#I like the twisted up straw paper a lot

[future-dregs]

Uh oh! Little Sammy's in love!

[stylesloveclub]

sunshine (epilogue)

In which Harry's still grumpy, except for when he's with his sunshine girl.

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

“How was it?” Maddie asks y/n, sitting in the driver’s seat of her beat up red Toyota Corolla. The engine is running as y/n climbs into the passengers side, carelessly throwing her backpack in the backseat and buckling herself up. 

“I don’t want to think about integrals ever again,” y/n responds. She’s just gotten out of her calc midterm, and she feels horrible and miserable and exhausted. Although she’d promised herself to go to sleep early last night so that she’d be alert and prepared for her exam… she actually hadn’t fallen asleep until 4 AM. She’d been twisting and turning in her bed, flipping her pillows and trying to lull herself to sleep all night, unsuccessfully. 

Thankfully the class wasn’t until noon, so she was still able to get at least five-ish hours of sleep. But she still woke up feeling like shit. Her heart had been pounding nervously all morning, and she hadn’t been able to get any food down except for three sips of some coffee she made for herself in the morning. She didn’t put any makeup on as she left for campus, only a pair of sweats and a burgundy sweatshirt… Harry’s burgundy sweatshirt. The one he’d given to her in the car when he’d driven her home. 

Now, she has a reason for wearing it! You see… it still smelled like him. And y/n somehow convinced herself that by wearing Harry’s sweatshirt (the sweatshirt that smelled like him!) she might be able to…  absorb some of his math skills? And do better on her midterm? 

She’s pulling at straws here. She still feels like she failed it. 

“Listen…” Maddie says, pulling out of the parking lot. “I need to go over to Blake’s, I left my makeup bag in his bathroom and then we’re gonna go out for lunch.”

“Okay,” y/n mumbles, not caring. She closes her eyes to try and soothe the pounding in her head. She’s gonna nap as soon as she gets into her bed. 

“Do you want me to drop you off at home first? Or… did you want to come and see Harry?” 

Y/n’s eyes flutter open. Harry. 

Maddie looks over at y/n knowingly. Y/n turns bashful. “Yeah, I’ll come and see Harry.”

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Harry looks like he’s just woken up when he opens his bedroom door for y/n.

His eyes are puffy and his curls are flat and messy. A smile immediately spreads on his face when he sees it’s y/n.

“Hey.” His voice is deep and raspy, and it’s probably the first word he’s said all day. 

“Hi,” she says, twisting her hands in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. No– his sweatshirt. 

Oh. Oops.

Harry smiles down at the burgundy sweatshirt that’s swallowed y/n’s body. 

“I– I wore it so that I could return it,” she stammers. A lie! Harry sees right through it, and finds his smirk growing even wider. 

“I like it on you,” he grins. She grows shy under his gaze, heart bubbling with that familiar feeling. The feeling of a crush. “How was the midterm?” he asks, closing the door behind himself and y/n.

He lays back down in his bed, the way he’d previously been before y/n came knocking on his door, and y/n sits down next to him. “I dunno,” she shrugs. Her eyes are downcast and dull, lacking the happy sparkle he usually searches for whenever he’s in her presence.

“I’m sure you did okay,” he says, resting a reassuring hand on her knee. “At least it’s over now!”

She nods. A certain weight had been lifted from her chest as she walked out of that lecture hall. No more studying integrals and derivatives for hours straight…

“There was this one problem,” y/n can’t help but say. “It was like… ln(x) to the power of two…”

“Do you want to write it out?” Harry asks. He knows that y/n probably won’t be able to let this midterm go until she gets all of her questions out of the way. 

With a pen and paper in hand, she messily writes the problem out, the paper tearing a little bit when she presses down too hard. “It was ln(x)^2… and i split it into ln(x)*ln(x). That’s allowed right?”

Harry nods, “Mhm. That’s what I would’ve done too. What next?”

“Um… I did a U-sub. I don’t know if that’s right though… I was running out of time and just did something so that I could get at least partial credit.” 

“A u-sub is right,” he grins.

“Really?” She blinks with wide eyes as he nods. “So… wait– tell me if I did the rest of it right.” She messily writes down what she remembers putting down on the test, then gives the paper to Harry. 

“S’good,” his dimple pops out as he smiles up at her, “It’s all right. And you didn’t forget the +C, good job!” 

“No way!” she exclaims, disbelievingly. Her hands land on Harry’s chest as she giggles triumphantly, “No freaking way I did it right! I thought I was just making math up! Oh my gosh!”

“Told you,” he laughs along with her, holding the hand that she rested on his chest. “Stop stressing out, sunshine. You studied, and now you’re done!”

There’s that name again, the one that makes her entire body tingle with happy chills. >sunshine. The sparkle in her eye is back, and Harry feels pride for being the reason she laughed. The entire world feels brighter now that she’s happy again. 

Y/n’s giggles die down slowly, and she looks down at Harry, eyes flickering between his. Her stare is intent as she chews on her lip, the remnants of her cheery smile still present in the apples of her cheeks.

Something thuds on the floor behind Harry. They both peer over the side of the bed to see what fell from his bedside table. It’s just a book… but when y/n looks closer…

“Wuthering Heights?” 

His cheeks turn pink. “Yeah…” he coughs dryly. “I um… I remember you reading it. Thought it might be nice if I picked it up, and that… we might be able to talk about it or something.” 

Her heart swells in her chest. “You’re reading Wuthering Heights?” 

“Well– trying to,” he chuckles at himself lamely. “I’m like 10 pages in.”

She wants to kiss him. She really really does. Like… he’s perfect and beautiful and kind and sweet and amazing. But… god would it be weird? After last time?

Harry pushes himself up on his elbows. He can feel the tension too. But when he inches closer to her, her eyes flicker with doubt and she looks away. 

“No,” he pleads, cupping her jaw. “Please… please don’t let it be different.” She meets his gaze again. 

“I like you,” he swallows thickly, “and I want… something with you. Whatever you want.” 

He inches upward, and this time she doesn’t pull away. Her heart races in her chest and she lets the magnetic force between them take over. 

“We’ll take it slow, at your pace…” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing back and forth on her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut. “No rush. Just trust me, please.”

She nods. She trusts him.

Their lips connect, a spark flying through y/n’s body the second she makes contact with him. It’s wonderful, better than last time, even, and she realizes the reason kissing Harry is so great is because it’s >Harry. Because she can feel how much he cares for her when he kisses her. He speaks poems with his lips when he kisses her and writes sonnets on her skin every time he touches her. He tastes like minty toothpaste, freshly washed, and his lips are so soft and sweet and gentle. 

He pulls away from her lips with a soft click, then stares up at her with hearts floating in his eyes. 

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Y/n is out of breath, huffing and puffing in front of Harry’s door and knocking like a madwoman. She ran here from her own apartment, too excited to wait and ask Maddie for a ride. She needed to see him >immediately. 

Harry opens the door with concerned eyes and furrowed eyebrows, a little bit scared. He still has his headphones on with his controller in his hands, staring down at y/n as though he just had a heart attack, “What? What is it?” 

A huge grin is plastered on her face. “Harry!” she beams. “I passed!”

“What?” he’s still confused. What did she pass? Why is she at his door?

“I got a 77% on the midterm!” she squeals, jumping up and down in her place. 

His eyes light up and a smile spreads across his face. “Yes!” he cheers. He pulls the headphones off of his ears and hangs them around his neck, just in time for when y/n wraps her arms around him. He’s taken aback, stumbling a few steps backwards from how hard she pummeled into him, but easily steadies himself and wraps his arms around her back. He hugs her so tight that her feet leave the ground, and she’s laughing in his ear sweetly.

“I can’t believe it!!!” she says, her hands on his shoulders as he puts her back down on the ground. Her eyes glimmer with the shine that he adores so much, and it makes him grin even harder. His dimple pops out, a rare sighting for anyone else except for y/n these days. 

He kisses her without a second thought.

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

The scene is all too familiar. Harry, sitting at a party with his eyebrows furrowed grumpily. His friends are sitting around him, laughing and chattering, but Harry says nothing. He takes a bored sip from the jungle juice in his hand. Three girls have approached him tonight, batting their eyes up at him and biting their lips teasingly, but he’s brushed them off without so much of a glance. He’s not interested in the slightest.

He looks around himself, eyes searching for a certain someone, and he sighs to himself. She’s still not here. His pout grows more prominent, and he whips out his phone. He does not care for anyone at this party, and though his friends are fun and all… they’re having a weird conversation about Elon Musk that he doesn’t want to even listen to.

He huffs. He stares at the last text he received, 19 minutes ago.

sunshine: omw!! be there in 15 :)

She’s 4 minutes late, he pouts. It’s probably Maddie’s fault.

A firm poke is pressed to his forehead. “Hey grumpy.” His heart jumps as he recognizes the sweet sunshine angel voice speaking to him. 

“Sunshine,” he coos, the furrow his brow immediately melting into a soft smile. He holds a hand out for her, which she immediately takes. She has a soft smile on her face, her eyes kind and warm and gentle, the LED party lights haloing around her head and making her look like a fairy. “Missed you.”

He pulls her down into his lap, her butt comfortably sat on his thighs, and nuzzles his face into her neck, trying to get as close to her as possible. A content hum rumbles through his chest now that he’s surrounded by her scent, his pretty girlfriend in his lap, drowning out all the other people at the party. She giggles cutely when his curls tickle her chin, simultaneously trying to escape the kisses he’s pressing to her sensitive throat while also wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“Watcha drinking?” she asks. 

He offers her his drink, “dunno.” She grimaces as she takes a sip, and he imitates her grossed out face. “Yucky, isn’t it?”

She gets the drink as far away as possible from herself. “Gross.” 

He chuckles. She’s so beyond cute, her cheeks so soft and biteable as she scrunches her nose. One of his hands is on her back, holding her upright, while the other one rests on her thigh comfortably. His fingers on her back find the ends of her hair and start twisting them, playing with the soft strands and curling them around his fingers, while his fingers on her thigh trace up and down and up and down. Goosebumps rise along the path of his fingers, and it makes him smile. She’s so reactive to every single one of his touches… he wants to have his hands on her 24/7.

If she wasn’t so shy and sweet and innocent, he’d start kissing her pretty, glossed up lips right here and now, even with all of their friends sitting around them. He’s obsessed with her! Obsessed with kissing her all the time and teaching her all the secrets of intimacy. But he knows she’d probably get bashful and embarrassed with that much PDA (even getting her to sit in his lap took a bit of coaxing at the beginning), so he settles for pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re so cute,” he murmurs to her, resting his head on her shoulder. Is it too early for them to leave this party and to his room? He’d love to be snuggled up in bed with her… have her read to him a little bit while he plays with her hair… yeah that sounds nice.

“M’gonna go get a juice box from the fridge,” she whispers (his fridge is stocked with juice just for her). He whine when she pulls away, looking up at her with big pleading puppy dog eyes, begging her not to leave him when he’s just gotten her, but she pecks his cheek with a dismissive kiss. “Do you want one too?”

“No,” he pouts. “I’ll just have some of yours, if that’s okay?”

She squints her eyes at him, “you get two sips, and that’s it.” 

He shrugs with a teasing smile. “M’kay.” He resists the urge to pat her ass as she walks away (that’s for when they’re alone in his room).

He’s stuck in a lovey dovey lavender haze as he watches her get swept away by a group of her girlfriends, smiling to himself fondly as they all giggle and look towards Harry mischievously. He knows she’s probably getting grilled about how little miss sunshine finally got a boyfriend! 

A shove from Blake jostles him out of his daydream. “Who are you?” Blake snickers. All of his friends are staring at him too. Nobody has ever, ever seen grumpy Harry be so soft with anyone. Kissing her cheek and cuddling into her neck and whining like a love-struck puppy… it’s funny. 

Harry rolls his eyes and tells his friends to fuck off, trying to furrow his brows and look all serious again. But his heart flutters happily in his chest, and those pretty dimples dent his cheek. 

He can’t be very grumpy when his sunshine girl is skipping back to him, juice box in hand as she settles back down on his lap. 

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

perfect ending for my fav story:( TELL ME WHAT BLURBS U WANNA SEE!!!! MANY MANY BLURBS TO COME BC I LOVE THIS STORY:(

sunshine masterlist

[licorice-tea]

And There You Are, An Ocean Away

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader (and a little Nami x Vivi if you squint)

Content: friends to lovers, fluff, anxious/hopeful crush feelings, confessions, long distance relationships, reader is a Straw Hat Pirate, and Law is a little awkward <3

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: this is one of the first fics i’ve finished and i’m not the best at grammar rules so there are probably a few mistakes! also i might have made Law a little ooc lol, but besides that im just trying to write more to improve! thanks for reading :)

Edited 1/17/23

be-beep. be-bee-

“Hello?” Law cuts off the ringing of his transponder snail. He can’t help but smile to himself upon hearing the voice on the other end of the line.

“Law? Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” He leans back in his desk chair, twisting the cord of the transponder snail around finger “E” while holding the phone in the other hand.

“Sooo,” you drawl, “have you guys started opening presents yet?”

Law can practically hear you smiling, which makes him exhale in amusement before responding. “Yeah, the crew exchanged gifts and opened them earlier this morning. How about you?”

“Mhm, we were up as soon as the sun rose- Chopper and Luffy woke up the whole crew.” You pause, and he can imagine you biting back a laugh while shaking your head as you often do. “Anyway… Did you get everything you wanted?” You sound expectant, almost knowing.

In his usual deadpan tone, he answers simply. “Bepo got me a new coffee blend.”

“That’s nice of him… he’s always so considerate.”Based on your tone it’s not quite the answer you were looking for, but you provide commentary anyway.

“Ohh yeah,” He continues on the other end of the line, feigning the recollection of something important, “and there was this massive box on deck…”

“Oh good!” You exclaim as Law chuckles. “You scared me, I thought you hadn’t gotten it. Did everyone like their gifts?”

You’re referring, of course, to the comically large box that the Straw Hats had shipped to the Heart Pirates. It was packed to the brim with gifts for every crew member. After all, what was the point of having tons of berries from “stolen” treasure if not to use it on your friends? Or at least, that’s the reasoning you used to convince Nami to rearrange some funds for gifts to the Heart Pirates and other allies of the Straw Hats. Though, maybe it was just because you had mentioned sending a gift to Vivi back in Alabasta as well…

“They all really liked it, a lot. Was it your idea?”

“No,” you explain with a playful cadence, “it was a group effort.”

“Sure thing, but the bows and wrapping paper has you written all over it. And the handwritten card…”

“I have the best handwriting on our ship! Besides, we all signed it so, its from all of us.”

The only part that 100% was not from all of the Straw Hat Crew, was a box with Law’s name on it at the bottom of the much larger box. Inside the present addressed to the “Captain of the <3 Pirates” was a neat little coin display with places for 25 coins, as well as a card tucked in beside the display.

“Well, it was nice of all of you then.” He concedes with a snark in his voice. “And, uh… I like what you got for me, y/n.” Law’s voice comes out a little quieter, and maybe even a little deeper towards the end. He sounds hopeful, not 100% sure if it was you that had chosen his gift, yet knowing that only you could have selected something so sentimental and- ugh, perfect. His tone makes your stomach do flips.

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad.” Your voice, now a bit softer, replies. “I was worried you might have already had-“

“I-I didn’t. I’ve just been storing my collection in boxes...” He trails off, now tracing the edges of the coin display you’d gotten him. It was nothing exceedingly special or expensive, but it meant a lot knowing you had thought of him- just him- and went out of your way to send him a gift. The thought that you cared about him as much as he did you had his heart beating faster already.

You only knew Law was a coin collector because he chose to tell you. Thats how it usually was with him- he only shared the parts of himself he wanted to share. (Though you did also have a knack for “catching his vibe” as you liked to say.) Anyhow, you also knew his office was painfully tidy and there was little to no decoration, despite having ample bookshelf space. And so, a display for his not-so-secret hobby seemed like a perfect gift!

But, that wasn’t the only thing you’d added to his present. There was also a card, in which you’d written something along the lines of “I’m so glad I met you…. You deserve so many great things, but hopefully this coin display will suffice for now… I have feelings for you…. Merry Christmas! xxx, y/n” You had sort of just slipped in the confession between other clauses.

“And did you read the card…?” Your face suddenly feels a little warmer. Not that there was anything scandalous in the card, just some very honest words about your feelings for Law. Words you hadn’t ever been bold enough to say out loud and in person, and still hadn’t been brave enough to write without lots of other thoughts and well wishes surrounding them.

“Card?…” You hear some shuffling on his end, “I’ll read it now.”

“Mkay.” Your short response is a telltale sign of your own nerves, which makes him curious to find out what you could’ve written.

There’s a prolonged silence as he reads, and Law’s heart skips a beat as he nears the end. His eyes go back over and over 5 specific words: “…I have feelings for you.” He feels nearly giddy with excitement, but it comes out as pure anxious energy. He never thought this would actually happen; a scenario where you reciprocated his affections had only ever happened in his imagination up until now. Usually in these scenarios, he’d have worked up the courage and audacity to tell you how he felt in person, and not only would you accept his confession; you’d also return his feelings. But now that it was actually happening? He found himself at a loss for words, heart beating in his ears and probably blushing like some lovesick idiot.

Law wants to say something perfect for you, something charming and witty, but all he can think of in the moment is, “… I read it.”

His throat feels dry, like he doesn’t know what else to say. Law likes you too of course- how could he not? Ever since you’d met back in Saobody Archipelago, though the interaction had been brief, he’d thought you were beautiful, strong, and somehow a little different from the other Straw Hat Pirates. Then he’d gotten to know you; really know you, beyond your fighting capabilities and the information on your bounty poster. You were kind, witty, selfless, hardworking, and so much more. And alas, absence only makes the heart grow fonder.

Sure, you’d started off as allies, but that quickly became friendship, and a close friendship at that. He liked you because of your acceptance for nearly anyone, so long as they seemed a good person. Even more so, your ability to understand his emotions despite his usually reserved nature (he secretly thinks it’s some sort of sign, but in reality you’re just emotionally intelligent.) And you like Law because of his obvious (though he tries to hide it) love and passion for so many things: his crew, his work, etc. This, along with his witty, albeit odd sense of humor, made you enjoy his company quite a lot. The two of you took most every chance you had to be in each others company, since they were few and far between. Sometimes you’d chat, with you doing most of the talking and Law being content to listen and only add comments where he thought them necessary. Other times you’d follow each other into battle to provide support for the other, though neither of you had ever really needed help in those situations.

You swallow the lump in your own throat and continue, “You don’t have to have an answer or anything right now, I just want you to know how I feel.” Law doesn’t say anything, and so you continue while trying not to sound disappointed. “Merry Christmas, Law.”

“…”

“Law?”

“I like you too.” his words come out sort in a rush, like he had been holding his breath.

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Well, uh, I have to go now, but… Can I call you tonight?” He asks hesitantly, even though you’ve already confessed that you feel the same way he does.

“Yes, that’s fine! I… I was worried that you didn’t feel the same way for a second.” You laugh, light and airy.

He scoffs, but you know it’s not meant to sound mean when it comes from him. If anything, it’s endearing. “Of course I do.”

You giggle again, “Bye, Law.”

“Bye, y/n.”

As soon as you hang up, his nervous frown turns into a small smile, and it grows and spreads across his face until he’s grinning like a fool and hiding his face under the brim of his hat.

[shares-a-vest]

"One piping hot cocoa," Wayne announces, setting an Indy 500 mug in front of Eddie, "Extra cocoa."

The boy is sitting at the kitchen island, drawing and taking up what little space is left on the countertop with his tools. He's been sitting there for a good hour now, working on some of his fantasy drawings.

Wayne wants to tell him the dragon he is working on is getting pretty good - quite realistic compared to the wibbly line work he'd started with when he first came to live with him two years back. But he doesn't say anything, just stirring his coffee a moment longer than necessary.

Eddie places his free hand around the mug handle and Wayne stills, hoping the boy will at least stop to take a sip and save himself from a spillage.

"Thanks, Dad," Eddie mumbles, moving the mug a little too close to the paper's edge.

They both pause.

Eddie mid-pencil stroke, Wayne mid-sip.

The boy sets the pencil down and grumbles at the purple streak now painted clean across the dragon, ruining its brilliant sunset-like shades of red, orange and yellow. Wayne tilts his head. He thinks his nephew might have intended to colour the eyes purple.

He also suspects his heart might have just skipped a beat – even if he isn't too sure how he feels about the cause of the awkward silence they have fallen right into.

And their silence is never awkward. Just calm. Peaceful.

Wayne had always been that way anyway, but he'd made an effort when Eddie showed up two years ago, with a duffle bag of clothes, an armful of his favourite books and a beat-up old acoustic.

He wanted to give Eddie time, too. Let him be himself. Guide him without being too militant. Though, considering Eddie's boisterous age (the boy is now twelve – where in the world does the time go?), sometimes that's easier said than done.

But a purple streak ruining a sunset-coloured dragon seems a heck of a lot different.

"I... didn't..." Eddie stutters, scrunching the corner of his drawing in a fist, "I didn't mean that."

The kid scratches his head, brows wobbling and lip quivering as he runs his fingers over the hair, likely remembering he has no curls to twist worried fingers around just now.

Wayne braces a hand on the countertop, willing himself not to curse to the heavens over his own stupidity. A couple of months back, he'd made the downright asinine decision to allow his brother Al to take Eddie on a fishing trip. He was perfectly within his rights as the kid's father to do so.

Well, at least at the time, he was.

But Al rolling back into town with a suspiciously shiny car and Eddie sporting a buzzcut with disappointment in his eyes was the final straw.

He picks at the chipped Cubs logo on his own mug, mulling over the best place to start with this one. But Eddie slips off his stool and books it down the hall, firmly making the decision for him.

He sighs and slides the drawing closer. Turns out Eddie was working on adding details to the dragon's scales with the purple pencil.

Wayne gives it a full few minutes before he heads down to Eddie's room.

He opens the door to find his nephew lying flat on his back with his hood over his face and the drawstring pulled so tight that it only leaves room for a small breathing hole.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to sit by the edge of the bed. Eddie pointedly folds his arms.

"What's going on in that noggin, kid?" he asks, leaning towards the hooded form, "If it hasn't been swallowed up into a fabric void, that is..."

Eddie stills for a moment before puffing out a laboured breath.

"I didn't mean it," he says after a long silence, "Freudian Slip."

"Eddie, you know I haven’t the foggiest what that one means."

Even though Eddie reads a lot of books, Wayne still doesn't know how his nephew comes up with half the stuff he says. Eddie groans and paws away at the tight drawstring. He starts to really struggle with it so Wayne reaches over to help.

"There you are," he says, smiling once he gets the thing untangled and open.

"It doesn't matter," Eddie gripes, waving a dismissive hand before letting it fall back against his chest.

Wayne looks around. Eddie must have tidied his room yesterday judging by the empty laundry basket – even if he didn't place the thing back in the hallway.

He's a good kid.

Wayne pinches his nose, hoping that the prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes will go. He looks down and instead focuses on his striped socks, a pair Eddie gifted him last Christmas that he saves for Sunday afternoons.

"You can call me 'dad' if you want," he finally offers.

"I don't," Eddie bites back.

The first feeling out in the kitchen might have been a hearty thud of his rusty old heartstrings, but this one stings. Wayne nods a little more curtly than he'd hoped.

Eddie huffs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't mean... gah!" he babbles incoherently for a moment like he does when he is frustrated beyond words and trying to mind his manners, "All I mean is, the guy I call 'dad' – or I'm supposed to – sucks. So – to me – the word doesn't mean all that much. And you aren't like him at all. Which is why I didn't mean it."

"I understand," Wayne nods.

He looks up to find his nephew teary-eyed. Eddie used to wail away as a toddler, running around with all his big feelings. But over the last few years, with everything that happened with his parents and now living here, Eddie has struggled to express himself beyond frustration and acid-tongued anger.

Though, as he wipes his eyes, that might be changing. Just a little.

"Any plans for this afternoon?" he wonders aloud, patting Eddie's knee and catching on a dang tear in his jeans.

Eddie shrugs, "Might go practice with the band."

"Ah yes," he smiles, "The talent show."

"We are going into battle," Eddie clarifies, enunciating every syllable with the faintest smile.

"And I expect an invitation to come see your performance, regardless of what that flyer over there calls the thing."

He points to the school's Talent Show flyer Eddie has had pinned to his bedroom wall since the start of the school year.

"Sure thing, Old Man," Eddie says.

"Hey now," Wayne chuckles, "I'm going to draw the line with some other choice terms of endearment, y'know?"

Eddie scrambles to the edge of the bed, a cheeky grin stretching across his face.

"Maybe we should discuss this further over some cold cocoa."

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Heyy how are you Hope you're doing well and have some food and drink water you need it🫶

So about the request i was wondering if you would be able to make a modern au i am not really sure if you write modern au but if you don't want to make it modern au it's totally fine

It's a scenario with marco adopting a girl (maybe 10-11) who's tomboyish and making her his daughter and basically the whitebeard pirates being whitebeard company (if you write modern au) with pops as the ceo of course and them being a huge family. (I swear they are really family i want what they have💞)

i can imagine izo telling everyone you people can't handle a girl there need's to be a bit of feminine only for the girl to run away cause she found him intimidating but at the end they bond.

Also please can you include the ASL trio as if they are a part of the whitebeard family

I personally had this idea for so long and thought a lot about it that's why i want to see it come to life thank you so much for this chance🥹

Love ya

Hello my dear! So yes, I do write modern AUs, lol. Sorry I didn't get this out sooner, life has been... a pain. BUT! it's out! I hope it's alright, I had a hard time wrapping up the ending. In any case, enjoy!

Warnings: Platonic WBP x Reader, platonic ASL x reader, female!Reader

Word Count: 1450

     Looking down at the little girl in front of him, Marco could feel his heart aching. He couldn’t imagine she was more than 10, 11 tops, but here she was, huddling under what little shelter she could find, trying to stay out of the rain. Walking in over to her, he held his umbrella out a little, covering her as well as he kneeled down. Looking up at him, e/c eyes looked up at him in curiosity and… was it… fear? 

     “What are you doing out here, little one? Surely you have somewhere you can go to escape the rain.” he asked softly, reaching out and placing his hand on her head. The little girl simply shook her head, looking down at the ground sadly. Marco’s expression twisted into a troubled one as he stared at her for a moment, “Come with me. I’ll get you out of this rain and get you something to eat, you look hungry.” Marco offered, holding his hand out for the little girl. She timidly looked down at his hand before looking up at him. He looked like a kind man, nothing like those who sought to kidnap her or hurt her. Tentatively, she took his hand, allowing him to lead her away.

     That had been 4 months ago. After taking her to the office with him, she’d immediately stolen the hearts of all the divisions, though it was a toss up as to if HR loved her more or R&D. No, no, neither of those were correct. The ones who loved her most were Marco and the company’s owner, Edward ‘Whitebeard’ Newgate. It hadn’t taken a lot to adopt the girl, once she’d finally been willing enough to give them a name and her previous orphanage. None of them had known much about her, but it was clear that she was a little cautious, something that none of them had much cared for. She was far too young to be this distrustful of people.

     Sitting in his office, Marco smiled as he watched his new daughter play in the, now renovated, room next door. The very instant the adoption papers had been signed, Pops had begun renovating what had once been an office next to Marco’s, turning it into a playroom of sorts for her so that when she wasn’t at school, the entire building could come and fawn over her instead of leaving her with a daycare, something they had all been vehemently against. Crawling into one of the human sized hamster tunnels, she was immediately off once more, ruffling the new dress Izo had gotten her. The man would sigh, but leave it be. So long as she was happy, it seemed that the rest of the office was as well.

     Hearing his office door slam open, Marco couldn’t help but jump, looking up to see a familiar straw hat and smile.

     “Is Y/n in here? Ace said she was in here!” Luffy asked excitedly, running towards the door to the playroom before Marco could answer. Even though the boy was a good 7 years older than her, he seemed to be her closest friend, the two of them often getting lost in the tunnels together as they ‘adventured’ across the building, the human hamster tunnels winding through almost all of the offices of the upper two floors.

     “Luffy! Get back here! You made a promise to Ace and I! Homework first then Y/n!” Sabo shouted, running into Marco’s office soon after and joining Luffy in the tunnels. The older blond could only laugh as Sabo chased after Luffy and Luffy chased after Y/n. Pops had taken Ace in after the death of the boy’s parents, being Ace’s godfather. Roger and Pops might have been rival companies, but contrary to what the press often said, had been surprisingly good friends. Sabo had been taken in after Ace, Pops filing for custody against Sabo’s parents after a fire left the boy with horrible burn scars. The one he wasn’t sure of, however, was Luffy. The boy had his own home, perhaps not the most attentive father, but a good man. His grandfather had found a… nanny to take care of him from time to time, yet the boy had still wound up with Ace and Sabo more often than not. Still, it seemed to be for the best since Luffy and Y/n got along, so he couldn’t be upset. 

     Another bang made Marco jump, seeing Ace and Izo in his doorway.

     “Marco! Did Luffy and Sabo come this way? Sabo called me saying that he was chasing Luffy and they were headed this way!” Ace asked, making the man smile.

     “In the tunnels, best of luck, don’t forget to take off your shoes.” Marco said, gesturing towards the tunnels, the black haired young man soon darting after his brothers.

     “She’s in the tunnels again?! But… but I just got her that dress!” Izo said with a sigh, looking down rather dejectedly, making Marco laugh.

     “And she loves it… when it isn’t hindering her ability to move.” Marco said, thinking to this morning when he had her put it on for school. He wasn’t lying, she’d been rather happy with the dress, finding that it wasn’t too restrictive, it was comfortable, and it was cute.

     “I haven’t even gotten to see her in it. By later today, it’ll probably be too covered in dirt and scuff marks. How is she supposed to learn to be feminine when she spends all her time around Ace, Sabo, and Luffy!” Izo grumbled, tucking a strand of loose hair back.

     “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Once she warms up to you more, you’ll no doubt be able to dress her up as much as you’d like.” Marco said with a comforting smile as the man in front of him sighed in defeat.

     “I don’t know why she doesn’t like me, Marco. I’ve tried being nice to her, but she always runs behind someone else.” Izo lamented, crossing his arms as he stood in the doorway.

     “It’s because of your first meeting. You pushed everyone aside to meet her, carrying a dress. She figured that anyone that can push away that many people so easily while managing not to rip a dress was terrifying.” Marco said with a chuckle. Izo sighed and nodded, his shoulders sagging as he leaned against the doorframe.

     “I suppose you have a point. Everyone here is rather tall, aren’t they? Well… tell her there’s some mochi in the fridge for her. It’s a recipe I learned from Toki.” Izo said, turning to leave.

     “You… made me mochi?” a small voice called out, drawing Izo’s attention to the glass playroom doors. Izo smiled gently as he looked at her, nodding.

     “Yes. Your favorite, in fact. Marco told me what you like, so I thought you might enjoy some in the form of mochi.” Izo said softly, his heart melting at her smile.

     “Thank you, Mister Izo. I’m… I’m sorry about getting your dress dirty.” she said, moving to dust the front of her dress off as if that would help.

     “It’s alright, little one. How about you and I go shopping one of these days. I’ll buy you something we can both agree on.” Izo said, feeling himself becoming putty for the little girl. Much like the others, he’d already adored her, but Marco was pretty sure she could get Izo to kill for her with that little smile alone. 

     “Y/n, why don’t you go with Izo now to get that mochi. You can eat it while you finish up the other half of that homework.” Marco suggested, watching Izo smile at the idea of her going with him to get the mochi. Looking down at her dress, her brow furrowed as she once more attempted to wipe the scuff marks out of the knees.

     “Don’t worry, little one, I’ll get you something better when we go shopping.” Izo said softly, giving her a warm smile. Almost as if a switch flipped, Y/n was smiling at him and running over, happily taking his hand as he led her away. Marco smiled and sighed softly, watching his daughter walk towards the break room. Even as Luffy ran out of the play area, Sabo and Ace hot on his heels, he couldn’t help but find himself feeling content. The company had always been a family to him; chaotic, loud, and messy, but a family, and seeing his daughter warming up to Izo, playing with Ace, Sabo, and Luffy, and often seeing her with Pops, he couldn’t help but feel more and more like a real family. Even if the family was the entire company.

[leiflitter]

Hi I'm doing a research paper on antiheroes and I'm using Oliver as one example. Could you maybe tell me why he appeals to you as a character despite the murdering and the scheming etc

You come into my askbox while I sleep and make me think? First thing in the morning? BUT I SHALL ANSWER

won't make any sense probably but HEY!

I think the main reason I love Oliver is because I can see a lot of myself in him.

Cut bc this will be long af

Granted, my perspective on the character is... I spend a lot of time thinking about that idiot, so this is fully based on my interpretation of him buttttt

Okay, so the murders and scheming are firstly... Ambiguous. Elspeth is the only one we see as it happens- not in a flashback, big-twist, oh it was my evil plan all along #classwarfare #girlboss #theyhatetoseeabadbitchwinning way- and she's so far gone she's on a ventilator and just dies without it. How did she get so sick? It isn't mentioned. Honestly, as someone with long covid, she's wandering around London without a mask. LADY. YOUR LUNGS.

Everything else? The spiked bottle. The razorblades. They're shown to us at the end, this big gotcha moment... From someone who has clearly spent every moment since Felix Catton died trying desperately to gather some small piece of him.

His home is decorated like Saltburn. He's immediately trying to get back in. The moth battering itself against the window.

Whether or not Oliver Quick is an evil, scheming murderer is entirely down to your interpretation of that reveal montage. Mad props to Emerald for that.

My interpretation of it is... Not to say he's innocent, but that he's a sad, sad man grasping at straws to give himself more agency. He's spent years dwelling on and analysing the worst time of his life, and as a good Eng Lit student (dude was doing essays on Browning) he's turned it into a narrative.

If we stop suspending disbelief, then we have:

Felix

Oliver put some cocaine in a bottle (as evidenced by Oliver having the same sort of vial Farleigh has in the main hall). Oliver drank some. Felix drank some. He threw up, Felix died.

I have probably said this before, but Felix's death cannot be directly attributed to Oliver's actions.

Felix was in the bathroom, and although we don't see him doing lines, he's not just hanging out there for funzies. He's going hard, probably mixing drugs and booze. He's so off his tits that he doesn't notice how bad/bitter the booze Oliver gives him tastes. Plus there's a reason people snort cocaine; it's efficacy is highly reduced when eaten, and it takes far longer to reach the brain. How long would Felix have just stood in the maze? Waiting there like a sim with no activities queued until he keeled over?

It's likely that Felix overdosed, but it's really unlikely that Oliver was the sole cause, if he was the cause at all.

Venetia

He left razorblades near her. That's literally all we see. From Oliver as a character, I don't think he has the guts to actually, directly kill- and it wouldn't make sense to. He'd be found out immediately if he did- any sign of violence and the Cattons would have private investigators and all sorts at their disposal. He was in the next room. It'd be open and shut. I do think, from the blood on the floor, that she tried to go to his room for help and he ignored her- but!

Leaving something sharp near someone in distress is another shitty scheme. What was he going to do if she didn't notice them? What if she knocked them off the side of the tub accidentally? Was he going to leave her a post-it note like HI V PLS KYS LUV OLLIE to make sure she noticed them?

Another thing that often is kinda... Glossed over... Is that Oliver is a fuckin teenager, and he isn't as smart as he portrays himself.

Olls. Why would you fool about with Felix's sister in plain view of the house? Ollie. What exactly did you expect one email to do? Erase Farleigh from existence? Oliver. Mate. You left your phone in the bathroom? Where Felix "no boundaries" Catton could find it? Why? Did you need to play Snake in the bath THAT BADLY? Oliver. Why would you lie about something so easily disprovable? Oliver Quick, you started digging a hole and it became Felix's fucking grave.

Older Oliver has turned what happened into a narrative where He Has Agency. He did it, and he did it on purpose, because HE WASN'T IN LOVE WITH FELIX (he was in love with Felix). He had a plan, you see, it wasn’t him being desperate and trying anything, everything he could to stay close to Felix.

He wasn’t a weird, awkward teenager who went away from home, fell in love with someone entirely unobtainable- due to socioeconomic bracket, gender, the year, all of that- and was so desperate to be near Felix that he built an unsustainable web of lies that fell apart. I think the maze scene is Oliver at his most honest, because he doesn't understand why his performance is any different, other than the amount of effort he's put in.

No, he was evil. A bad guy. A wolf in sheep's clothing, Felix his innocent victim. He's a genius... Because what is the alternative for Oliver Quick?

Admit that he was little more than a child, lashing out, unable to accept his own feelings- as he's unable to accept them as an adult- and now...

The immutable fact is that Felix died, and Oliver will never be over it.

What's the safer option?

I was a mess and I might be responsible for this and I was lashing out and I might have killed the thing I loved most because I fucked it all up.

or

I did it all on purpose.

And... To bring this back to the question.

I have been Oliver Quick in the bit before the bike scene. I've watched people I'd like to be friends with, living a life I was too shy or scared to go after. I can remember desperately wanting to be cool, to have a backstory, to be compelling...

I just never got desperate enough to lie. And I'm doing pretty good now, but I fucking get it. To want that connection so badly, to yearn for the life you see other people living, to want to be someone other than yourself.

So y'know

That's why I love him.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains and: What They Would Put in the Hat

(The 7 Minutes in Heaven hat)

This was pretty much inspired by This post by @your-mxnd-is-mxne ! ^^

Warnings: Cursing and gore (As in limbs being put in the hat)

Animal the Cannibal: A potato peeler. BE CAREFUL.

Baby Firefly: A cute scrunchie. Put it in your hair!! She thinks you'll look so cute ^^ If you don't have hair/its too short, you can put it in hers! ^^ (So basically you win everything)

Billy Loomis: A folded up poster for the local cinema's horror night. They're playing Psycho, The Birds and then Psycho 2 Back-To-Back.

Bo Sinclair: Little plyers. he never leaves home without them, so you better give them back! Play nice and he may use them on you *cough*

Bubba Sawyer: A pig femur... its not clean...

Candyman: A little leather bound journal with his poetry in it. If he likes you, maybe he'll read you some!!

Captain Spaulding: A pamphlet for his shop! He'd just fucken love to show you around.

Carrie White: A pencil. She wasn't sure and she didn't have a whole lot on her! she hopes that's okay ^^

Chop Top Sawyer: His sunnies! Not his wig, that's special. But you got his glasses! He even wants to see you put them on.

Chucky Lee Ray: He put his whole damn shoe in there. I mean, he's a doll. Why not? // If he's in his human form, though, maybe... a... condom...

BONUS for @your-mxnd-is-mxne because its their idea in the first place ^^ Daddy Hall- *cough* I mean Doc Halloran!: Bullet casing. Its, oddly enough, the only thing that was in his pockets?? 😅 After all he is only here to hunt Leslie- see if you can distract him, though.

Dr Suave: A pack of tooth floss from his pocket. He's a dentist, what do you expect from him?

Drayton Sawyer: The keys to the chilly van (Its all he had on him). He's gonna want them back.

Freddy Krueger: A scrap oh his sweater and it turns to dirty brown dust as soon as you see what it is.

Granny Boone: Buckman's initialed handkerchief.

Harper Alexander: A twig that's been widdled a whole bunch. It may snap in your hand- don't you worry, he don't mind ^^

Inkubus: Ripped piece of paper with a backwards K scribbled into it. You get ink stains on your fingers.

Jack Dante: An action figure! Probably He-Man or something. You can play with it for now but you're gonna give it back when he goes home.

Jason Voorhees: A chunk of moss. Its squishy and fresh.

Jedidiah Sawyer: A tie! He's a well dressed man and always brings an extra XD

Jennifer Check: Cherry Coke Chapstick! You know she's that super cool person who had all the branded soda flavours. And she may even apply some to you~

Jerry Dandridge: His scarf. And its cold- why don't you wear it for a while?~ He's very charming. And this is the man you're gonna get stuck in a closet alone with for nearly 10 minutes! Goodluck-

Leslie Vernon: His mask. He's gotta spread the word!! Make sure people know who he is! This felt like a marketing opportunity.

Lester Sinclair: That grizzly lookin' knife of his. Listen to him chat about it and he'll love you forever.

Luda Mae Hewitt: Wooden spoon. Her logic? If she goes in there with someone iffy she can beat them with it.

Max Grief: Cassette tape out of his car. He wasnt sure what to really put in, so, *shrug*

Mayor Buckman: Boone's initialed handkerchief (Yeahhhh, they're cute like that XD).

Mental Manny: Straw twisted and bent into the shape of some satanic symbol. You feel uncomfortable holding it. But oh, he wants you to have it now~~ A gift.

Michael Myers: Someone's ear.

Mickey Altieri: A snack. Like a cookie from a vending machine or a pack of 2 minute noodles. You can have it, no worries.

Midnight Man: The page with the names on it. ... wanna play a game?

Miss Quinn: Her hand mirror. Come on now, sweetheart!!~ We'll make you look pretty.

Monty Hewitt: A screwdriver. You got anything he can fix up rela quick? He doesn't mind, if it means he can get away from Hoyt for a bit.

Otis B. Driftwood: You don't wanna know. I'm not telling you. Put it down.

Pamela Voorhees: Her drivers licence. She was looking in her wallet and thought it was logical- plus she sure as hell wasn't putting in her polaroid of Jason.

Patrick Bateman: His card, of course. Its so damn crisp- you get a paper cut.

Pennywise: A horn! Honk honk!

Rocco the Clown: Some poor bastard's kneecap. Yes. A kneecap. And I still won't tell you what Otis put in the hat.

Roman Bridger: A very fancy pen. The kind thats like 50 dollars for one. It's for signing contracts but he likes to show off that he has it.

Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt Jr: 'His' sheriff's badge! He wants you to comment on it, too- call him Sheriff Hoyt- stroke his ego. That's all he wants.

Stu Macher: A lollipop! You can have it, he's already sucking one. You two can have matching blue tongues!

Stuart Lloyd: Someone forced him to chuck in the USB that his little movie is on- he's terribly anxious about it and hope that you'll just give it right back and don't play it. Its not done...

DBD! The Clown: A little travel bottle with a suspicious liquid inside. He suggests that you drink it... I suggest you do not. Unless, you know, you're into it-

DBD! The Deathslinger: A wrench. He's a handy man and never leaves the house without his handy wrench!

The Djinn: ... the jewel...

DBD! The Huntress: A bunny ear from a bunny doll. She can do it herself but if you sew it back onto her dolly then you have a friend for life.

The Man (Hush): A switchblade. He's gonna want it back but (; you can keep it while you're in the closet with him if it makes you feel safer.

Taxidermist: Some kind taxidermists tool. Maybe a fleshing cone or a necker knife.

Thomas Hewitt: A pretty rock. 🪨

Vincent Sinclair: A notepad so he can talk to you if you don't know sign language ^^

Winslow Foxworth Coltrane: A crushed can of coke. He doesn't carry shit around with him and he sure as fuck is not handing over his knife.

[dreamersbcll]

“I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule”

- whumptober, prompt no. 24

(goodbye, goodbye, goodbye)

—————————————————————————

Dear Mom,

I’ve started this letter so many times that I’m sure permanently smeared ink will be embedded in my skin.

There was an outline, a plan even for this letter. I’ve structured it over and over to get it right. But I suppose there is no right way to say goodbye, is there?

Well, I’ve spoiled it. This is a goodbye letter of sorts. I’m not really sure who I’m saying goodbye to anymore. Which mother will be reading this piece of paper?

Will it be the mother you were before I turned nine? I miss her, you know. You were so sweet in the beginning. I still hold myself at night to remember your presence. I know Sam loves to touch, but you were big on touch, Mom. You taught us how to be gentle and leave gentle markings.

Do you remember the night you first read “Mi Burro enfermo” to us? I remember it—every single second. I remember you holding me tight, letting my chubby fingers touch the crinkled pages. Sam was pressed into my side, and you held us both, kissing our heads as Sam read to me. You would correct her ever so gently and praise her every time she got a word right. I think I was three. Even that young, I remember it all.

What happened there? When did you stop reading to us? Where did the mother with the kind hands and the sweet smile go? Why did you stop making our lunches and taking us to the bus stop?

Why did you start drinking?

I mean, we were not enough anymore? Mom, I was six. Six years old and helping Sam drag you inside so you didn’t freeze out on the front lawn. I remember learning how to make you throw up, just in case you stopped responding. Sam had to teach me to call 911 and check for your pulse. I was six, Mom. Six!

Did you ever think of us, what this would do to us? God, I know having a child born from a serial killer is terrible, but isn’t child neglect worse? I don’t know why you did this to us. I wonder every single day if I deserved that. You were my mami. I love you. Why couldn’t you love us?

Why couldn’t you love me

I know I cried a lot. I know I was noisy. I know I was too much. But I was a child—a baby. I didn’t know better. I just wanted my mami to love me again.

But your jealousy, god, I can still see it now. You always talked down to me as if I would always be around and be your little pawn. All I wanted was to love you. I wanted to love you and be loved back. But you pushed my love away like it was a loaded gun- and pushed me down time and time again. All you did was hold me underwater, breaking my resolve until I was a shell of myself.

Dad leaving was tough. I know. I saw. But I lived that too- I was there. I was eight years old, mom eight! I know he left, and I know he hurt you, even if you didn’t love him like you loved Billy. But why couldn’t you ever think about us?

First, you left me, then Dad, then Sam. You had to know that Sam going was the final straw. You had to hear me cry and scream, and break things. I know you saw me, red-eyes and shaking, begging for someone to stay. I remember those nights when I begged you to love me again. I was thirteen. God, was I stupid.

It really was no surprise that I would run. I’m just surprised that it took me so long. I mean, it's clear that I’m a masochist, constantly begging for love from empty people. I just can’t believe it took me this long to buck up.

But it was because of Sam. Never you. Don’t ever get that twisted. I never would’ve left if it wasn’t for her coming back. I was invested, Mom; I was going to stay in that stupid little town and take care of your sorry ass. God. I’m so glad I’m writing this now to tell you goodbye.

That’s right. Yeah. I’m leaving with Sam. We’re going to be far away from this hellhole of a town. I will never step foot in this town again, and I will never walk back into this house.

I don’t care what you think. If I wrote this a year ago, maybe I would feel guilty. But all I have left for you is rage. I can’t give you my sorrow or hurt anymore. It’s just red-hot rage.

The questions I have for you won’t get answered. I know that you were never keen on tying up loose ends. But don’t worry, your questions will never be answered either. I’m done with you.

Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you for all you’ve done to me.

Yet, I still love you. You’re my mom. I have a big sister who means more to me than you’ll ever know- but you’re still my mom. You’ll still be a part of me.

But you will never touch me again. Ever. Sam will make sure of that.

Goodbye, mom. Good luck.

Don’t forget to stick your fingers down your throat.

Love

From, Tara.

Putting the pencil down, Tara sighed deeply, her eyes closing. She roughly rubbed her face, trying to push the worry out of her skin. There was no reason to carry it around anymore.

Down the hall, she could hear Sam shuffling about, collecting the last of Tara’s bags.

“Are you ready to go, baby?” Sam called, lightly knocking on the door.

Flashing a smile at her big sister, Tara nodded.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Tara calls back, hastily shoving the letter into an envelope.

Staring at the blank envelope, she pondered what to write. Christina felt too formal, but mom didn’t feel right. Taking the pen out, she scribbled a quick word on it and stuck the pen behind her ear.

Mami

As she left the room, she stared at the propped up envelope, wondering if it would ever be read.

Maybe. Maybe not. She wouldn't worry about it anymore. It was time to move forward.

[cherryrainn]

━━ ✧ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 {𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

.11 - 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; s3lf harm, depression, bulimia, mental health issues, self hatred, stuff like that, and just like my other stories... lots of angst!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

the room's silence hung heavy in the air as you lay on the worn-out mattress, replaying the unexpected kiss in your mind. the door creaked open, breaking the solitude, and in walked striker. his presence filled the room, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and confusion.

he glanced at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his yellow eyes. the atmosphere shifted, and for a moment, it seemed like the room held the weight of unspoken words. without acknowledging the recent intimate moment, striker cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

he sauntered over to the chair, his usual demeanor returning. "got a job. big one. and you're gonna be a part of it."

your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "me? i don't even know how to properly use a gun."

striker chuckled, the straw of wheat dancing between his lips. "don't you worry, sweetheart. i'll teach you, and i'll teach you fast. we don't have time for a slow learning curve on this one."

a surge of anxiety twisted in your gut. this wasn't just some spontaneous sparring session; this was striker's actual job, and apparently, you were about to be a part of it for whatever reason. the weight of the responsibility sank in, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was a significant turning point.

you hesitated, your mind racing. "why though? can't you just... do it yourself?"

striker smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "you've got potential, sweetheart. besides, i like working with someone who's got a bit of fire in them. adds some excitement to the job."

his nonchalant attitude did little to ease your nerves. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "alright, fine. teach me. but i'm not making any promises about being a natural at this."

striker's grin widened. "that's the spirit. you'll catch on quicker than you think. we'll get what we need when we see the man. no need for papers just yet."

you nodded, a mixture of determination and anxiety coursing through you. "alright, but i'm tired. we just got to this motel."

striker rolled his eyes, the southern drawl returning with a hint of annoyance. "we're not going now. we'll hit the sack and head out in the morning. can't pull off a job like this with no rest."

relief washed over you at the prospect of getting some rest, but the weight of the upcoming task lingered in the back of your mind. you followed striker's lead as he made his way towards the bed, flopping down with the same nonchalant attitude he seemed to carry everywhere.

as you settled onto the mattress, the worn-out springs groaning beneath your weight, striker cast you a sidelong glance. "get some sleep, darlin'. we've got a busy day ahead of us."

you nodded, feeling the exhaustion settling in. the events of the day, from the chaotic streets of wrath to the impromptu sparring session, had left you physically and mentally drained. despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, sleep claimed you swiftly, pulling you into the realm of dreams haunted by the demons of your own mind.

morning light seeped through the cracks in the motel's curtains, rousing you from your restless slumber. striker, ever the early riser, was already up and about, his silhouette visible against the faint glow of the rising sun.

"rise and shine, darlin'," he called out, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "can't i catch a break and sleep in once in a while?"

striker chuckled, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room. "not in this line of work. we're on a schedule."

you begrudgingly got up, the fatigue clinging to you like a heavy cloak. the reality of the day ahead hit you, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervous energy.

"so, what's the plan?" you asked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

striker tossed you a firearm, its cold metal weight unfamiliar in your hands. "first, we'll get you acquainted with this beauty. then, we'll pay our friend a visit and make sure he's properly motivated to cooperate."

the gravity of striker's words sank in, and you couldn't deny the apprehension that settled in your gut. this wasn't a game; it was the dangerous dance of demons, and you were about to take your first steps.

the two of you stepped out into the chaotic streets of wrath, the city already alive with activity. bombproof stood patiently, its eyes fixed on you two as if knowing the role he played in the upcoming venture.

striker motioned for you to hop onto bombproof, his usual swagger evident even in the early hours of the day. "time to ride. we've got business to attend to."

you climbed onto the demonic steed, the sensation of its unnatural warmth beneath you sending a shiver down your spine. striker mounted behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

"let's get outta here for a bit," striker suggested, guiding bombproof away from the bustling streets of wrath.

you held onto bombproof as the cityscape gradually transformed into a desolate expanse on the outskirts of the district. the chaotic rhythm of hell's heart faded into the distance, replaced by the eerie stillness of the abandoned training ground.

striker brought bombproof to a halt in the empty arena, the dusty ground beneath the horse's hooves. he dismounted with his usual nonchalant manner and turned to you, a glint of mischief in his yellow eyes.

"alright, sweetheart. time for your first lesson. we'll use this place to avoid any unwanted attention."

you raised an eyebrow, the charged atmosphere making your pulse quicken. striker reached into a hidden compartment on bombproof, pulling out a pair of handguns. he offered one to you, his tall figure towering behind you as his hands guided yours, helping you find the right grip.

"first, familiarize yourself with the weapon. get comfortable with its weight and feel. it's an extension of yourself," he explained, his tone surprisingly sultry.

his height allowed him to lean over you, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered encouragement. you couldn't deny the thrill that shot through you, the shared proximity creating an intimate connection that transcended the mundane.

"now, let's see what you've got. aim for that rock over there," striker instructed, his voice a low murmur.

with striker's tall frame behind you, he guided your stance, his hands lingering on your waist. his proximity, combined with the dangerous allure of the guns, heightened the intensity of the moment. the shot rang out, the echo lingering in the desolate space.

striker grinned, leaning down. "not bad for a beginner. now, let's work on accuracy. adjust your stance, find your rhythm, and squeeze the trigger smoothly."

the impromptu shooting lesson continued, striker's tall presence a dominating force behind you. he corrected your form with a touch that spoke of expertise and desire, turning the barren landscape into a backdrop for a dance of shadows and sin.

as the sun cast long shadows across the desolate training ground, striker called for a break. you sat on a weathered rock, the adrenaline of the lesson still coursing through your veins. striker joined you, the air thick with a palpable tension.

"not bad at all, sugar." striker purred. "but, let's head back. we've got business to attend to, and i've got more to teach you," striker said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

as you and striker made your way back to bombproof, the lingering heat of the shooting lesson still hung in the air. striker helped you onto the demonic steed with a casual ease that spoke of familiarity. the imp's strong arms encircled your waist once again, creating a sense of intimacy that seemed to have taken root.

"we're headed to the pride ring. our man's waiting," striker informed.

bombproof carried you through the chaotic streets of wrath, the rhythmic clattering of hooves a steady cadence to the sinuous dance of the city. the neon glow of demonic establishments illuminated the way, casting surreal shadows on the dusty streets.

upon reaching the pride ring, striker guided bombproof through the bustling crowd, the imp's figure cutting through the chaos. you dismounted, and striker's hand reached out, a silent invitation for you to stand by his side.

the man who had hired striker awaited in the dimly lit corner of a shadowy bar. he was a demon with a polished demeanor, dressed in a tailored suit that spoke of both wealth and authority. his eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the room as if he could see through the very fabric of hell.

"striker, right on time!" the man acknowledged, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. his gaze then shifted to you, and a sly grin crept onto his face. "and who's this lovely creature?"

striker's drawl added a touch of mockery to the formality of the conversation. "this is y/n, my partner. they've got the skills we need for the job." he said, not exactly telling the truth.

the man's eyes lingered on you, an appraising glint in his gaze. "well, striker, you've outdone yourself this time. a partner with both beauty and skill. impressive."

striker's protective instinct flared, his form subtly positioning itself between you and the man. "we're here for business, sir. let's get to it."

the man, whose name was damien chuckled, the sound echoing in the dimly lit bar. "business it is, then. the job details are in the dossier. i trust you'll handle it with your usual flair."

the atmosphere in the dimly lit bar grew thick with tension as damien delved into the details of the mission. you listened intently, the weight of the impending task settling on your shoulders.

"our target is lucius infernum," damien began, his voice a low, conspiratorial murmur. "he's a demon with fingers in every sinful pie you can imagine. lust, greed, you name it. but what sets him apart is his ownership of the infamous nightclub, obsidian temptation, right here in the pride ring."

the mention of the nightclub brought a spark of recognition. obsidian temptation was notorious even among the denizens of hell. a haven for the debauchery of the prideful, its neon-lit facade hid secrets that extended beyond the dance floor.

"he's been a thorn in the side of many. it's time someone plucked it out," damien continued, his eyes flickering with a mix of contempt and desire. "lucius is a slippery one, but we've got a lead. he frequents a private section in the club, a den of indulgence reserved for the most esteemed clients."

striker's eyes narrowed, his mind already formulating a plan. "and what's our approach? walk in and take the shot?"

damien's grin widened. "not quite. lucius is surrounded by loyal bodyguards. we need subtlety. blend in with the crowd, get close, and strike when the moment is right."

as the details unfolded, a sense of urgency permeated the air. the nightclub, a pulsating heart of decadence, awaited your infiltration. damien handed you a dossier, its pages filled with information about lucius—his habits, weaknesses, and the layout of obsidian temptation.

"he's a creature of desire, easily swayed by temptation. use that to your advantage," damien advised, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that hinted at more than just professional interest.

striker's jaw tightened, a protective instinct flaring. "we'll get the job done. no need for extra complications."

the man chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "complications make things interesting, striker. your little friend here can handle themselves, i'm sure. lucius might find them quite... intriguing."

you tilted your head, considering damien's words. "that's a pretty good idea. if it helps us get closer to this guy, i'm in."

striker's eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. "yeah, might add a layer of distraction. we play his game, and then we finish it on our terms."

damien's grin widened, clearly satisfied with the response. "glad you see the potential. now, remember, subtlety is key. get close to lucius, earn his trust. the less attention you draw, the better."

as you and striker left the dimly lit bar, the neon glow of the pride ring intensified. the city's heartbeat echoed in the distance, a rhythm that synced with the impending mission.

striker spoke, his voice low and measured. "this could work to our advantage. just follow my lead, and we'll navigate this dance."

the decision was made: to infiltrate lucius's world, you needed to blend in seamlessly with the vibrant tapestry of the pride ring. that meant acquiring clothes that oozed charm and sophistication. with striker in tow, you ventured into a stylish boutique that promised an array of ensembles.

the store was a riot of colors and fabrics, each garment vying for attention. striker, looking thoroughly unimpressed, slouched onto a plush couch in a corner, a clear declaration of his disinterest in the world of fashion.

undeterred, you dove into the racks, selecting outfits that caught your eye. the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft rustle of fabric. as you sifted through hangers, striker's nonchalant expression betrayed a hint of boredom.

after a series of deliberations, you settled on a sleek ensemble that struck the perfect balance between sophistication and allure. as you headed to the changing room, you shot a glance at striker, who had reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, hat pulled low to shield his eyes.

slipping into the changing room, you marveled at how the outfit hugged your form in all the right places. the mirror reflected a version of yourself that seemed tailor-made for the clandestine dance you were about to embark on.

a mischievous idea sparked in your mind. striker appeared to be on the verge of succumbing to boredom-induced slumber. it was time to inject a little excitement into his world.

stepping out of the changing room with a deliberate sway in your hips, you announced, "what do you think, striker? am i ready to charm the socks off lucius?"

the effect was immediate. striker, roused from his near-nap, blinked in surprise. his eyes, usually sharp and focused, widened as they traced the contours of the outfit. a noticeable flush crept up his cheeks, a reaction you hadn't expected.

"the socks? i think you're ready for more, sweetheart." a slight smirk had been spread on his face, as he watched you sway your hips which seemed to drive him crazy.

you chuckled at his flustered response, reveling in the rare sight of striker caught off guard. "well, if i'm going to play the seduction game, i need to look the part, right?"

striker cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "yeah, yeah, sure. let's just get this over with."

with a sly grin, you couldn't resist the opportunity to tease striker. closing the distance between you two, you playfully pinched his cheek. the moment your fingers made contact, he let out a hiss, his tail rattling in an instinctive response. he tried to remain calm but his body was betraying him, making him feel flustered.

"how cute," you remarked with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "no need to be mister tough guy all the time."

striker shot you a glare, his pride wounded by the unexpected cheek pinch. "cut that out. we've got a job to do, remember?"

you couldn't resist pushing striker's buttons a bit further. ignoring his warning glare, you continued your playful banter, teasing him with each step.

"aw, is the tough man feeling a little delicate?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. "didn't know cheek pinches were kryptonite for assassins."

his tail rattled in annoyance, but you could see the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. "you're pushing your luck, sweetheart. focus on the job."

you chuckled, undeterred by his warning. "relax, cowboy. i can multitask. piece of cake."

striker let out an exasperated sigh, realizing that arguing with you was a futile endeavor. "just don't get us killed with your multitasking, okay?"

you grinned, enjoying the playful exchange. "no promises."

after selecting a set of alluring clothes, you and striker made your way to the counter to pay. the sweet lady behind the counter looked at the two of you with a warm smile, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

"are you a couple?" she asked, a playful twinkle in her eye.

the question caught you off guard, and you exchanged a glance with striker. both of you seemed momentarily flustered, a subtle blush coloring your cheeks.

"uh, no, we're not," you replied, your playful demeanorfrom before momentarily replaced by a hint of awkwardness.

the sweet lady chuckled knowingly, as if she had seen this scene play out countless times. "well, you make a cute couple. enjoy your evening, you two."

striker scoffed at the cashier's comment, a smirk playing on his lips. "yeah, real cute," he muttered under his breath.

you, on the other hand, decided to play along with the teasing atmosphere. as you left the store, you shot striker a sly grin. "well, who would've thought, striker? people mistaking us for a couple."

he rolled his eyes, a hint of irritation in his voice. "yeah, yeah, hilarious. let's just get this job done."

striker's dismissive tone stung, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of hurt. the playful banter had seemed harmless, but now it appeared that striker wasn't as unaffected by it as he let on. you shook off the brief moment of vulnerability, reminding yourself that this mission was more important than any temporary discomfort.

"fine, let's focus on the job," you replied, your tone more serious now. "we've got a nightclub owner to deal with."

striker grunted in agreement, his demeanor shifting back to business. the streets of the pride ring stretched ahead, vibrant and chaotic. the neon lights reflected in puddles on the pavement as you both moved forward.

[zozo-01]

"this chain will never end (but i'll fucking try)."

Well... umm... this one's a lot. A bit of a vent piece and I won't lie and say I didn't tear up at some parts. But what better way to cope than me writing? So here we are.

[Shoutout to @taelonsamada and @dominimoonbeam for being scared when I said I thought of some HuxDami angst that made me cry. I promise this one's got a bit more comfort than the IRL version of this story.]

CW: Dealing with an unaccepting parent of the LGBTQ+ child, Damien displaying signs of disordered eating, Sophia is implied to be an immigrant (which makes Dames a second gen immigrant), Both are implied to be POC but can be interpreted otherwise, Zozo dumping onto Damien

click here for the AO3 link!!!

--

For a man as disciplined and structured as Damien, there were only a few rules that he keeps near and dear to his heart. Your best is never enough, you can always do better. Even at your worst moments, you must find a way through. Failure is never an option.

(It’s funny, Damien realizes. Any time he would repeat the rules in his head, it was never his voice, but his mother’s. He doesn’t remember when she embedded those ideas into him, or maybe he inherited through her blood.)

His favourite rule, and the one he finds himself going back to the most is ‘out of sight, out of mind’. He often finds himself caught up in the minute details, so it’s imperative for him to remember that if it’s not in his immediate vicinity, he shouldn’t worry much about it. Besides, he likes the line itself.  It’s catchy, it’s simple and can be applied to many situations. And Damien does love it when things are efficient and effective. 

It can be applied to that time he had gotten a subpar grade on an exam. It had been crushing. He spent hours and blood and tears to study, only to fail in the end. His heart had turned into a void, mind leaving his body. Had he eaten anything the night before, it would have been on the floor in front of him. Was this a violent reaction to something as trivial as a bad grade? Maybe. But Damien would not- could not accept failure. So when he fails, his body would rather twist itself inside out than to accept that reality. 

(His mother’s reaction was particularly crushing. She wasn’t mad, just disappointed, and that might have been even worse than any verbal abuse he’s suffered at her hand.) 

Instead of wallowing in his own failures, he swallowed his pain and worked harder. He burned the exam paper, deleted the email. Anything that reminded him of that shitty mark, he destroyed. Now that the monster was gone, he can now focus on the next exam. If his nose wasn’t in a book, frantically scribbling down all the information he needed to absorb, then he was in the field, applying his knowledge to his magic. Making it brighter, hotter, better. 

Even on the days he was grasping on straws, where his fire couldn’t even spark embers, he found something, anything, to keep going. And on days when his setbacks creep back to haunt him, he finds a way to keep it off his mind.

(His mother’s words were a good motivator and reminder. “You are my son, Damien. You do not fail. Do better next time.” Because there was always a next time. There had to be.)

When the second round of grades came around, and the professor congratulated Damien for his improvement, he simply scoffed. “This is nothing to congratulate me for, Professor. This is the bare minimum I expect of myself.” This was his normal, it had to be.

It didn’t matter that Huxley had found Damien passed out on the training fields on more than one occasion. Or that Lasko thought that he was a zombie when the young fire elemental walked into his class. Or that the only reason he ate during those few weeks was because Gavin and Freelancer would force food and water down his throat.

Nothing mattered except his perfection, and forgetting about his own pain had helped with that.

(His mother was satisfied with his academic excellence after his lack of success. Not happy or proud or impressed, just… satisfied. “This is what I expect from you, Damien. Maintain this level from here on out.” From just that, it sounds like Sophia is a horrible woman, not even acknowledging her son’s triumph through pain, but Damien swears that if you heard her say it, you can hear a flicker of pride in her voice. He’ll never know, but the chance that his mother was happy with him is enough to keep pushing on. His mom is not a bad person.)

(She was happy with her son, but she will never tell him.)

His favourite rule had also helped when it came to his mother’s political career. 

As within most families, Damien and Sophia had their ideological differences. Damien had always been a little radical when it came to the discrimination within the empowered world. On the other hand, Sophia thoroughly believed that if she plays by the rules of the systems in place, she’ll be able to do more good than harm. They both had the good of the public in mind, but their methods of achieving their shared dream couldn’t be any more different. 

When it comes to people with such different perspectives, there should have been arguments, maybe some screaming if one or both sides couldn’t convey their points properly. But that never happened in their household. There were tense dinners and words that wanted to be said, only for silence to follow.

For as long as he can remember, Damien and his mother never really talked about disagreements. It had always been Sophia telling Damien something, an order, a fact, a plan or whatever, with such sureness that Damien thought she took her own word for Gospel. Whether he vehemently disagreed with what she said, wanting to pick apart her arguments to prove that she’s wrong, it didn’t matter. Damien would bite his lip and hold his tongue. He nodded in agreement with what his mother said, because he’d rather burn himself alive with his own fire than feel the wrath of his mother’s flames. (And nothing pained him more than the burn of Sophia’s disapproval.) 

That’s where ‘out of sight, out of mind’ had also kicked in. He would bury his mother’s beliefs so deep within his brain, that he would forget they ever existed. Part of it so that he can pretend to be the perfect son that she wanted. (Though Damien doesn’t ever know if he’ll be that. He’s long accepted that he wouldn’t be what she wants.) The other part was to remind himself that while maybe his mother's truths were outdated, they didn’t make her a bad person. That was what she was raised with. (Was beat with.) 

His mom wasn’t a bad person. (Accepting that meant accepting his own pain, something he kept far into the rearview mirror.)

But she made it hard for him to forget that.

“Oh, I don’t mind them, I know many people who belong to that community. I just wish they stopped shoving it down our faces. Don’t you agree, Damien?”

He smiled, a forced, pained smile, but one that was enough to placate his mother. Against his own will, Damien nodded to his mother’s words, not wanting to create a scene in the middle of the ballroom. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, to verbally agree with her. Especially with his own growing feelings.

Shortly after the Inversion (or it may have been the catalyst), Damien had fostered feelings for his best friend. The kind earth elemental that has been nothing caring towards him, even when he didn’t deserve it. At night, he fantasizes about the places he’d take him out to. Or the activities Huxley would have planned for him. Or the feeling of his arms around him, holding him close to his chest. Or the way Huxley’s hands would trail over his body, slipping under his pants to grab his-

He shook his head. He didn’t need to think about Huxley’s hands jerking him off. Though that would be better than being in this stuffy gala with these stuffy clothes.

 (Now that he thinks about it, he wonders how good Huxley would look in a suit and tie… Did it get hotter in here or was it just him?)

There had been days where his love for the man would burst out of his chest, threatening to burn himself alive the same way his flames incinerated anything in its path. And in those moments, Damien wondered if he could go to his mother to talk about it. Maybe she can offer some perspective? Maybe comfort that Damien would make it out of this crush alive, whether that be with or without Huxley.

That comment from Sophia had reminded him why he would never do that. 

Just like he destroyed any remnants of failure so that he wouldn't agonize over it, his mother’s view over those who loved differently firmly fell into that category as well. He tried, really he does, to not think about the snide comments and disproving gaze whenever a rainbow flag had come into view. But Sophia loved to remind him (albeit without meaning too) about her very wrong opinions about the community.

Did she know that everything that she said, that she felt, would also apply to him?

If she knew that Damien was one of the “heathens” that she often finds herself mocking in private, would it change her mind? Would she let go of all of her prejudices that she held so deeply? Accept her son and Huxley for who they were and support them no matter what? 

When he wasn’t confronted head on with Sophia disdain, he can pretend that he’d have the perfect coming out story. He would sit her down at the dinner table, with a home cooked meal that he put his soul into. He was thinking it would be a dish from his mother’s home country. His palms would be sweating and posture tense. He’d be nervous, obviously. He didn’t know what his mother’s reaction would be to his greatest secret. Disgust? Joy? Indifference? He didn’t know and that terrified him.

His mother would ask him if anything happened at school, since that’s the only topic that she could think of that may bring this amount of strife to her son. She’d question if it had been a student or a professor messing with him, offering to use her position as a magistrate to ‘deal’ with the issue.

(Ain’t it funny how a mother will walk through hell for her son without a second thought, but accepting him for who he loves is what she finds difficult?) 

Damien would decline, both the inquisition and the offer. No one was bothering, nor was there any reason for his mother to use her power like that.

Sophia with a puzzled face, would ask what was wrong. It would cause Damien to take a deep breath, opening his mouth and revealing the secret he buried in his soul. 

And she would smile and give him a hug. Because she was his mother and would love him no matter what, accepting him with open arms.

“Son, you never have to hide this part of yourself. I will love you and your partner no matter who they are.”

That was the unconditional love of a mother that he was raised seeing on TV, and even if his mother wasn’t as loving, she would still welcome him into her heart, right?

But deep down, despite the numerous leaps in logic that he took and the truth he buried deep within him, Damien knew what her reaction would be. Why confess a secret if it puts your life in danger? Why confess a secret, only to be met with hatred, or worse, disappointment?

Damien’s heart dropped, the familiar pit returning at the same realization that he made when he was a child. That there would never be a scenario or a universe where Sophia won’t loathe him for being different. It’s a freight train he tries to forget that exists, but forgetting could never truly get rid of it. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and with a closed lipped smile, he asked his mother to leave for a breath of fresh air. She allowed it, and Damien sped out of the stuffy room, away from his mother’s intolerance looming over him.

Thankfully, he was far enough away from the main room for his tears to not embarrass himself nor taint his mother’s reputation. Even during moments of weakness, he had his mother’s image to maintain.

His rage flowed through as quickly as the tears dripping from his green eyes. Why on earth, after coming to terms with this sad fact years ago, did it douse his fire when he heard Sophia’s disapproval? Why couldn’t he let go of the childish notion that mother’s love is unconditional because it clearly isn’t? Why couldn’t his mom just love him like she promised to?

He’s had years to come to terms with this.

But it hurts. It fucking hurts and he wants to be held and told that he’s not broken or disgusting for loving who he loves and just feel the warmth of his mother’s hug and-

A ring from his phone brought him back from his spiral, and he looked to see that it was a phone call from Huxley. He answered once he cleared his throat, not wanting to worry his friend with his nonsensical crying.

“Hello?”

“Hey dude! Are you still at your mom’s work gala?”

He winced at the mention of his mother, thankful that the earth elemental couldn’t see his physical reactions. “Yea, but it’s almost over.”

“Awesome! Also, Gavin wanted to ask if you’re still down to go to that drag show this Friday?”

Gavin and his partner invited the rest of them to a drag show done by an old friend of his. Damien accepted of course, wanting to have a good time yes, but also because he’s never been to one. Rarely did Damien feel like he belonged in the room, even within his own family, but perhaps he could at the show, surrounded by friends. 

“Of course I’ll be there.” Damien saw the message from his mom, telling him that they’ll be heading back to their place now. “I got to go, but I’ll talk later.”

“Alright dude, see you soon!”

He said his goodbyes and walked back to the main room, trying to calm his beating heart before Sophia asked what had happened. But at least the dread that filled his body was replaced with excitement and joy.

Maybe, just maybe, Damien will find acceptance, a home, with the new friends he called family.

(Sophia saw her son walking back inside, smiling with a pep in his step. It was an unfamiliar motion from him and she wanted to know what had happened. She kept that question to herself though, knowing that he wouldn’t get an answer. When did the distance between her and Damien get so far that he doesn’t go to her anymore? Where had the days gone when he would tell her everything?)

(Had she done something to make Damien feel unsafe to go to her?)

[moddedmoor]

✖ - a repressed memory

A lot of memories have been repressed, either from being naturally blacked out or purposely shoved down. Despite their openness to bitch about it, Geosenge is hazy and only vaguely remembered. But this one is buried further, dug in deeper. It is something that has been squashed down, kicked into the dust, and is painful to unbury.

A paper sits before Jaycé. A heavy lump in their throat and knot buried deep in their stomach. It hurts to look at, it hurts to acknowledge as real. The woman who slid it their way gives them a soft, weak, smile. She shouldn't be happy at this, there's nothing to smile about here. This is giving up hope, this is resigning to failure. They shake their head, unable to squeak out a word.

“Jaycé.” Her voice is gentle, but tired. Too tired. “Jaycé, I don't know if I can pull through. This is not the final straw, this is for when we don't pull through.” She grabs their hand, tightly wrapping both of hers around Jaycé’s. She rubs a thumb along the back of their hand. Tears sting in the corners of their eyes as they shake their head again.

“N-No. No, it's. It's admitting defeat! Y-You know something I don't. You're lying to me, a-and it's just like him-” Jaycé finally manages to speak out, voice straining to even fully articulate the words. The woman across from them gently shushes them, gripping their hand tighter.

“I'm sorry, Jaycé. I'm sorry you think I'd do that. But I know just as much as you do. I'm scared too, by Arc, I'm fucking terrified. I don't want to die, I don't want to leave you alone. But if I can't make it back to Kalos with you, then at least take my memory and use whatever I leave you to make it back safely. Jaycé, I love you, but we have to be prepared for the worst.” The woman's face twists from a reassuring smile to one full of uncertainty, fear, and worry. Jaycé doesn't even notice the tears the fall until she reaches up to wipe a few off their cheek, her other hand pulling their hand up to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss.

“Karlie, I can't accept this. I-I don't-” The woman gently shushes them again.

“You can. Please, Jaycé. I know you can. You've survived this long, surely you can survive for longer.” She smiles again, hope in her eyes faintly sparkling before she heaves a heavy sigh and drops Jaycé’s hand, leaning back in her seat. She presses her hands against her eyes and frowns. A panic overtakes Jaycé as they quickly stand. Her hand shoots up to stop them.

“I'll be fine, Jaycé. Just sign the will, in case it goes to shit. It'll be fine.”

[specialagentblogger]

Chain of Influence from Alexa Chung's IT: Heathers and Beetlejuice

Alexa Chung was a British TV host, model, and the IT girl of the 2010s. Ballet flats, hot pants, cashmere cardigans, and statement sunglasses made Alexa a fashion icon. During a time when skinny jeans, neon accessories, and flower crowns were a thing, Alexa stood out with ahead-of-her-time style choices. She definitely was one of the first well-known women that I sourced my inspiration from.

"IT"

In 2013, Alexa released her debut book IT, featuring her drawings, style influences, witty advice, and stories. This perfectly pink, cultural reset of a book, catered to young, aspiring "It" girls and wannabe Vogue Editors. Despite receiving critiques akin to a "wasted opportunity," IT marked the sweet beginning of character development for my 13-year-old self. The book led me on a transformative journey, unveiling my taste in music, film, and fashion - a chain of influence, if you will.Alexa wrote a lot about the most iconic film fashion that inspired her throughout the years.

HEATHERS (1988)

One of the films that started my endless love for cinema and marked the chain of influence, was Heathers (1988) - directed by Michael Lehmann and written by Daniel Waters. A satirical and macabre cult classic about a high school, where obnoxious jocks rule and the mean girls are all called Heather - until Veronica (Winona Ryder) and her mysterious boyfriend (Christian Slater) decide to kill every mean kid at the school. Pair a cinematic legend (our girl Wino) with a sexy hunk that is Christian Slater, and you have yourself an 80s classic. Watching this film when you’re 14 years old, in your secret world (my room) on a mini laptop was a transformative experience. In a sense that, in that moment, I fully understood the magic that cinema held and I wanted more. My eyes could not get enough of the cinematography, the costumes and the beautiful young actors - all while the haunting Syd Straw’s voice sang Que Sera, Sera (strongly advisable to put this song on while reading this post). 

The film itself tells a classic tale of relational agression between high school girls. In the words of Lyn Mikel Brown or her book of the same name - girlfighting. In the book Girlfighting (2003), the author argues that for quite some time, soap-operas, films, and reality TV had only focused on women who are in competition with one another. Heathers falls right into that category. Its main focus is Veronica Sawyer (Winona Ryder) - one of the Heathers clique, who finally gets tired of being an accomplice to other school kids’ misery. Her character has a line in the film where she says: “I don’t really like my friends. It is like they are people I work with and our job is being popular”. It is the moment where Veronica foreshadows her involvement in the downfall of her mean friends. This twist is kind of ironic as Veronica is such good of a person that she cannot stand the meanness of her friends. Thus, she will become mean herself and even turn to murder, in order to end the meanness altogether.  

COSTUMES

Iconic, voluminous hair, fitted checkered jackets with shoulder pads, mid-length grandma skirts, colourful stockings and none other than bitchy attitudes! Every shot of Heathers is filled with endless outfit inspiration, curated by Rudy Dillon. Oh, how fun would it have been to dress like that in high school. I love how this kind of fashion evokes a nostalgic longing for a time before I was even born. From then on out, you would not see me leave a vintage clothing store without an 80's padded jacket.

It would be very easy to guess who I was planning to dress as on Halloween 2014. I put my grey skirt on, borrowed my grandpa’s ashy blue t-shirt, covered my face in fake blood and bought a paper cigar from Tiger. It was magical. I walked around saying “What’s your damage, Heather?” - sadly, no one understood the reference back then and I ended up really scaring my mum. I might have been better at Maths, had I not been rewatching Heathers every other evening. However, no regrets. 2 + 2 is still 4, forever till the end of time. 

Beetlejuice (1988)

The chain of influence from Alexa’s book continued naturally when I decided to explore Winona’s earlier work. The first one that came to mind was Winona’s breakthrough film 'Beetlejuice' (1988) - an absolute Halloween must-watch. Crafted by the extravagantly distinctive auteur director Tim Burton, renowned for the gothic and fantastical settings in his films. The contrast-heavy cinematography in Burton’s mise-en-scène is influenced by German Expressionism, an art movement that emerged in Germany in the early 20th century. The most predominant aspects of this movement include distorted sets, angular or weirdly-shaped architecture, and a dark, frightening atmosphere.

The film tells the story of a recently deceased couple, portrayed by Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin, who find themselves haunting their home after a new family moves in. In an attempt to scare away the living occupants, the couple summons a mischievous spirit named Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) by saying his name three times. The narrative takes an intriguing turn with the introduction of Winona Ryder's character, Lydia, who, along with her parents (Catherine O’Hara and Jeffrey Jones), becomes entangled with the supernatural world. Winona Ryder delivers a captivating performance as Lydia, portraying a goth teenage girl who can see the dead because she has no fear of dying.

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Cinematographer Thomas E. Ackerman fully realised Burton’s ominous vision for the film. Every single shot is like a surrealist painting - a true feast for the eyes. Even if one does not find the film’s plot appealing, the visual aesthetic will still definitely satisfy one’s artistic hunger. Ackerman's attention to detail and use of lighting contribute to the film's haunting atmosphere, making it a visual masterpiece.

Beetlejuice vs. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

As mentioned previously, the influence of German Expressionism is evident in Burton’s work, and in my opinion, especially in Beetlejuice. The film has striking visual similarities to, arguably, one of the first horror films, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), directed by a German director of the silent era - Robert Wiene. The film follows a somnambulist who makes horrifying predictions of future events. I watched it in university while I studied film, and I have to say, I was utterly spellbound. The fact that a silent film can be spine-chilling like that still blows my mind.

The distorted corridor in Beetlejuice mirrors the endless, distorted corridor in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It evokes a sense of claustrophobia, almost like an optical illusion. The surrealist, angular structure of the Caligari corridor seamlessly fits into Beetlejuice, capturing the dreamlike, or rather nightmarish atmosphere. Exactly what one imagines the afterlife to be like.

In the following comparison shots, we can even identify a door with a diagonal line in Burton’s still, and the exact same shaped detail (window/door) on the house in Wiene’s still. I missed a crucial and rather obvious detail, which I just now discovered. You should have seen the way my jaw dropped: there is a black silhouette of a man in the background, seemingly holding a broom in Burton’s shot. Similarly, in Caligari’s shot, there is a man wearing black, holding what appears to be a cane.

The following two shots also sparked an 'aha' moment for me. In one, the green light and the appearance of a dead bride with a tulle veil emerge from the darkness. In another, there is a muted green light covering the room, and a girl sleeps in a white nightgown, reminiscent of a wedding dress, on a bed adorned with tulle sheets.

THE DINNER

There's a dinner scene in Beetlejuice that's wonderfully campy and even a bit meta, making it one of the most standout moments in cinema to date. The scene features Lydia, her parents, and their friends having dinner. In an attempt to scare them into leaving, the deceased couple (the Maitlands) and Betelgeuse possess the guests. One by one, they start moving involuntarily and break into singing Harry Belafonte’s legendary song 'Day-O (The Banana Boat Song),' in his distinctive voice. I truly love this artistic decision because it cleverly uses dark humour and absurdity to dilute the frightening topic of spirits and afterlife.

As I reflect on this chain of influence, I think of it as the epitome of 'one thing led to another.' I love that I could delve into Winona Ryder's creative universe and discover life-altering cinematic classics as a young girl. This, however, is just one of the many discoveries I made as a 13-year-old reading Alexa's book. More is yet to come...

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

[rainedroptalks]

i would love to hear about the evil bad books

HI MURPH I NEED TO SCREAM ABOUT THIS

(Alos I deleted this on my first try by accident lmao)

So there’s two, both by the same author, and I haven’t finished either. Ones called “twisted love” if that’s any indication of the vibe

So the first one! It’s about divorce! I have fully forgotten the name, but the main characters were called Alessandra and Dominic. I’m gonna call them A and D for my own sake

So these two met in college, A’s a nepo baby and D’s in here with a scholarship, he was poor growing up (also he has a brother who I fully forgot was part of the plot the first time I wrote this). He has dyslexia, so he is having trouble passing one of his classes, so his only good professor gives him the info of another student who does tutoring. It’s A. The two of them do the tutoring thing (which is honestly kinda cute. Fig you had no context for what happens later). D passes his exams and eventually the two begin dating, and then get married. At 23. Bad idea but okay

In the story, the two have been married for 10 years. D is now this super rich capitalist guy with a big company. He’s also a terrible boss. A has been basically his trophy wife for the past decade and the relationship is deteriorating. He forgets everything, doesn’t listen to her and constantly assumes how she feels. She doesn’t ever communicate how she feels so the marriage is going bad. They tried doing marriage counseling once but he fully forgot and she had to sit in that office making excuses for him while the counselor just looked at her with pity. He came home from work and didn’t even apologize for not showing up.

The final straw for her is their 10th anniversary. The two planned a trip to where their honeymoon happened (I think) and she reminded him like 3 times before he went to work. Would you be shocked if it turned out he forgot. Would you

She waits for ages and calls him multiple times. He doesn’t answer. She gets so pissed that she gets the bag she packed for the trip, puts her wedding ring on a table and leaves. When D gets home he starts looking for her and sees the packed bags. Finally he remembers and starts being an asshole to the maid about where A went. She says that A left. He starts worrying, not cuz he realizes he was a duck but because he’s super rich and thinks someone might hurt her to hurt him or smth.

Meanwhile A’s doing fine, she’s just at a hotel. The next morning she calls him, tells him her location and then hangs up before he can say anything. He shows up and here we see he doesn’t think of anything he’s done as wrong. “I’ll just book a new trip” SHUT UP!!! Anyway at the end of this she says she wants a divorce. This is like. Chapter 4

A goes to move in with a friend. She also realizes that she gave up a lot of her life to this dude, that she only has 3 friends and no life. The friend helps her out, and also gives her an ornate knife that she can stab her (ex)husband with. It was wrapped like a present. She’s so cool. Also D’s refusing to sign the papers so she gets a divorce lawyer.

At some point, D goes out with his friends for a business thing (what’s new), 2 of which are married to two of A’s friends. So they know. They awkwardly bring it up and he says something like “oh A’s just upset, she won’t actually go through with it.” And the one of his friends calls him a piece of shit and that if he treated his own wife like that even once she’d leave him forever. A’s had to deal with his bullshit for 10 years. Finally D realizes he sucks (not when his wife tells him though. He had to have his friends tell him. He doesn’t respect his wife)

So this begins the saga of him harassing her to show that “he still loves her”. He sends flowers. He follows her to a club. He threatens to beat up some guy who was flirting with her. Also the first sex scene happens here (I was not expecting that I was trying to stop myself from laughing in the library lol). In a bathroom. In a club bathroom. That’s… unsanitary, right?

Later there’s a party or something I dunno and he sees his estranged older brother here. Someone also dies here! Some old rich guy I don’t care. A’s here with her friends and she’s in shock from seeing a dead guy so D takes her home. They do the sex thing again. In the morning, he sees her trying to leave while he was sleeping and has the AUDACITY to get mad. The two start arguing and A starts crying. D realizes he broke this completely and agrees to sign the divorce papers then and there. The two are officially divorced

So next A goes on vacation. Her brother is in um. I don’t remember but it was in South America I believe, so she joins him. She gets a one way ticket. D finds out AND HE GETS A FLIGHT THERE TOO. FUCKING WEIRDO!!! She tries to ignore him but she thinks “Wow. D never goes away from his business things… maybe he really does care about me” AND GIRL THAT IS THE DEVIL SPEAKING. THE DEVIL

Then her mother calls, telling her that she’s getting married (again) and it’s in two days. What the fuck is happening. A and her brother have no fucking clue how to get there in two days and D offers his private jet he has (have we mentioned he’s rich yet? He’s rich) to take them. So apparently A’s mom is a model/actress/I don’t remember and she’s had a ton of failed relationships so A does not think this’ll last. Anyway, at the wedding, she hears the vows and starts tearing up cuz it reminds her of her own wedding and how wrong everything went. D tries to talk to her after the wedding, but her brother stops him and essentially says “Hey man you’re a friend to me but she’s my sister. And you clearly fucked this up. Leave her alone.” Anyway he doesn’t do this and A FUCKING FORGIVES HIM IN A CONVERSATION. Well, not fully. She agrees to try starting again, but also that they’re not married anymore and that she’s allowed to date and do things like that without him bitching about it.

The friend who gave her the knife is devastated at this news when A gets back. She can see this going so so wrong. Also the whole time in the background A’s been trying to open a flower shop or something like that, and the dude who owns the property she wants to use is apparently super and super nice, so the two go on a date. This was before the mothers wedding and the whole trip, and D shows up at the restaurant. He was actually there for something else, so he wasn’t stalking her this time. Anyway the other dudes fine I don’t remember him much. He wears flannels.

So that’s where I left off. I swear I’ll finish that book someday

The other one I barely read but it was about this 22 year old girl. Her name was Ava, and her brothers going away for a school thing. He’s super worried about her cuz apparently something happened when she was younger so he’s protective of her or whatever.

Also the book opens with her being stranded in the rain. Her brothers going away party is soon and she hasn’t picked up the cake yet. So she calls him and he picks up and tells her one of his friends borrowed his car. He tells her he’ll send the friend to pick her up. I would love you to guess what he’s doing during the call. IF YOU GUESSED THAT HE WAS HAVING SEX BEFORE PICKING UP HER CALL AND HE DID NOT LEAVE THE ROOM AND SITUATION BEFORE TALKING TO HIS SISTER then you’d be right!

So the dude who picks her up is this totally cool and mysterious friend of her brothers and also he’s an asshole. They get to the party and the best character shows up, Ava’s super hot best friend. She hates Ava’s brother apparently. She’s so cool

So the brother asks his friend (whose name I don’t care to remember) to watch over Ava while hes gone. He interprets this as “be super weird and controlling despite the fact you barely know this girl”. Anyway Ava should be dating her friend she comforts her every time she wake up from a night terror, even though she’s busy with law school. Ava’s friend is the perfect woman

Anyway that’s all! Sorry for the super long and rambly post I just have a lot of opinions. If there’s spelling mistakes I’m sorry I don’t have the energy to fix them

[madmarchhare]

Exert from my main novel I intent to publish. It's called 'When the Times Change'.

Post apocalypse in the US btw. It's from sort of half way into the book, so some context is lacking, but that will just mean you could, oh, I don't know, buy the book when it comes out!

Or just send me asks, either is fine.

He studied me for a second, his face keeping mostly still, then asked. “Do you have a hat with you?” I looked at him, thinking for a moment before I spoke, wary of being caught in a ‘bargain’.

“No, I lost it recently, why do you ask?” He nodded, taking a somewhat solemn expression and pointing out into the street. “It tends to get especially hot around mid-day here, so a hat helps to prevent heatstroke, to go out without one is… Not advisable, unless you have a lot of water.” I looked out into the street following his gesture and saw that he was right. Most people had at least something covering their head, whether it be a paled hat pulled roughly over their brows or just some refuse cloth tied round their crown with some string or wire.

I knew he was right of course, most everywhere in the southern areas of the wastes was a scorching place, and a hat was quite necessary, but before I had simply got ones from clients as a form of payment, so I wasn’t sure if he would be fleecing me with what he charged. But the sun was beating down, making the ground a mere few meters from you looked warped, so it was probably the better choice.

I turned back to the shop and looked in quickly for a decent hat. I saw one after a moment hung from a loose rifle barrel next to a handmade sawed off shotgun. “How much for that one?” I called to him, pointing to it. It was an old straw hat that was flat topped, a boater I think Collier called them. The teller looked at it quickly, barely giving it a glance before turning back.

“Twenty Note.” Speaking quite plainly, not having to think about it at all. I was surprised and replied.

“Really, that seems rather low?” suspicious of the low price.

“Ah, it’s a personal thing, I don’t like the idea of anyone getting heatstroke. Friend of mine, before I came, here got it while us and a few friends were down in New Villarhar running some trade, bit a piracy off ‘a Cuba as well but I didn’t join on that. That was his thing but, uh, yeah. We were out in the grass lands near the city, running around for some hunting and the like, foraging for things, and he wouldn’t put his hat on or drink, just kept going through the open ground, mumbling about some big rare find, then a coyote, or at least what they called that there, came up in a valley ahead of us around five feet big, looking half starved but still enough to feed three people for a few days.”

He went silent for a moment, looking out at some distant memory I couldn’t see, “So, we set up to shoot it. An’ he just charges it, raving mad, and gets torn up. We killed the thing, but he was gone before that. I left after that, couldn’t do it anymore. Came here.” He went silent for a moment, but perked up after a moment. “Anyway, that’s why it’s cheap.” Lifting the hat up off the rifle barrel and twirling it around his finger.

“Alright, I’ll take it.” Nodding slightly, pleased for the story, and the information. I guess the ‘Slave Coast’ as it was called, wasn’t just for that. “Oh, by the way, do you have any ink cartridges or paper?” I asked, not expecting much.

“Nah, those’ll be a while before they come here again, paper gets snapped up quick after coming in, same for ink.” He called from the back of the shop pulling something from a salvaged fridge, and twisting off the cap harshly, a tired wheeze of the bottle being given off.

“Well thank you anyway.” I replied and began walking away.

“Oh, I didn’t catch your name!” He called back, stepping up to the counter again.

“Asriel, and you?”

“Markos,” he called back, a grin splitting his face, resting his arm on the counter as he held the bottle in one hand. “Well, it’s been a pleasure Markos.” I replied nodding to him and walking back out into the street.

Hope you all liked!

@agarespicero @gaap-goemon-ismylife @psycho-zom-atic @jemimacatclover @shark-smuggler @shaoron @irumeanie @sleepy-gry @pemopemochimi @csoisoi @the-messenger-hawk @momonoki-a-real-teacher @trans-asmodeus @noyakwajhang

And sorry I tag you all, it's just no one else really reads my stuff yet.

[gumpistol]

a letter and a basket of smiley potatoes had been left in luffy's room on the thousand sunny. a big basket, i mean, reallyーrosinante had thought it would be too much for one person, but law insisted the captain could eat all of them in one sitting. impressive.

　luffy,

law tells me you’re a man of few words so i shouldn’t spend time “writing anything too long or embarrassing” but he also says that every time i want to get to know his friends more so i’m not sure how much i should believe him. i think he just doesn’t want me to tell you how grateful he was for all your help. i am, too. you and your friends not only saved his life, but you rescued an entire country (something you do a lot, from what i hear).

i didn’t meet you when you were young, but your grandpa and my guardian have been close friends for decades so when your dad left you with him, i saw plenty of pictures. i never in a million years would have expected that little baby to grow up into someone strong enough to take down my brother. 

you’re a big eater, right? i can’t guarantee my food is as tasty as your cook’s, but i do take care of a small farm and make most of what i eat from scratch. i took over the polar tang’s galley this morning and made some smiley fries for you. law thinks they’re childish, but you’re someone i think can appreciate the value of a smile, right? (law can, too—but keep that between you and me. he says your smile comforted him “in a weird way” but that’s just law-speak for he appreciated it. trust me, he’s a grouch to me, too.). 

if your crew is ever in the north blue in need of a place to come ashore for a few days or have a meal, my home is open for as long as you need. 

　　　　　　　　　　　　enjoy,

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 - “corao”

   (p.s. a grand fleet, wow! is law's crew part of that? he must be, right?)

it takes only moments for the captain’s sensitive nose to locate the gift left behind, and even less time for large eyes to become impossibly wider, gleaming with a warm excitement. food? for him? REALLY? FROM WHO??

❝ YUMMMYYYY!! ❞ if he wasn’t already watering at the mouth, an audible giggle would be heard over how entertained by the shapes of the potatoes the dark-haired man is. but he’s hungry, and the fries smell too good, so he doesn’t hesitate to wrap a rubbery arm around the woven container several times to lift the massive basket with ease. he wants to take the snack out on deck, to eat the fun smiles in the company of his friends, but he’ll grab a couple to shove in his mouth on the way—

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎what’s this? a piece of paper that he nearly just ate?

the straw hat saves the now somewhat soggy piece of paper ( thanks to traces of saliva ) from being entirely consumed, and the basket is set down momentarily as he attempts to smooth out the letter. it looks like somebody put effort into it, and it’s addressed to him, so he makes an attempt to read it. but the first sentence takes too long, and there's so much more to go. he scans the page, and dark eyebrows visibly furrow, twisting features into a displeased look — so many words he doesn’t know.

❝ eh, whatever! i got potatoes!! ❞ he’s quick to replace the unhappy appearance with one of simple joy again, before picking up his basket, and making his way to the sunny’s deck. once there, the young pirate pushes the slightly crumpled note into the chest of the nearest person caught in his peripheral. if it just so happens to be a certain surgeon of death, then oh well! maybe if someone is feeling generous, they’ll even be kind enough to read the letter to luffy. though, the straw hat captain is looking very preoccupied with stuffing his cheeks.

@code01746 / 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 💕

[sylvidoptera]

A sign or just a wild dream?

For some reason, Mark Ruffalo (as his character from Now You See Me) and Nathan Fillion (as his character from The Rookie - which I haven't seen anything of except shorts on YouTube) needed ME to come along on an undercover to help them bust a case wide open. Unfortunately, they didn't tell me what the case was. They just said "be yourself, be friendly, talk to everyone, and trust your gut".

So I packed up my stuff, my kiddo and his things, and my sister Adri so she could watch kiddo while I was doing my thing (who's going to suspect two guys and their "wives" and a child of being undercover?). The dream had a lot of interesting twists and turns and ended up with me uncovering an entire smuggling/antiques theft/underground auction ring for them. Just by being my friendly, nosy self. Interesting bits along the way: -getting kidnapped by a person and waking up tied up on a pool table in a cluttered storage room with loud music playing and being told I was going to pay for what everyone else did; finding out I was being held captive by a trans girl who was about to start on a serial killing spree because her ultra-religious family had driven her to the brink, then managing to turn it around by complimenting her outfit, taste in music, and talking about my trans friend Emily. We then became best buds and I turned her away from violence by inviting her over for dinner and then going out to the main body of the church (we'd been in the basement) and severely lambasting the entire congregation (and physically punching a few) - including her pastor father. -seeing a gray kitten somehow having had climbed up a lamppost and wanting to get it down, so found the base of the post and saw a van under it. The kitten luckily managed to slide down the pole on its own but I knocked on the van window to ask the lady in it if it was her kitten and she asked me if I wanted to "buy one" and I was like "Hell yeah I want to buy one!" and she started showing me guns. 😮 I told her that no, honestly, I was just wanting a kitten. And that I'd be right back cuz I wanted to get money to give her for the little gray one. -various places in the dream where I was trying to seduce (separately) both Mark and Nathan. Because c'mon, this is ME. … But yeah, eventually it was solved. By me finding out that the gun lady in the van and the crappy church were connected and we ended up finding a crapload of stuff, including a LOT of cash. I was so bummed about having to hand it all over for evidence cuz we could have used it SO MUCH for the house, but I was still proud I'd helped. However, as I was going back to the hotel room we'd been staying in (where Adri and kiddo were napping after a long day of playing in the pool), I noticed a thick notebook on paper package that had my name on it. Inside were sneaky pix Mark had taken of me while I was "working" and notes on how I'd be a great agent someday. There was also a personal note from Nathan that regretted we wouldn't get to "play", but he hoped the stuff would help. So I opened the package and it was full of modern cash, old bills from the 1800s, random little jewelry, and some old bonds. JUST the cash that was spendable added up to over $10k. And the stuff was sellable for a lot more. … Which is when I woke up breathing heavily and feeling a wild urge to cheer out loud. Now, I'm not sure if this is just a "we're grasping at straws for hope" dream or if it's a "don't worry, the money will find you somehow" dream… but damn, I will DEFINITELY take it after the nightmares of the last few months. -------------------------------- Speaking of the nightmare of the last 9 months... can we make the dream of getting my house a reality by maybe getting more orders in my store (https://www.etsy.com/shop/ChaoticDaydreams) or over at my GoFundMe (https://gofund.me/1e6f294c) to make my dream a reality? We still need so much more help. Thanks for getting this far! <3