of her hand on the rock.

Your shoulders hunch as you go back to grabbing at your arms, burrow your nose into your knees and refuse to turn and show her the same attention she is giving you.

You instead, stare at the sea, for no other reason than having nothing else to look at.

There is no beauty in it.

The sea air smells like rotting fish and something chemical—overwhelms your senses and clouds everything else. It puts a film over the beach—forcibly makes everything conform to it. The trash strewn sand and the discolored foam the tide leaves out match perfectly. The only saving grace would be the ocean itself—except with all this added together, you can only see it as another thing to find disgust in. The water is ink dark and even in the day it’s never quite that pretty blue you’ve seen in movies or pictures. Just some sad imitation that looks far too un-inviting—even the fish agree with how they end up sun cooked on the sand.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

“I followed you. You’re the one that came here” she replies, voice still a little strained—agitated with your earlier comment. Probably upset you’ve already dropped out of the fight.

“I—“ you turn, glance up to the building. Soft pink, blue, and green light emerges from it in intervals. Your eyes follow the people that arrive in groups, leave in pairs. “I thought I might want to go back”

“We can if you want” voice turned soft, unsure, leaving room for you to disagree.

It’s not really about wanting. 

You want to go back. God, do you want to.

But it doesn’t matter if you want to, you won’t. Can’t bring yourself too. You want to enjoy it. 

Your stomach fills with dread at the thought. 

“No”

When you don’t make a move to get up, when your eyes don’t leave the building, Julia speaks up once more.

“Are you sure? We can go back—everyone will be happy that you—“ 

Your body swerves to face her, an action you don’t think out, just happens.

“Who?” You snap, “who is actually going to be happy I came back Julia?” You desperately try to keep from sounding accusing—but you are accusing her, so it’s a losing battle.

“I—“ she starts, but you don’t give her a chance. Whatever it is she was to say would be a lie.

“They—all the people up there, they don’t like me” not like her—your breathing is ragged and you don’t have to look into a mirror to know the tears you thought had gone are quickly filling your eyes once more—they don’t hate you.

That’s obvious.

You’re not that important. In fact this should be fine—a great scenario. You’re so insignificant next to Julia that no one is paying you much, any, mind at all.

Except, it’s so hard.

So very hard not to care when everyone seems to so easily gravitate—like and enjoy being around her.

How she so effortlessly is able to bend the room to her will. A talent you desperately try to mimic.

And god do you try.

You really do.

But for all your efforts, it never sticks. You run out of words, you glance around awkwardly—you grab another drink, you turn and see Julia. And it just—she makes it worse.

It makes something in you sink. Envy? Jealousy?

So you leave and hope she doesn't follow.

Swallow down the growl and bite at your lip.

Don’t want to drag her down with you, maybe some ‘fresh’ air will help, take another drink down to the beach with you, maybe after a while you’ll return, have better luck.

But you’re not returning. At least for tonight.

“Julia, they—You breathe in deeply, try to collect yourself—they’ll be fine if you go back” be kind, you think, it’s not her fault. None of this is. It’s just your silly feelings getting the best of you. There’s no logic in being upset with her. None what’s so ever. “I don’t need to go b—“

Her hand lands heavy on your shoulder and you tense at the action. “Tú crees que eso me importa? Marcos I want you there” she speaks through clenched teeth. She’s angry. You’re not quite sure if at you or the made up situation you’ve put yourself in. But it does make you feel all the worse for it.

You breath in harshly. Because you know that— know that she wanted—wants you there. That doesn’t make this any better. Because, you want the others to want you there too.

Want to belong in there—feel like it.

But you concede.

You smile at her, like the revelation is something of worth to you—like this is what you’ve been waiting to hear all night. Like you aren't selfish. Like all you wanted was one person, her, to want you—and not the whole, not like her.

You smile, and you’re so used to having to hide the anger that surfaces at her that her eyes soften at you instead of harden. Your hand slides over to her knee where the blue dress shimmers as it stretches over her thighs like you think the ocean should. It reflects the white of the moon.

Lean in and you kiss her like you know she expects you too. Like she wants you to. 

And it feels empty.

Like the beach—because of the beach, because of her—because there is no feedback from that static mind of hers to tell you this is nice, that you should want to do this. Because there is no one here in the desolate sands of the stupid beach besides what few creepy crawlers that manage to survive on the junk that is littered around you, to tell you how jealous they are that she’s kissing you and not them, how lucky and grateful you should feel. There’s absolutely no one here. 

It all feels so empty.

When you part, she smiles and you say “Thank you” and after a quiet drawn out moment, where you take her in, try and analyze why she’s so fucking likable do you finally add, “Julia, you’re my best friend” and her smile splits into a toothy grin as she replies, “you’re my best friend too”. 

You return her smile, and you lean in once more to hide that yours isn’t nearly as big, isn’t nearly as kind or heartfelt as hers because you think bitterly, you might be her best friend, but she’s really the only friend you have.

[pathofmysins]

𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

I've tasted blood and it is sweet.

I've had the rug pulled beneath my feet.

I've trusted lies and trusted men.

Broke down and put myself back together again.

You couldn’t tell where the grey skies ended and the grey seas began. There was only the wind, sending shivers down my body as I was walking down the coast of southern California. Despite the wind and the freezing air, engulfing me in it’s clutches, it was somewhat peaceful. I loved storms, they resembled my personality, but even more I loved sitting on the beach during one. It was therapeutic, a way to calm the storm within my mind while watching one unfold before my eyes. Another wave of shivers runs down my spine and I throw that old, outworn leather jacket over my shoulders. It belonged to my dad, at least that’s what my mother told me. The jacket was all I had left of him now. We lived on the outskirts of town, but our house was located conveniently halfway between biker clubhouses and acted as a safe haven to a lot of the bikers who stopped at our house. When I was ten years old, I used to pop open beer bottles for them while my mother patched up their wounds and cooked them dinner. Sometimes she would let them crash for the night and that’s also how she became pregnant with me.

Once I make my way closer to the water, I sit down on the wet sand and inhale the salty peace while lighting up a cigarette. The ocean always felt more home to me than those four walls and a roof people call home could ever be, that’s why I always came here since the day I can remember. It was my escape, where I kept the record of the wreckage in my life. It was not a tragedy, it was just the sad reality.

My mother always blamed me for ruining her life, shattering her dreams of fame. Her wish was to be a famous singer and travel the world, but instead God gave her me. I was the daughter she never wanted, the mark of shame for eternity since she wasn’t even sure who was my daddy. There was a man who sticked around for a little bit though, he taught me how to ride a bike and how to hold a gun when I could barely even fit it in my hand. No, it wasn’t love, but it was the closest I ever got. Of course it didn’t last long and the dream soon turned into a nightmare.

“I’ll be back soon, kid. Make me proud.” Those were the last words he ever said to me before placing a kiss on my forehead and walking out through the doors to ride off into the sunset. Twenty something years later and I still haven’t heard from him, no prayers will ever bring him back to me now. People disappear, but a little part of you always remains hoping that maybe it was just a bad dream and soon enough your loved one will walk through those doors again. My mother says he’s probably rotting in prison, but I would rather believe he is dead.

I have mastered the art of portraying the perfect facade of not having a single care in the world. I had no choice, it was the only way to survive in my world where different men came and went almost every night. It was an open house. I lost count how many boyfriends my mother had over the years or how many times she let them slap me across the face. It didn’t take me long to realize where the money was actually coming from. What once was my home became my worst nightmare so I grew up on the streets and quickly enough I found myself involved in many dangerous situations as well as potentially fatal addictions. Some of them, I regret and regret is something I carry a ton of within the depths of my soul. My path is now one of sins, it always has been my fate, no matter where I go. I try to be better, to be selfless and compassionate, but then a trigger gets flicked and my emotions turn cold. I push the good people away, hurt them in ways they don't deserve to be and in times like these, I fail to be the warrior I was born to be. Instead, I show the frightened child within, still hiding under the safe covers of my bed, counting seconds until the next hit would come and leave me in tears.

“So you let Max fuck you now? You know what he does, Nora. I didn’t think you were this fucking stupid!” My mother shouted while stubbing out the cigarette into the ashtray on the kitchen counter. Her eyes gave it away, how little she thought of me, how ashamed she was of my choices.

“What can I say? I learn from the best. You have no right to judge me.” I snapped back.

An embarrassment, an idiot, a slut. All the insults heard one too many times, I became immune to it all. I have tasted blood too many times before and now it just tastes sweet. Oddly my mother never approved of the lifestyle I chose, but she gave me no choice. I would have done anything not be stuck in this house, which is why I got involved with Max and his business, that was the easiest way to make money around here. Earn enough to get myself as far as possible from this place. Max owned a brothel in the city where I spent most of my nights for the past few years. It wasn’t all that bad, at least no one could hurt me there. Besides, most of the men only last five minutes and they are good to go which makes my job so much easier. The plan was always to get away and perhaps if only I could get closer to Max, become his favorite girl, a different path would open up. With every risk I take, with every kiss and each tainted touch - I get one step closer to my goal.

My mom’s last boyfriend, Jonathan, he was a bit of a drinker. That’s how I got all my bruises since I was about ten years old, that’s the age when I started to remember. The first slap was the worst, even though his hand was empty, I felt like I was hit with a piece of metal. I guess when you’re a kid, you don’t realize how much strength adults hold because they’re never meant to use it against you. When I was older, whenever I could, I used to take the hits meant for my mother too. My whole childhood I dreamed of the day my mother would leave him, I would go with her and flee the violence. But that day never came. Every hiss from Jonathan’s lips had to be more spiteful than the last, as if it was bringing him satisfaction to see me hurting, breaking. Long ago I learned how to hide the pain, I became intoxicated with the emotions I never had the desire to feel. Hate. The acidity of it was too strong to ignore, it was just waiting to be spat out in the most foul manner. In this fog of anger and vulgar words, before I could realize what was happening, his fingers were wrapped around my throat as he slammed me against one of the kitchen walls and spit on my face.

“You’re a fucking whore. If you were my daughter, I would fucking kill you.”

Here comes another insult, but I just smile in the most twisted way possible. Perhaps I was signing my death wish with the sarcastic curl of my lips, but the temptation to send him over the edge of anger was too sweet to resist. I looked over to see my mother, she was curled up on the couch, almost choking on her tears, but she never had the courage to protect me. The wall shuddered, I could hear my mother desperately crying out for him to stop, to let me go. But his fingers tightened instead, the glowing embers in his eyes ablaze with rage and I could smell the reek of whiskey coming from his breath. I couldn’t deny the pain anymore and my facial expression was a clear indicator. My vision blurred, a flame curled in the pit of my stomach and my brain went on overdrive.

This was my life, always has been, whatever I do, they make me suffer for it. Repeat, repeat, repeat. How many more hits before he decides to finally kill me? How long until my mother finds me beaten to death on the kitchen floor because there was no more whiskey in the house? My words were scattered as I struggled to breathe with his hand still wrapped around my throat. That bitter smile on my lips though, it lingers as I try to provoke him to see how far was the bastard willing to go.

“Kill me, go ahead. Put me out of my misery. I fucking dare you!”

The memories come rushing through, weighing me down as I relived every night I spent crying, begging him to spare me. The flame twisting in my stomach came rushing forward, crawling through my veins and taking complete control over my body. My fingers coiled into fists as I was being completely deprived of air and now my rage held the power of a wildfire. I saw it in his eyes. It was either kill or be killed. I’m scared. Frightened. Was there a chance that all of this is just a nightmare? I’ve been there for my mother so many times, saved her over and over again, but now I was being outgunned and she still would rather watch me die than fight the man she claimed to love. She didn’t know what love was, neither did I, maybe we were never meant to find out. Now my lungs are running out of air as Jonathan continues to choke me. I worry I won’t be able to control the ending of my story. Darkness consumes me and I find myself reaching over for one of the kitchen knives on the counter. Pain and sickness, fear and cold. I let go of the last piece of hope in my heart and stab him in the abdomen.

The waves are crashing, rising and falling. They come without fear of the beach, embracing their destiny. My fingers find their way into the pocket of my leather jacket as anxiety begins to take over, my chest is hollow. What have I done? Is he still breathing? Trying to juggle my mistakes, my past and present sometimes would leave me wishing I was drowning in these mighty waves. I am worthy of a better life, but I have been a drowning victim since childhood and now, in adulthood, I curse those to blame for the life I found myself living.

I walked these streets my whole life, I know them as if they were etched in my mind with a sharp knife, scars so deep they would never heal. I knew I did something horrible, but I had no choice. Right? I had to do it. The guilt was now like gasoline in my guts, there was so much of it, that it left me completely empty, just an outline of a person. I had no one to turn to, except for the family I chose myself, it meant more to me than my own blood. And these beautiful streets, that were once my salvation, now spike up my adrenaline as good as a shot to the arm.

[sweetmusingss]

Oscar felt his skin get hot when you pressed yourself right up against him. Even if it was only for a moment, it left him feeling like he was burning up and he was desperately aching for you to come back the moment that you pulled away. He could only imagine the ways he would be touching you and grabbing at you if you were his. He stared back at you, his eyes darker than they were just a moment ago. “Yeah, of course.. Sounds perfect,” he said, his voice sounding a little more raspy than it was a few minutes ago. It was probably obvious the effect that you had on him and he didn’t know what to do about it. He shouldn’t be doing this with you but he could not seem to stay away from you.

Charles nodded at Max, appreciating him distracting him. It was embarrassing for him to sit here and let everyone see the way that the two of you were blatantly flirting with each other. Everyone knew about Charles’ crush on you and it honestly hurt his ego a little bit to see the two of you like this. He had a big ego but most of them did. They were F1 drivers. Even Oscar had an ego and that was probably why he was loving that you were giving him attention. He walked away from the kitchen, needing to clear his head and stop staring at the two of you. You would see that he was the right fit for you, he just knew it.

If I was a worse person, I’d kiss Oscar right now. It was obvious that he wanted me and that he was affected by me. If I was a bad person with no sense of a moral compass, I’d throw myself at him right here, right now, in front of everyone, his girlfriend be damned. But I was a good person, too good of a person, and he would need to make the first move in order for me to even consider it. If he wanted to cheat on his girlfriend with me, I wouldn’t reject him... but I wouldn’t be the one to initiate it. It was probably a flawed way of looking at everything but I never said I was a saint... We keep our eyes locked on each other’s before I finally look away, feeling like I needed to throw myself in the ocean to calm myself down since I felt so hot and bothered by just his darkened eyes. I take out 2 bottles of champagne and one of orange juice along with a big pitcher, pouring the entire two bottles of champagne in and just half of the orange juice, giggling as I look up at Oscar. “I like them strong. We’re on vacation, we’re supposed to be drunk all day, right? Promise I didn’t poison them.” I put my hands up in faux defense, showing him that I wasn’t doing anything bad. 

Max could tell that Charles was pretty much in his head now, patting his friend on the back once they were out of the kitchen. “Don’t sweat it, mate. We all know you and Renee are gonna end up together... I don’t know what the hell is going on with Oscar, but it’s nothing serious, he has a girlfriend. We all know he has a girlfriend and he isn’t really the type to cause a scandal. They’re just flirting, don’t let it get to you. Maybe do something nice for her? Set up a little wine picnic at the front of the boat or something, just the two of you... or invite her to sleep in your bed and watch some cheesy romantic movie, Katie always loves that. I’ll make sure Oscar doesn’t interrupt, either way.”

__

I giggle softly when hearing what you said before nodding at you. “See, you get it. This whole popstar thing was just a backup plan and something to do before my real destiny of housewife starts,” I say, obviously joking around with you. I squeeze your hand right back, staring back at you with a fond and loving gaze. “That’s okay, baby. You can eat all the cookies and I won’t mind. You deserve all the sweet treats,” I say, starting to eat after you did. I take a long sip of my wine, glancing at you every so often. “I was thinking we could watch a movie and take a bath later tonight too,” I say to you, just wanting to take care of you and make you forget about all the stress you had right now. I wanted to get you in the mindset of summer break as well and show you that we could enjoy these next few weeks without either of us worrying about career things. We could just be Max and Katie and act like a normal couple, even if we had a very privileged lifestyle.

Max laughed softly at your comment about your popstar career being just a back up plan, taknig another bite of his grilled cheese. A memory pops into his head of his father telling him he needed a back up plan since he was never going to become world champion or even ever sit in an F1 car, he wasn’t good enough, and his stomach dropped and he immediately felt his appetite disappear. He settles back in his chair, his mood dampening again, remembering how terrible he had been doing lately on track and how he was just letting everyone down race after race. He barely even perks up at your suggestion, just nodding. “Yeah, sounds good...” He was staring down at his plate, just moving his tomato soup around with his spoon, not eating anymore. His eyebrows were furrowed and it was obvious he was somewhere else, closing in on himself again.

[starlightswitch]

Someone to Go Fishing With

(for Writer's Month day 8 prompt fishing. Sequel for my WIP Not As An Us)

Seth mentioned once that he went fishing with his uncle, and Joey said he wished he had someone to take him fishing. No one in his family was interested in that, or any kind of outdoorsy activity, really.

Seth said he bet if Joey drove over during the summer, they could go fishing with Uncle Mitch. He could even use Luke’s old rod, since Luke had never really gotten into fishing. Uncle Mitch had been willing to take Hailey, last summer, but Hailey hadn’t really enjoyed it. She’d hated touching the worms.

“Cammie would probably feel bad for the worms,” said Joey. “She loves camping though. We’re going to go sometime.”

“Cammie likes camping?” said Seth, trying to picture it. Obviously Joey knew her better than him.

Joey grinned. “She contains multitudes. I don’t remember what that’s from, but it’s perfect for Cammie.”

Uncle Mitch was as on board as Seth expected him to be. They picked a date, and Seth brought his rod and Luke’s over to Uncle Mitch’s house, and Joey met them there.

They stopped for drinks like always. Uncle Mitch always got coffee even when it was hot and muggy; as always he put in a splash of creamer, vanilla this time. He always said it just wasn’t finishing without coffee, and at some point Seth started saying most guys would say beer, and Uncle Mitch started replying with jokey shortness, “They’re wrong.”

Seth got a big old can of iced tea like always, peach this time. Joey got a bottle of citrus green iced tea.

They passed a lot of people fishing off along the shore of the lake, but Uncle Mitch’s favorite spot was hidden from the road by some trees. Nice shallow water, the reflection of the trees making cool patterns on it. The only downside was there wasn’t anywhere to sit. They could have brought chairs but Uncle Mitch had a thing about sitting while fishing. Seth didn’t understand it. Most pictures of people fishing, the people were sitting. If Seth ever went fishing with anyone else he’d either stick out for standing or stick out if he couldn’t cast while sitting.

Well, unless he went fishing with Joey. Joey was also learning how to cast standing up.

He got it so fast and looked so confident Seth was a little bit jealous. But then of course Seth had learned when he was like eight and Joey was more than twice that.

Joey acknowledged it too, when Uncle Mitch said something about it didn’t seem like the fish were feeling it today– “I want to get at least one.” He grinned. “I want a picture of me with my first fish. We can send it to Cammie.”

“She won’t feel bad for the fish?” said Seth.

“Well, the fish aren’t getting eaten. They could be,” he acknowledged. “She probably wouldn’t want to know if they were.”

“We’ve never eaten them,” said Seth.

“Too much work,” said Uncle Mitch. “Maybe if we were ocean fishing and got something big. Small stuff, too much bone.”

“You ever been ocean fishing?” Joey asked him.

“Went on a trip once, when I was in Hawaii.”

Seth stared at him. “When were you in Hawaii?”

“Around the time Luke was born. Your parents were going to go with me but we found out your mom was pregnant while we were planning the trip. Your parents said if Luke came early and everyone else met him first they’d have the last laugh.”

Seth was laughing when he jumped and said, “Hey,” immediately followed by a frustrated sigh.

“What?” said Joey.

“You had one. It took off.”

“You’re going to need more bait,” said Uncle Mitch, reaching for the box. “Feeding the fish,” he added with a shake of his head.

“I got distracted.” Joey shook his head too. “I’ll get one.”

Seth nodded. “You’ll get one.” Joey's first time fishing was going to be a good one, same as his.

–

2020 Day 8: The Last Eight (eight)

2021 Day 8: Helpful Roommate Seeks Good Man (water + social media AU) (one of my most popular writer’s month pieces)

2022 Day 8: All For Show (heat + enemies to lovers)