#Sharing Is Caring Viola

[express-archives]

oh nooo my hand slipped...... augh...... nooooo...... *fatui oc upon ye!!!!*

[x-heesy]

@darksilenceinsuburbiareloaded

Violissima

We mf can learn humanity again from it

https://song.link/s/0bHpsorTpt9wX6Dkr2LEfg

[remiratboi]

The Truth Of The Matter - Part 1

Masterlist

Minotaur M Best Friend X Human GN Fat Reader

CW: monsterfucking, clubbing, drinking, may add more, but this is super tame and sweet. Just about two dumb idiots in love who won’t admit it.

The club music pounded, practically vibrating you. You were a bit tipsy, but not so much you weren’t still in control. Two bodies pressed against yours. One to your front, one to your back. You didn’t know either person, but it always thrilled you to get the kind of physical attention you thought you’d never experience due to your size. Turns out, a lot of the problem was your own confidence. Not that the world is kind to fat people, you knew this, but you found when you threw the care about other’s judgements away, and just enjoyed yourself? Well people were drawn to you.

You thought the body behind you belonged to a large incubus, and you knew for sure that the body in front of you belonged to their hot cat hybrid partner. You didn’t mind being the filling in that kind of sandwich. They both ground their cocks against you, and you were filled with that special satisfaction that comes with being desired.

The song ended and you whispered in one of their ears that you were going to grab a drink. He told you to “hurry back” with a wink. You made your way through the crowd to your towering, imposing, and incredibly handsome best friend.

Aserin, or Rin, was a huge Minotaur you’d been in love with for longer than you even knew what love was. You’d met as children and were practically inseparable since. But you were friends. Just friends. Always just friends.

“Two this time?” He spoke as you sauntered up. It was only borderline judgmental. You had different ideas of a good time. Rin liked dancing, drinking, all that. But he always went home alone. You, on the other hand, rarely went home alone. You wouldn’t call yourself a slut per say, but you liked to have a good time. What’s the harm in that? And if it validated a part of yourself that you didn’t want to think about, that was besides the point.

“Omg, did you get a look at that incubus?!” You gushed. He rolled his eyes, but his smile told you he was just teasing.

“I’ll concede, dudes hot as fuck.” He laughed. He signalled to Viola, a close friend the two of you shared, who also happened to be the bartender at your favourite club. She was a drop dead gorgeous gargoyle. Her skin looked like grey marble. You had always been enamoured by it.

She immediately walked away from the guy she had be flirting with for tips she’ll he threw his hands up in confusion, and grabbed a glass to make you another drink. “Nice catch, baby!” She leaned over the counter to say to you. “Gonna go for both?”

You shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. The cat hybrid seems a bit jealous of me flirting with their partner, and it makes me worried he’s not as okay with it as the incubus is.” Viola gave you a knowing nod. “Maybe I’ll take a lap and see if anyone else interests me.”

Viola gestured to a human at the end of the bar who seemed to be eyeing you up. She was very pretty. “That one’s been watching you dance. Can’t say for sure it’s you or the hunk you were grinding on, but might be worth a try.” She handed you your drink and you passed it to Rin. He took a swig and passed it back. You finished it off.

You grabbed Rins hand. “Come dance with me.” You begged in your cutest voice. He rolled his eyes, but again his smile gave his true feelings away. He let you pull him to the dance floor. One of your favourite songs started playing and you jumped excitedly. Rin put his hands on your hips and you both started moving.

You were used to dancing with Rin, but it still gave you butterflies, every single time. His hands were so big on your body. He towered over you. He was stoic and quiet, but you knew the other side of him. The adorable, funny, kind side. The person he was when he wasn’t busy staring daggers at everyone who even THOUGHT about hitting on him. Very few people got to see his other side, yourself and Viola making up most of them.

You noticed the pretty girl from earlier, make her way towards you on the dance floor. Your heart skipped a beat. She smiled and sidled up to… Rin. You puffed out a small breath when she laid her hand on his arm and leaned up to speak to him. He returned the gesture and leaned down to hear her words.

You rolled your eyes and turned away from them. You knew what would happen. She’d flirt shamelessly, and Rin would turn her down. She would try a second time, and he’d turn her down again. Then she’d give up. You’d seen it literally hundreds of times. You understood. He was gorgeous. And who wouldn’t want to fuck that absolute beast of a man, pun not intended. But he just wasn’t interested.

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d suspect he was queer and only into men. But you knew he was into men. And women. He was pansexual, just like you were. Still, he had no interest in club hookups. That worked well enough for you. You didn’t know how you’d handle watching him leave with others. Sure he wasn’t yours, but at least he wasn’t anyone else’s either. You knew one day you’d have to reconcile with him finding someone, but today wasn’t that day.

You were proven right when a loud smack sounded from behind you. You spun around to a very shocked looking Rin with a light red handprint across his face, and the retreating girl.

“What the fuck did you do?!” You shouted over the music. He paused rubbing his cheek in bewilderment to glare at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why do you assume I did something?” He responded. You giggled and pulled him from the dance floor to the bar. Viola already had a cloth with some ice. She handed it to him. He thanked her with a nod.

“What did you say to her?” Viola asked.

“I don’t know, I just told her I wasn’t interested. She said something about all men being pigs and slapped me.” He shrugged.

That wasn’t cool. You had thought it was funny when you assumed he had accidentally been an asshole. He could be like that sometimes. Just not realizing how harsh he was being. But now you were annoyed with her. You bounced up on the balls of your feet to try to make her out in the crowd.

“She left.” Viola told you. “I was gonna send Brutus to kick her out, but I watched her storm out on her own.” Brutus was the bouncer, and another of your close friends. He was a large green orc. You always joked that he was in the perfect business. No one tried squaring up with the almost 7 foot tall, tusked man. He exuded strength.

A handsome wolf hybrid tapped your shoulder, prompting you to turn around. He asked you to dance and you glanced hesitantly at Rin.

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go dance.” He nodded towards the floor. You smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. The one he hadn’t been slapped on. He leaned down to let you. You gave the wolf your hand and he led you onto the floor.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. You drank too much, danced too much, and all in all, had a great time. You left the club with the wolf hybrid. Rin stayed. Just like always. He would walk Viola home after the club closed, then walk to your shared apartment a few blocks away. Just like always. You’d spend a couple hours messing around with your hookup for the night, and head home yourself.

Just. Like. Always.

You thought deep down you were trying to fill the void he had carved in your heart over the years, but you’d never admit that to yourself. You just liked to have fun, right? Right.

Part 2

[animeangelriku]

one piece au where instead of doflamingo killing rosinante on minion island, law gets out of the chest and vows to become the third corazón as long as doflamingo spares his brother. they’re both taken back into the family, with rosinante as a prisoner and with law continuing his training for his future role as doflamingo’s right hand man.

after they get to dressrosa and doflamingo takes over, viola meets law and realizes they’re both in the same boat, working for someone they despise in order to keep their loved ones safe, so they become, if not friends, at least allies. law takes any chance he can get to sneak away to rosinante’s cell and spend time with him, just being in his company. rosinante obviously clings to any moment with law he can have, but he warns law to be careful. if doflamingo finds out, they could both be in serious trouble.

meanwhile, doflamingo realizes that he can use law and rosinante’s attachment to each other to his favor, punishing rosinante whenever law steps out of line and therefore keeping him under his thumb and extinguishing any rebellious spark that may arise in him. of course, that doesn’t mean doflamingo leaves rosinante alone otherwise; his brother’s betrayal is still a crime that cannot be paid in anything other than blood.

law is resigned to be under doflamingo’s control for the rest of his life, because at least rosinante will be alive and as safe as law can keep him. but then law catches doflamingo torturing rosinante and realizes that they will never be free from doflamingo as long as he lives. so law starts to scheme and plan for a future in which he will be strong enough to take on doflamingo and defeat him.

law is officially named the third corazón when he turns 22, the same age rosinante was when he took the mantle. this means that while he is on sabaody when shit goes down two years later, he doesn’t intervene, but he does see luffy punch the celestial dragon and takes note of him. originally, law is at marineford under doflamingo’s orders, but he still saves luffy “on a whim” and goes radio silent until luffy wakes up.

(he definitely did not save luffy because luffy also has the middle name “d.” it’s definitely not because he knows the devastation of losing a sibling after promising you’d keep them safe. it’s definitely not because rosinante firmly believes that a new dawn is coming, and luffy seems to be at the head of said new dawn. it’s just “on a whim.”)

of course, upon law’s return to dressrosa, doflamingo punishes rosinante for law’s insubordination. law sneaks into rosinante’s cell later that night and apologizes, but rosinante tells him that all that matters to him is that law is okay, and that if law ever wanted to run away, on his own, that’s okay, rosinante understands, law doesn’t have to worry about him. enraged, law asks if rosinante believes he could be that selfish.

“sometimes,” rosinante says, “i wish you were.”

and law snaps and breaks down in tears. rosinante holds him against his chest and pets his hair as law screams and cries and curses doflamingo and all the donquixote pirates.

the next day, law is resolved to bring down doflamingo and kill him. he’s still not strong enough, but he’ll get there, and when he does, he and rosinante will be free, and they’ll travel the world together like rosinante said they would. law tells viola of his mission, and viola shares that the tontattas are planning a rebellion, so they join forces and decide to lay low until the moment is right. law keeps his plans secret from rosinante; the less he knows, the less he is at risk. and also, law just doesn’t want rosinante to worry about him more than he already does.

law still goes to punk hazard, though he does so as doflamingo’s corazón, and when he runs into luffy and the straw hats, he drops to his knees and begs for his help, figuring that luffy will agree as payment for law saving his life. luffy agrees, even before law tells him what he needs help for, so law still has the realization that the straw hats, and luffy especially, are insane.

punk hazard is slightly different, in the sense that law is playing double agent, but his duel with vergo still happens, except that he gets rid of vergo’s den-den mushi so he doesn’t have the chance to call doflamingo and tell him of law’s betrayal. as far as doflamingo knows, everything is still going according to plan in punk hazard, and law and vergo are on their way back to dressrosa.

law returns to dressrosa with the straw hats and meets in secret with viola to tell her he brought reinforcements. they need to act now, today, before doflamingo realizes anything, or they’ll lose their chance. he begs viola to keep an eye on rosinante and to free him and take him out of the palace if anything goes to shit.

at first, things seem to be going exactly as they planned, but then luffy disappears (because he’s in the colosseum fighting for the mera mera no mi), law gets caught by doflamingo and chained to the heart seat, doflamingo vows to kill rosinante in front of law, and all hope seems lost.

just as law is cursing himself for failing (and most of all, for failing rosinante), the tontattas (and usopp) knock out sugar, the toys turn back into humans, luffy, viola, and kyros burst into the palace and behead doflamingo’s string clone, and the rest goes pretty much the same as in canon for the most part, including the colosseum’s participants joining and aiding luffy in fighting the donquixote family executives.

one of the things that changes is that before doflamingo drags law back to the palace, rosinante is rescued by viola, who has no other option but to tell him what’s going on. after having several small heart attacks, rosinante leaves in search of law and finally manages to catch up to him on the rooftop, where law and luffy have been fighting doflamingo, trebol, and bellamy. with rosinante keeping trebol occupied, law gains a bit of an advantage in the fight.

and then doflamingo saws off law’s arm.

trebol gains the upper hand against rosinante, so he and doflamingo still beat the shit out of law, and then doflamingo tries to get law to perform the perennial youth surgery on him in exchange for a favor while rosinante yells at him not to, unable to do anything else because trebol has immobilized him.

law agrees to doflamingo’s deal, and the favor he asks?

“take back all the pain you took from cora-san these past 13 years. beg for his forgiveness, and then let him go.”

(and since he’s still a little shit, he also tells doflamingo to lick the asses of every single citizen in dressrosa. because of course he does.)

doflamingo, furious and enraged at law still continuing to choose rosinante over him, shoots law.

rosinante screams. doflamingo shoots law again and again and again and again and again and rosinante can do nothing except scream and cry and beg doflamingo to stop, please, doffy please stop don’t hurt him doffy stop please please doffy please please PLEASE—

rosinante rushes to law and holds him in his arms and pets his hair and calls law my boy, my boy, my sweet, darling boy and cries and cries and cries and cries

he kisses the crown of law’s head, lays law down as gently as he can, and lunges at doflamingo

doflamingo avoids his attacks easily, grinning that cruel fucking grin of his while rosinante snarls i’ll kill you, i’ll kill you, i’ll fucking kill you, until doflamingo stops playing with him and ties him up in his strings.

luffy gets back to the roof, and law defeats trebol, and luffy takes law and rosinante to the sunflower field with robin. rosinante is the one carrying law instead of cavendish, and law shambles them both to luffy while he recovers to use his haki again, and when luffy punches doflamingo through the ground and splits the island in two, rosinante pulls law into his arms and bursts into tears. law hugs him back with his one good arm and sobs quietly into his chest. the marines take doflamingo away, and for the first time in 13 years, law breathes easy.

[moonbaby26]

Title: New Day

(Chapter 15 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader

Chapter Warnings: language, non con, dubious consent, fingering, vaginal sex, anal sex, angst, references to past chapters’ physical abuse, toxic relationship

Chapter Synopsis: The day after your near fatal incident instigated by Sir Crocodile, the rumor mill is churning both within and outside the palace walls as everyone now tries to understand what you really are to Doflamingo. Everyone including the demon at the center of it all himself.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15, 16

——————————

—————————— 

It was a brand new morning. A beautiful day with the sun shining as the dark haired woman strode through the outdoor market. Even this early, music was already drifting from nearby, guitar strings were strumming as vendors finished setting up for their day.

Despite the rising tempo of that musician’s fingers over those strings, no one Viola saw was yet in a hurry. No one seemed nervous. She could hear laughter as people greeted one another, passing in the street. She could see their smiles.

This was her island and her people, briefly feeling to her as they always should have. 

The Donquixote soldiers that were meant to be acting as her guards, she’d ordered to stay as far back from her as possible.

They would not be ruining this rare taste of freedom for her as she did come upon an older man seated on a stool with a guitar. The origin of the sound she’d been hearing for several minutes on her morning walk as she nodded down to him.

“Good morning, Señor. That song you were playing, it’s a favorite of mine. I was hoping to meet you.” She complimented him.

“Ah, you’re too young to know it.” He paused, a little surprised at her attention. But smiling gently at her all the same. “My wife taught it to me years ago. She sang and I played back then.”

And the way he said this, with that brief look in his eyes as he did, she knew what he really meant. 

A wife that was no longer here. Someone that had been taken from him. But Viola still smiled softly. Because that sadness wasn’t an emotion she would want to truly lose. It was the shadow that love left behind. It was all they had left.

“My sister and I would attempt to sing that song.” She shared with him in return. “But she was the far better singer than me. She passed two years ago.”

This was the polite way people in Dressrosa referenced that tumultuous time, when hell had first opened its gates within their country.

And that devil’s sycophants were now the ones lingering, growing further impatient a few food stalls away.

But Doflamingo’s guards could wait. They could wait forever for all she cared.

“I suppose I haven’t tried much since then…to sing I mean. So would you play that song one more time please, Señor? It’s been so long. But today seems a bit special I think. I’d like to try to sing it again.” She told him.

And he laughed. “You young people and your romantic hearts! I’m sure you’ll be at the colosseum with all of the others today then? It seems quite fast doesn’t it? But I suppose no man wants to be alone forever. Even a king!” Yet he didn’t leave her time to agree or disagree, amused at her as he began strumming those opening chords once more.

A surprise announcement had come from the palace last night. Spreading quickly across the island all before midnight curfew.

This afternoon all were invited, or rather expected at the Corrida Colosseum. And the king himself would be in attendance. Unusual as of late, as he’d been devoting so much time to his growing underworld alone.

Those secret dealings seemingly his only focus all until that trip he’d taken to Mariejois, to the kingdom some called heaven. Something about a war on a distant island that he didn’t want the marines interceding in. Long enough ago now that Viola had gotten to bear witness to the accumulating changes in him every day since.

“In the heavens I would have power…” Viola’s voice began carefully, not fully out of tune. But certainly out of practice as she began the first verse in time with the man’s guitar.

And you, the marine woman that the officers’ whispers and minds had said Doflamingo had actually coveted for years, the one he’d first consummated with there at the home of the gods, would also be his official guest at the colosseum this evening.

Speculation was running wild through the citizens now of what this could all mean.

In the beginning Viola had not cared, except to pity you. She knew that all Doflamingo was was the thin skin of a man pulled tightly over the bones of a demon.

Yet an incident had occurred at the palace yesterday, enough to shake even her cynical heart.

“This night like the darkness within a well. With a knife made of moonlight I would cut the bars of your jail...” Her words kept on.

Doflamingo had kept her hidden away ever since your arrival. Yet more evidence that something may really be different here.

He didn’t want her to know his real plans for you. He didn’t want the two of you to meet.

Not yet.

“If I were the queen of the daylight, of the wind, and the sea, I would tie my own slave ropes in exchange for your freedom…”

The man who had never once hesitated to punish her by showing her the most grotesque and violent thoughts of what he’d like to do to new prey had suddenly been keeping everything to himself.

Why should it matter for her to know exactly how he wanted to break you? Rape you and defile you. Grind your will to dust, and then discard you once bored as he had to so many other men and women that had briefly caught his eye.

“Ay sorrow, little sorrow, sorrow of my heart…”

Doflamingo was a passionate man, even a romantic one in truth. But just at that most carnal level she had thought.

“I don’t wan’t flowers, money, or adulation.”

Violence, seduction, and jealousy were the only notes he excelled at within that complicated dance.

But yesterday there had been a culmination of tensions. Viola had been astonished to hear that panic going through the castle, to see it in so many anxious minds.

You had fought Trebol. You had fought Doflamingo himself.

And suicide is what that choice was, no matter the circumstances. Because it had never mattered to Doflamingo before whether or not someone was innocent. To go against the executives in any way, even in self defense, was absolute suicide. It was an attack on Doflamingo himself.

But maybe you weren’t the coward that she felt she was to hide amongst them. Maybe you had already refused her fate and chosen your own exit instead.

She would not have blamed you. 

Yet all evening she had stressed. Wondering how Doflamingo would cover up your death. But every moment that she still even remembered who you were had been equally confusing. 

Why hadn’t he at least brought you to Sugar?

But finally, late that night, something in her had insisted she show a bit of her own remnants of a spine. She had dared to use her sight to scan the palace for the king or yourself and learn the truth. She’d expected the worst. Your body torn apart, and new horrific tortures she’d never be able to unsee.

Yet that was not what she had found.

“I want you to let me cry for your sorrows, and to be at your side my dear, drinking the tears of your loneliness…”

Doflamingo was with you, yes. But not in one of the dungeons. Not with you screaming or begging for him to stop and to release you with death at last.

The Heavenly Demon had been curled around you in his own bed, clinging to you with a seeming level of anxiety she’d never witnessed in that creature before.

He had been watching you as you slept, a stricken look on his face.

“My eyes hurt because I look without seeing you…”

And this was the real reason Viola now spun, unable to stop from finally dancing a bit as well in the continued rhythm of that man’s guitar.

“Sorrow of my heart that flows within my veins, with the strength of a hurricane…”

Doflamingo was afraid.

“Sorrow, the same as a cloud of darkness and flint. A runaway colt that knows not where it goes…” 

Doflamingo had a weakness at last.

“It’s a desert of sand, sorrow, it’s my glory in a jail. Ay, jail! Ay sorrow! Little sorrow…”

And it was a woman.

Viola had decided that she would do everything in her power to further your influence now.

She would force herself to live long enough to see if this little crack in him could spread.

A new opening in his blackened heart that may one day be big enough to force her dagger through.

——————————— 

Last night Doflamingo had remained strange. Mostly silent as his focus stayed split between his real body and what you assumed was the string clone still working for him somewhere else in the castle.

After making you eat, there had been that brief feel of tenderness though as you’d both undressed and he’d brought you into his shower.

The same powder of glass that’d still been in your hair from the fight, he’d then helped you to wash clean. 

That and Trebol’s remaining mucus too. The warlord had kept you from losing your balance on your still weak legs, standing in the water’s spray with you as you’d scrubbed off the last of that residue.

You’d felt his cock against you too, half hard again without either of you even speaking to one another. But he hadn’t fucked you. 

After drying back off, drinking, and eating more of the food his servants brought, you’d then fallen asleep nude in his bed even before the sun had set.

At times last night you’d felt his movements beside you. But he still didn’t talk. He didn’t make you open your eyes and interact with him.

And you were fine with that.

He’d already hurt you enough for one day. You’d had nothing else you wanted to give him as you’d kept up the imitation of sleep while he’d held you tightly.

The same as he still was now as you finally did look to the ceiling again. Just the faintest bit of new sunlight was escaping the edges of his closed curtains.

It remained dim here within his bedroom, cave like really as you felt his steady breathing against your skin. His face buried against your neck, his arms wrapped around your torso, and his legs curled up to trap your own.

But your body still ached. Now with those newest additions of a severely bruised sternum and ribs to match from you taking his hits nearly full on yesterday without armament.

He’d never given any further apology either. And the more you’d thought of even that briefest one, you’d realized it was only a-

Sorry I misread that situation.

Sorry their mistakes made me do that. 

Not actual self-accountability. Not even a hint that he wouldn’t do it all again if fed bad information once more.

And you were stuck still reliving it. Hearing the door rip apart, and the glass break as he came for you, The pain when he threw you down and the pressure when you couldn’t breathe.

But that would fade as the bruises did. You knew in time you’d move on from that. Just like anytime you’d been hurt in the field, anytime you’d been knocked down before.

The thing you couldn’t shake as cleanly was how much it hurt inside as well this time. Because it wasn’t just physical pain any longer.

It’d hurt to look up at the man you still wanted as they’d started to crush your chest in.

That was a torture that should never happen to anyone.

But something touched your face and you startled from your spiraling thoughts.

Your head turned and you saw a crimson eye narrowed at you. The milky white one beside it still mostly closed against your shoulder as the pad of his finger wiped your newly wet cheek.

“Are you ever going to stop crying?” Doflamingo’s voice asked so abruptly then. Deep, but quiet in its continued proximity to you.

“I didn’t know that I was.” You answered honestly, caught off guard and letting the heel of your hand wipe the rest of that dampness away as you looked back to the ceiling.

He made a noise in response. Dismissive, but you could still feel his gaze on you.

“What’s done is done. It’s over.” He said next, making the easy assumption of what still had you rattled. And that bit of irritation was resuming in him already because of it.

But he didn’t know the real extent. You were sure that he didn’t.

“Sorry.” You were the one to say that useless word then. But you were just trying to end the subject. Trying to make him stop.

“You’re not.” He contended. 

And your eyes did look back to him then. Fresh concern in your expression no doubt.

But you felt him just stretching his legs back out. His cock was soft, but it grazed you as he adjusted his hips. He was laying on his side with his body pressed to you so firmly still.

“What more do you want from me?” He spoke against your ear now. As if you were the one still being unreasonable. “I didn’t even maim you. What do you think I would have done to any other person on this island that took matters into their own hands as you did? Regardless of why.” He said next. His hand was sliding across your stomach now.

But his fingers just kept moving lower before you could answer. The longest finger, his middle one, parted your slit in one smooth movement to begin rubbing your clit.

And just like that it was all about what your body could give him again. 

Whether you were ready for this or not.

And apparently you were not. Not as you heard your own voice so suddenly, firing back at him. “Well…did you fuck me yesterday morning too? Because that didn’t help! I woke up with strangers in the room, and then had that running down my leg. It could have been anyone!” 

You’d taken that disgust out on Trebol too you were sure. Everything was connected in this continued trauma. 

The movement of Doflamingo’s finger paused at your outburst. 

That red eye stared at you, sharp and narrowed as he lifted his head again.

“Watch your tone with me, woman.”

Two of his fingers pushed right into your entrance then with that warning. He hooked those fingers actually, the pressure making your expression change.

“Doffy,” You grunted because it hurt.

It was meant to hurt.

“Of course I fucked you. And I don’t care if you could feel it or not. If you could remember it or not. I need you, you stupid bitch.” He answered though, with that tone of hatefulness reemerging all over again. 

But you were watching his face. 

You saw when he swallowed. When the contempt began to change to a more general upset the more aroused he became. “I can’t stop. Not when you’re the only thing that feels right.”

And there was the additional cruelty of his own inconsistent feelings. 

He’d berate you. He’d hurt you, and in the very next breath he’d practically infer that he couldn’t exist without you.

His lips were on your jaw then too. You felt his tongue ghost against your skin.

His teeth nipped that same skin. “So quit acting like you don’t understand. Like you don’t want me too…you need this. You need me.”

The two fingers inside of you were now beginning to slide in and out. They pumped into you as his tongue stretched out further this time, leaving a long wet streak across the side of your face.

“But if you really are so offended…then do something about it. Punish me. Make me feel it. Fuck me back.” He taunted next.

“What?” You breathed, at a frustrating loss for his exact meaning while his fingers continued mercilessly. The way he’d said this gave away that it was now something different he was asking for.

“I’ll let you. I’d do that for you.” He grunted, his hips shifting suddenly as you now felt the tip of that awakened cock rubbing against you.

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And the words were already getting harder to say. 

Harder to think of as you felt yourself getting wetter for him regardless. His fingers moving in and out so much easier now.

“Your cunt wants a break doesn’t it?” His crudeness continued. “Your ass too after what I did to you, right? I fucked you so hard when I was in there the other night, didn’t I?”

And you were feeling more heat inside of you with every insulting word. 

But he was starting to smile again. He looked so hungry actually. “Then do it to me. I’ll show you how.”

His thumb was back over your clit, working it in tandem to his fingers now quickening their already rough pace inside.

“Cum for me, and then I’ll let you fuck me. We’re both going to feel good today after the shit we got put through. We deserve this.”

Oh, so now you were a team all of the sudden? As if the power imbalance here wasn’t still so extreme.

But it didn’t matter.

Not when Doflamingo’s tongue was now forcing its way past your teeth.

You heard and felt him moan into your mouth. It was so dirty. So unrestrained really as your thighs opened up even more for him.

You were both disgustingly pathetic. 

And the wet sound of his fingers in and out of you only made everything that much worse as you started clenching around his fingers.

That tension was building in your belly.

“Cum for me…let go. You’re so close already aren’t you, love?” He broke the kiss enough to say this against your mouth. Right before he nipped your bottom lip.

The sharp little pain was almost simultaneous to that whip like feel. Like a tightening rope finally snapping inside as you felt your body tremble and hot fluid wash over his fingers.

Doflamingo inhaled sharply, looking down at the unexpected mess that had made.

The humiliation you felt was instant, but the remnants of the full body orgasm he’d just given you weren’t easily dismissed either.

You were panting.

And you heard him laugh. He laughed before his face was then nuzzling back into yours.

“I guess I should have let you take a piss before we started, huh?”

It wasn’t excessive. But it was well enough for you both to know that couldn’t all be female ejaculate. Enough to make a wet spot you could now feel beneath you on the bed.

“Asshole.” You muttered, even with his face still warmly against yours.

“It means I fucking rocked that sweet spot, didn’t I, marine?” He sounded all too smug in response. And even more flirty too as he kissed the side of your face. “Don’t be embarrassed, lover…even though you’re goddamn cute when you are. We’re not done yet anyway. Now it’s my turn.”

His grin widened too then as his fingers finally slid back out of you. He just wiped that hand on the dryer portion of the bedsheets before he flung the blankets fully away to better expose himself to you.

Doflamingo let go of you to move onto his back, propping himself into the pillows and looking so comfortable then before he motioned to the nightstand.

“Be a good, wet girl for me then, and crawl over there to get the biggest one so we can play some more. It’s all or nothing for me.” And he sounded like he was goddamn bragging. Bragging and commanding you all at once as your mind had yet to fully accept what was now happening here.

You were still trying to process the orgasm that had made your legs feel like jelly all over again.

What in the fuck was your actual life in this moment as you did crawl across the mattress eventually, then on your knees at its edge before you could reach the drawer of his nightstand and pull it open.

Which was a sight that really should not have been meant for your naive eyes. There were toys in there that you didn’t even know the use of. Intimidating things you were afraid to even goddamn touch as you peered down into that private stash. 

Packs of condoms were there too, different kinds of lubes, and more…pills? They weren’t the same shape or color as the ones you’d taken before. They were in a clear bag, beside another bag with some kind of white powder inside of it.

The fuck was that?

You did not want to reach your hand in.

“Just grab a dildo, woman. This doesn’t have to be complicated.” Doflamingo chided. A little louder then, getting more impatient.

And you did have to force yourself. Pushing the unknown things out of the way to sort through some of the more familiar looking style of toys.

You pulled one out that seemed to be the largest like he’d requested, and it looked entirely painful by your personal standards. Bigger than any of those he’d used on you the other night. But honestly, very close to his own physical size once you glanced back at him with the toy in your hand.

“That’ll do.” He smirked. “I couldn’t remember how many I still had in there.” 

And he settled back even further into the pillows, putting his arms briefly behind his head as he began spreading his legs.

“Don’t worry about lube, beautiful…let me see you use that mouth of yours instead.”

“What?” You stared. 

His always impressive cock was flushed with blood by this point, hard for this long already without any relief. Rising up from that fine blond pubic hair and pointing firmly towards the ceiling as he held his thighs open shamelessly to show you it all. 

One of his hands did move back down, lifting his own sack off of the mattress as he began to palm it.

“Suck the toy, marine. Deep throat that if you can. I want it good and wet before I show you how to really take it.”

But you didn’t want to. Your hesitation clearly said as much.

And his reactions were becoming that much sharper in response.

“Oh goddamn it, don’t be so high maintenance. Anything in that drawer was already washed. It’s clean.”

Your eyebrows still lowered. Yes, even you knew how arbitrary it seemed on the things you would finally resist him on. 

But the way he was leering at you, the way his legs were spread eagle and waiting like you owed him this. This wasn’t even an experience you had had before.

And something about it made you feel more like a whore than ever.

“What is wrong with you?” Came his exasperated tone next when you still hadn’t put that dildo in your mouth.

And your shoulders sank. He was on that edge of getting angry all over again. 

“If you fucking cry one more time…” He still fussed as your posture had changed however. That blood vessel starting to show in his forehead. “I already said I was sorry, (Y/N)!”

That damn word again. But it sounded so petulant this time.

So desperate.

“Just give me that, you idiot.” And a string had jerked the dildo from your hand. Pulling it away from you and into his grip instead as his tongue angrily ran out to run the length of it.

He put the whole thing in his own mouth soon after even as he glared at you.

Spit edged from his lips as he began to suck it. 

You were of course stunned once more. Discomfort still there for you too as you watched this inexplicable scene while Doflamingo’s cheeks hollowed out with that purposeful sucking. And he didn’t choke at all, nearly the full length of the toy then within his mouth as he pumped it in and out briefly while watching you spitefully.

When he did pull it all the way out again, spit was fully down his chin and soaked across that toy.

He did not care.

“That’s how it’s fucking done.” He growled, but still not looking away from your face. “Get over here. Now.”

And you did comply again then. But with that unwillingness still in your expression as you crawled back to him on the bed.

As soon as you were close enough though, his hand that was not holding the toy shot up to catch you by your throat.

You made a defensive sound and he smirked as he felt the resistance of your armament already beneath his squeezing hand.

“Why does everything have to be this difficult lately? I thought we were having fun.” He lamented, actually unable to make you choke that easily in how strongly your armament was then shielding you. You weren’t as weak as you’d been yesterday.

And he sighed when you still wouldn’t submit to this even rougher play. But he smiled again as he let you go just as abruptly. He finally used the back of his hand to wipe his chin then.

“I just want you to fuck me, lover…I don’t take rejection well you know. You’re hesitating too much. You’re hurting my feelings.”

The last words were said mockingly. But he was still goddamn insane, as usual. Just jumping from one emotion to the next. Had either of you even been awake long enough yet to already be going through all of this?

You took a deep breath. “I’m not rejecting you, Doffy. I’m just-“ Overwhelmed? Depressed? Traumatized?

“I just want things not to hurt. I don’t want anything else to hurt right now.” You managed, but still feeling at a complete loss of how to make someone like him understand any of this if even for a moment. 

And the responding coldness in his eyes was far from comforting as he grabbed your wrist this time, bringing you onto his lap to straddle him.

“But life is pain. So why ask me for the impossible?” His tone was still short, but his volume did quiet as he held you there. 

With you there between his legs, he brought that still wet dildo down between you both. He inhaled, letting your wrist go as he reached to grab himself again. He was then holding his own balls up and out of the way as he moved that toy beneath them.

He still spoke to you as he did, his eyes on yours as he angled it against his own opening that you could not see. “The important thing is that we can now hurt together. You have me. And I’m showing you my pain too, aren’t I? I’m letting you in.”

And he groaned a little, you getting to see that true discomfort move across his face as the tip first entered him.

You were silent as Doflamingo breathed deeper, him pausing as if to adjust to even that much of it inside of him.

“Damn. It really has been a while...” He said, like he was a bit taken aback himself at the new feeling.

But with it now started, his large hand moved back over your wrist.

His grip was warm, and far more gentle this time as he guided your hand to the base of that toy.

“I want it to be you.” He breathed again. There was no mask of a smile any longer. Just this man looking up at you needfully, anxiously even as he made your hand close around the toy. “Push it in, love. Fast or slow…whatever feels right to you. I trust your judgement…please.”

And even if you were sure that every new word of his was fully intended to make you have the exact reaction that you now were, this still wasn’t something you could control.

You felt the new heat in your chest as his tone had changed. You were embarrassed again. It felt like you’d never even had sex before all of the sudden.

And of course you hadn’t like this. Not with the roles reversed this way.

You knew what it felt like for you though, to have that pressure just edging your entrance. The longer you made him wait, the less kind that would be, wouldn’t it?

Oh, you were so in over your head though. Yourself flustered and him still never looking away from you as you finally did start to push it in him.

Doflamingo gasped quietly, his lips parting in a way that immediately had you feeling some kind of way between your own legs again.

Your body was fully confused in this moment actually. 

But his wasn’t. You saw his abdominal muscles tense and even his cock twitch as you still slid that thick toy gradually deeper inside of this man.

The resistance was weird, but you could tell he was relaxing as much as he could. You were being so mindful of his expressions too. Even pausing to let him adjust again whenever you’d see that brief flit of pain reenter his eyes.

And something about that level of care from you did bring a rare softer look across his attractive face. “I knew it…” He chuckled despite himself. “If you had a dick, you’d be so gentle with it at first. Wouldn’t you, my love? So responsible with your weapons.”

He was smiling again then, a fully pleasured one before he let out a small moan when you did continue pressing in again.

“Almost flush…come on.” He said next. His eyes were going half lidded too. A near look of adoration in them now for you. “It feels so good, woman…don’t stop.”

It was hard to look away from those rare emotions either, you not wanting to miss out on any of what he was now offering you in return.

But you also found yourself uneasy to finally realize that all of that toy but the bit you were still holding onto had now disappeared.

It was all the way in. He’d really taken it so well.

And he was still laying on his back beneath you, thighs spread wantonly with his head and shoulders just barely propped up in the pillows as a new urge overcame you.

You left the toy fully in him as you moved back up that long torso of his just enough to kiss him again.

And this surprised him. Likely so much of his focus already just on that sensation of being filled, waiting for you to start thrusting before your mouth was abruptly over his.

But he certainly didn’t stop you. Far from it as his mouth opened in return, wanting to taste you again immediately as you felt his hips roll. His hand grabbed into your hair to hold you to him long enough to deepen that kiss as well.

“Oh, fuck,” Doflamingo breathed against your lips in between kisses, nipping them briefly again when he didn’t want to let go of you. “You don’t know what you do to me…no one…they didn’t do it like this.”

And he wasn’t even making sense now. 

But he was trying to.

So you did pull back a little, your hand then stroking down his chest as you listened to him.

And even that additional soft touch set him off too. His hips rolled hard again as he looked at you desperately. “Why…why are you like this? Why are you so good to me?” He managed, finally articulating what he really meant with the last words. “Why are you so kind to me?”

Of course that question stunned you all over again. But not just for hearing it from his mouth. Because you weren’t sure how he’d even come to that conclusion, and right now of all times.

“I…what did I do?” You asked genuinely, letting him begin kissing your jawline again when you hadn’t yet moved back fully away yet.

“This. Goddamnit all of this.” His frustration was palpable. But he didn’t want to stop. “You…you don’t just fuck me. You kiss me…you hold me. You pet me…it drives me fucking crazy.”

Really? Just because of those simple things?

Your own surprise was surely evident. In all the bodies he must have partaken of through the years, you were somehow a standout?

And for what?

Just for being intimate with him? For giving instead of just taking or cowering?

“Doffy…don’t you get it?” You asked him suddenly then. Your hand was still warm over his chest. You had paused your palm there as you could feel his heartbeat beneath his muscles. That beat was growing faster. “I give you what I would want. I mean…why wouldn’t I do that?”

And his hand moved over yours against his chest. He squeezed your hand, very tightly but not quite painful.

He smirked darkly. “You…are either the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to me in this hellhole.” But his hips moved again as that laugh of his emanated out. “So fuck me like you love me. Finish me properly.“

Almost gently he pushed you back then, back down to sit near his open legs again as he put your hand back on the end of that toy.

It was clear what he wanted most now, rolling his hips again as he watched you needfully. 

And so you did it. No more stalling as you gave your monster what he wanted. Thrusting that toy at whatever speed he would take.

First slow, and then faster as you got to watch the king of Dressrosa begin to fully unravel for you. 

But you felt no guilt. Nor did he want you to. Doflamingo’s approval was clear in the way he threw his head back and even arched against the mattress the more you pressed.

“Fuck…yes, it’s been too long…yes, just like that…” He moaned as those claws of his began fisting into the bedsheet. 

And before long it was your own name repeatedly leaving his panting chest.

You would have been lying to say it wasn’t making new slick between your own legs to hear his normally prideful voice start to break for you that way too.

But you were still more focused on what you were doing to him. Not what it was causing in you as his eyes met yours again.

“Harder…I know you can. Please, (Y/N).” He was already speaking in gasps now. But you still obliged, feeling like you were holding a damn dagger by this point.

Being told to stab it into him over and over, working your wrist and your arm to do so.

His poor cock looked to be painful by now as well as it bobbed in the air with the continued movement of his hips, nothing to thrust into as it leaked precum all over the head.

And in all of his panting and the increasing volume of your name across his lips like some kind of prayer, the thought did finally cross your mind to do something with that neglected cock.

He didn’t deserve it of course. Not after all he’d already done to you. You’d just told him how messed up it’d been that he’d still fucked you when you were blacked out too. You’d told him you wanted a break from hurting. 

But his moans kept on. This shameless motherfucker who could abuse you so thoroughly, and then turn around the very next day and gladly put on a vulnerable display like this.

Your own renewed slick was now thick enough to actually begin edging out. Gravity bringing a hint of it onto your thigh in the way you were currently positioned as your hand still moved to keep fucking Doflamingo.

You didn’t want to get pounded by him yet. You really didn’t as your body was still very unhappy in all the damage it had accumulated recently.

But just being filled yourself for a moment? You could tolerate that couldn’t you? He wasn’t going to be lasting much longer anyway. The changing rhythm of his panting always gave him away when he was already this near climax.

What would his face be if you did this though? Would that expression be worth any additional price you were about to pay?

His eyes were closed now, he was living for those sensations you were rocking through his body as his hips moved in time with your non stop thrusting of that toy. 

Which made it trickier. Keeping your hand and arm movement going, thankfully with some marine stamina to help you out there as you raised up onto your spread knees.

Just open enough to fit him between your thighs of course.

And the mattress movement as you shifted wasn’t enough to warn him. Even if it was, he likely thought you were only trying to find a more comfortable way to sit.

He couldn’t know anything was actually different until he’d felt the first touch of something against the tip of his weeping cock.

But by the time his eyes had opened, your slick had made that initial push all too easy. Just that brief spike of pressure to clear the head, and that small gasp of pain from you before you had slid down onto as much of his length as you could take.

Your channel squeezed around him immediately as his girth stretched you painfully as always, tight to the point of almost being too much to withstand.

And the absolutely awestruck look on Doflamingo’s face as he fully realized what you’d just done, without even being asked to, was an expression you doubted you’d ever see from him again. He nearly came right then and there with that surprise you were sure.

Only you stopping your thrusting of the toy briefly then as you’d tried to adjust to him inside of you had allowed him that extra time to process this.

You were still having to hold yourself up a little as well, not wanting to put too much pressure against your cervix as you watched the man beneath you try to remember his own voice. 

You had rendered the Heavenly Demon speechless. Though his hands wasted no time finding your hips, helping you steady yourself on his length.

Reflexively you tightened on him again and you felt his cock twitch inside of you in response.

He took another shaky breath, still staring at you like you weren’t even human any longer. Like you had materialized straight from the heavens to anoint him with this dual pleasure.

“Let go of the toy,” his voice was practically a rasp when it finally did reemerge. “I’ll move it. You just sit there and stay tight on me…god, gods I can’t…I…fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

And he sounded like he was pleading, or dying. Like you were actually killing part of this man.

But you saw his fingers move. You were getting better at seeing his strings too. The tiny glimmers they made even here in the shadows of those still closed curtains.

His strings were now hooked to the toy. He was going to fuck himself while you took care of his cock in the way only you could.

And once that did restart, with the toy moving in and out with his strings and you rocking your hips and squeezing around his attention starved shaft simultaneously, Doflamingo let out a euphoric moan louder than any before it. One they had to have heard all the way downstairs.

And it was your name he was calling out to the world. 

Like a curse and a salvation for him all at once. It was a fucking scream as he finally came.

He was shuddering, thrusting up into you as you felt his cock pulse again and again. Each pump a shot full of his seed, hot and purposeful.

“Yes…goddamn yes,” he was still panting, still trembling as he pulled you down onto his body. His cock continuing to empty itself inside of you as he held you to him.

And you let him do it. You breathed with him, the heat of that fire between you both so apparent again.

It had become make up sex with a king. Reconciliation with your warlord as one of his hands moved back into your hair and the other went protectively across your back.

He was caging you to him as his chest rose and fell. And you closed your eyes in that warmth, silent again just to hear him breathing. 

You did love this part of it. You really did.

If only it was enough to ever outweigh every other fault in you both.

—————————

He’d let the servants open the curtains at last while they’d delivered breakfast at his command. This new sunlight filling the dining area not being something he’d normally ask for. He usually liked it cooler, darker in here within his chambers. A less stimulating environment when he needed that to withdraw to.

But he wanted to see you better this morning. He wanted to appreciate what was still fully novel to him as you sat near him. Just the two of you sharing a quiet breakfast at the long table in his suite.

He’d only pulled on a pair of pants. Shirtless and barefoot, blond hair not even combed yet as he ate while watching you.

Sex always made him hungry. And he knew you were still working from a caloric deficit anyway. He’d figured out already that you ate less and less the more stressed you were.

Like bringing home an exotic pet, he had to learn your environmental quirks. He had to force you to stay healthy enough to survive after all of his personal investment already in you.

And he’d known there’d be an adjustment period. Some violence surely if you were pushed too far, too fast.

But Crocodile had thrown fuel on that fire. And it’d nearly worked. Just like everything that reptile did. The plan was almost good enough, but fell short in the final leg. A stumble right at the finish line.

He hadn’t even called Crocodile yet either. Though Doflamingo’s mind had churned with so many thoughts of revenge and how close he’d really come to losing you. Painfully angry even long into last night as he’d lain awake holding you while thinking of how to fix this.

That sandy fucker had no right to toy with him now. And just like in Scylla, when Doflamingo had had to abruptly pivot, deciding to bring you home then and there after Crocodile’s attack, he’d felt his hand being forced yet again now.

He had to let his enemies know there was no indecisiveness in him. You weren’t just a new distraction they may be able to harm and thereby simply annoy him or force him to negotiate for. 

This wasn’t him just taking a new mistress for fun. This was him setting up the future that he wanted. You were his family now.

And he was going to let the world know. Then if anyone still dared to come for you, they’d have to do so in full knowledge of the scorched earth that would bring them.

No one harmed his family.

“After we eat, I do have some more things to take care of this morning. But I need you dressed in your best marine garb for this afternoon. I’m taking you to the colosseum then. And I’m expecting practically every seat to be filled there. Diamante is quite the promoter for special events like this.”

The piece of potato omelette still on your fork held there for a moment as you glanced over to him. You so casual yourself in some faded marine training shirt, the material thinned enough that he had been enjoying you clearly being braless beneath it.

“To fight?” You asked surprisingly serious.

Enough so that he scoffed, rolling his uncovered eyes at you. You were still an idiot at times. Still a human after all. “To spectate, darling.” Not that the idea of you fully healed, running around the arena breaking jaws with your kicks and slitting throats with that rope dart of yours wasn’t a very strong turn on in its own right.

There weren’t many female gladiators. The public would eat that shit up if you could be flashy enough about it. You were a bit serious when you fought right now.

Maybe after the child came. You’d probably be itching by then for some postpartum violence and a return to form.

You were a warrior after all.

“We’ve fallen off of the front page again in the papers if you hadn’t noticed. I think it’s time for another public appearance.”

“Why would I want to be in the newspaper? Fuck that.” And you did start eating your omelette again then.

It was obvious the drugs were back out of your system at least. Those pills had dulled you so much yesterday. Your attitude was back in full force today.

But he was in a good mood now. Getting to penetrate you while you penetrated him was an itch he had not expected to be so thoroughly scratched this morning. That had been fucking paradise actually. “Because you want to help our dear mother, don’t you?” Doflamingo taunted, smirking in full knowledge of how much this was going to push your buttons.

And you stilled again, giving him a colder look immediately there. “Tsuru?” You still had to ask.

“Obviously.” He confirmed. “I mean, you’re not fully stupid I know.” He was just being a dick for the sake of it now. He was enjoying every additional interaction with you actually. “Haven’t you wondered why she’s been stationed on the same pitiful island chain for weeks upon weeks now? A strategist like her should have had that rebellion extinguished in days.”

“Have you had your hand in it?” You accused abruptly then.

And he was honestly a little surprised at that. But you were still learning him too. He could forgive it for now. He had obviously benefited by her being away there for so long too. Those circumstances alone had practically dropped you into his lap.

“I don’t interfere with Tsuru-san. Not as Joker, not as me. No, I cut all ties with Lyra as soon as she got assigned there. I’m not the one delaying her.” He said honestly, even through the remaining skepticism in your eyes.

“It’s the world government that decided to bury that place, long and slow with blockades she’s been ordered to maintain. And Big News Morgans has started snooping around about it. So many have died. He’ll drag Tsuru’s name through the mud too if he doesn’t have a better story to sell papers with soon. So you and I can be that story and save her the defamation.”

“How many have died?” You were starting to look more bothered. You were realizing you may actually believe him.

As you should, because he was telling the goddamn truth for once. “Probably a good thirty percent of the total population. But nearer fifty, even sixty percent in certain towns. Because the government is also using that rebellion as the perfect testing ground for some new lab grown diseases of theirs. With Tsuru maintaining their blockade, there’s no medical assistance in or out either. No one to tell on them of how unnatural that contagion really is.”

“Then how would you know?” You were still trying to hope he could be wrong.

And there he did grin again, smugly as his legs spread a little once more beneath the table.

“Lover, have you already forgotten what exactly it is I do for a living? I’m not just your personal cock toy…though I am enjoying the benefits of that new role.”

“Then is Tsuru okay…is my crew okay?”

Oh how sad. Like a puppy missing its littermates. “Of course she’s fine. The government didn’t allow the marines to enter any of the diseased towns either. They’ve got Cipher Pol quarantining those. Your little troop has been spending all their time stopping blockade runners and sniping the surviving rebels in the mountains.”

But he saw the way you still didn’t look satisfied. “Why didn’t she tell me…she never said it was that bad.”

“You know how she is. She probably thought you had enough on your plate. Namely…me.” He smiled again.

“I should be with them.” And it was like you were talking to yourself then. The new guilt in your expression was obvious.

But finally here, he did feel that bit of irritation trying to start in him again. Yes, he knew how attached you must still be to your crew. Tsuru had saved you. No different than him pulling Baby 5, Monet, and Sugar from poverty and what would have only been a life of sexual abuse mixed with the constant threat of starvation for those girls otherwise.

And had never touched them. He would never dream of it in that context. They were family.

He could do these things to you though, because he’d seen you as a potential mate even from first sight.

They were like little sisters to him. But you were not. Even if he may tease you as such, with Tsuru as the common maternal thread between you.

“They’re fine without you.” He said carefully. Actually trying not to let his jealousy fully burst out. He didn’t want this good mood ended already. “I need you here.”

And it was intentional, the way he moved with his long arm easily reaching out for his hand to close over yours on top of the table.

“Like I said, we can help Tsuru-san here by being a good distraction. So she doesn’t have to deal with public accusations of mass murder that she has zero control over. I know she’s still been letting some medicine and food get through in secret anyway. She’s doing the best she can while still playing by the government’s rules on the surface. That woman is incorruptible. As always.”

And you still looked sad. Annoying to him really when he was right here in front of you, giving you his full attention this way. He wanted your mind on this feeling between the two of you instead, thinking of him alone. 

“(Y/N).” He said, relaxing his eyes as best he could. Emoting as best he could to regain your focus. “I need you.” He reiterated, even more intentional this time. Even more heartfelt he supposed it would be called. A skill that could be practiced and honed like any other tool in his manipulations of course. “This is your home now. With me.”

——————————

Your hands were in the pockets of your marine coat, intentionally so he could not hold either of them as your boot heels clicked on the stone streets.

What were you supposed to do? Doflamingo would have pulled you out here on his strings anyway if you hadn’t come willingly.

He wouldn’t have allowed their group to be humiliated by a no show when Diamante had already promised the public an appearance from you both this afternoon.

But you still didn’t buy any of his shit about this being a performance for Tsuru’s sake. Though you were now worrying for her and your crew still as you did your best to keep a neutral expression.

The Donquixote foot soldiers were keeping the curious onlookers at bay as you walked with Doflamingo towards the Corrida Colosseum.

Reporters had remained on the island, hoping for this very thing as cameras now flashed again and questions were yelled out to you both here and there.

For now the warlord was ignoring them though. Those red sunglasses rarely looked away from you.

“You know it’s a bit insulting for you to still be wearing that weapon when we’re out together.” Doflamingo said then, but that amusement so clear in his tone. “I’m all the weapon you need you know…”

Unless the civilians were excellent lip readers, they wouldn’t know what kind of small talk was really occurring here in the other noise of the crowd. And you were still so cognizant of everything you did with your own body language as you kept your eyes on the street ahead and where you were walking.

“If I’d had my weapon on in Scylla I wouldn’t have to still be dealing with this failed amputation.” You replied dryly. That swordsman never would have been so lucky if you just could have disarmed him with a haki infused rope and strangled him until he confessed who he was really working for.

“You left my side that night, darling. That was your own fault.” Doflamingo still chided though. Followed with a taunting, “But you’re barely limping today. Perhaps they won’t even notice with your legs covered this way. Does it still ache?”

You had chosen to wear leggings beneath your skirt this time. Covering the wound and all those bruises. “It hurts like fuck, you ass.” You said lowly.

And he almost cackled at the abruptness of that. 

So much so that you finally did look up at him in mild surprise.

“Didn’t Tsuru ever try to wash out that filthy mouth?” He practically cooed afterward.

Only then as you saw some young women giggling and blushing in your peripheral vision did you realize that to everyone else’s eyes this must look like real flirting, like familiarity already.

His attention was so clearly on you, the tall man walking fully at your side to better interact. Not even in front of you this time to lead. And him then laughing and smiling as if you’d said something endearing. 

Prince charming is who they somehow still thought he was, a fairytale come to life right before their eyes. They had no understanding of what lay behind it at all.

But you couldn’t judge their ignorance. Not when you knew so much more and were still right here beside him.

This very same man that had shown you the edge of death yesterday. And the same man you’d willingly climbed on top of this morning to briefly ride the cock of as he screamed out your name.

What a cursed pair the two of you were.

And he actually looked happy about it, proud even.

This bastard was out here living his best life while you were trying not to have another breakdown. 

Yes, what a complete shitshow this really was.

———————————

There had been lines all the way down the street just for admittance today. And it was even more of a madhouse once they’d gotten inside. This former gladiator knew the corridors well here however, holding the young girl’s hand firmly as he hopped at her side.

“Please stay close. Keep your face covered.” He reminded her yet again as he saw her getting distracted in all the spectacle.

“It’s hot, and I don’t like this on my face.” She still complained though, looking back down at him with her small voice almost lost in all the boisterous conversations around them.

“We’re only staying long enough to see what all this fuss is about. Then we’ll be going home.” Home being only the latest abandoned hovel that no one would search for her in. He hadn’t been able to convince Rebecca to stay there today while he made this rarer trip to the city.

But, it also hadn’t taken much of her arguing with him either really. The little tin soldier was still afraid to leave his young daughter alone out there in the countryside for long.

The girl who didn’t even know she had a father any longer while he kept tightly with her on their way to the public seating.

The sheer number of people here made her being recognized rather unlikely. But it was always a risk. So he’d made her tie a scarf around her face. Just below her wide and anxious eyes as inconsiderate adults bumped her this way and that in the crowd.

Kyros had to restrain himself not to say anything on her behalf. Knowing a normal toy would never make such a spectacle against humans.

He needed to remain focused as well. All the top members of the Donquixote family were now in attendance. 

His contact from the Tontattas had confirmed this. Even as the dwarves had been equally excitable with the fact that they had indeed still seen you alive this morning.

Details of yesterday had been rather spotty with the dwarves intense fear of Doflamingo making them rather unwilling to visit the palace for long. And certainly never letting themselves become trapped in the same room with him.

But Kyros understood there had been some sort of fight yesterday. That you had stood up to Trebol to break his nose even. A wound that executive still had bandaged today in fact.

It was truly unheard of.

So of course the dwarves and their optimistic hearts were already whispering of miracles.

They said Doflamingo had spared you out of affection.

Everything was always face value to them until brutally proven otherwise.

But Kyros had been in the throne room that first night of the invasion. He’d seen the truly pleasured smile on that animal’s face as King Riku had kneeled broken before him. While the former king had begged before that monster for mercy that Dressrosa would never see.

The little tin soldier could not fathom any love ever existing within such a wicked man.

Doflamingo was but a conqueror thirsting for more every moment, every second. More power, more control, more blood, and more suffering.

He was a beast that must be slayed for any of them to ever know freedom again.

So Kyros had come to witness this new lie with his own metal eyes. Because the Tontattas were surely misconstruing it somehow.

They thought you must have some special power over even Doflamingo’s missing heart. They wanted to believe in you so badly.

They hoped that a kind queen may soon rise to free them.

But Kyros had begged them to wait, to not make contact with you yet. 

Even if you had wished to help them, it didn’t mean that you could. It could be only another elaborate trap, you but another puppet on that demon’s strings. 

And the Tontattas weren’t alone in their immediate emotional investment in you either. That was clear in the excitement of the crowd as the tin soldier and Rebecca finally found an empty space they could cram into between other spectators. 

Like every other toy now in this stadium though, the war for this country had never ended for Kyros. His anguish and hatred were still the only real feelings he could muster as the humans beside him cheered when their king did finally appear. A blond devil grinning wide within the royal viewing box.

The very root of all that was wrong with their home. Their captor and tormentor, now with you at his side.

————————— 

Diamante had truly outdone himself today. It was perfect really. Only even furthering Doflamingo’s excellent mood as he heard the crowd now cheering his name.

He reached out, his fingers catching briefly over your hip as he guided you to sit beside him in the open air box.

You tensed at even that small of a touch though. You were still wishing to remain so proper in public. 

That time was about to be ending though. And he already was broadcasting that to anyone paying attention. Which was everyone of course as he extended his long arm over the stone seat back just behind you once you had sat at his side.

Gatz’s voice was already loud over the stadium’s speakers, welcoming the crowd to this afternoon of special exhibition matches put on by request of his majesty who was now gracing them with his rare presence.

Because it really had been a while since he’d been to the colosseum in person. He’d been too busy with his responsibilities as Joker, too busy with chasing you.

But now you were here and so was he. And you’d just noticed the large projection screen. Normally meant to showcase the highlights of the battles below to the crowd. But those visual transponder snails were focused on the royal booth in this moment to the people’s further delight as you quickly looked away.

“Don’t be so cold.” Doflamingo spoke to you with that continued amusement. “You’re still representing your precious marines here too you know. Don’t you care about this island’s citizens? They’re dying to get a chance to catch your eye…”

Quite literally perhaps.

On Doflamingo’s orders, Diamante had already let his prisoner gladiators know of today’s special rules. 

With you as his official guest, whichever fighter was judged as performing the best in the matches to come would earn the unheard of right of a full pardon. Not that unattainable thousand match bullshit that Diamante normally tortured them with.

But that pardon would come from none other than you. Just for today, Doflamingo would be granting you that authority, though you didn’t know it yet.

He wanted them to love you. He couldn’t show much mercy, even when used as a tactic with ulterior motives. Because he had to maintain full control here. But you could. You could be the facade of the softer hand when he needed one.

Doflamingo could have you secure the trust of even the ones that already knew enough to fear him. And you could help him weed out more of the traitors then when they’d inevitably come to you for help.

He was smiling, you making his life better in every way in this moment as he got comfortable. Legs spread again, his knee against yours as one of the servants brought the first tray of drinks by.

And he knew there was a diamond ring in his pocket as well. The one he’d picked out from the jeweler’s tray Monet and Sugar had presented him with earlier today when he’d told you he had a few things to take care of before getting ready to come here.

By this time tomorrow every piece of trash that had ever tried to cross him would be seeing a picture of that ring on your hand in the newspaper.

It was a fucking beautiful day to be king. A beautiful day to have everything back under his control, including you.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

Author’s note: The song that Viola sings in the beginning is just my own English bastardization/loose translation for story purposes of the Spanish song “¡Ay Pena, Penita, Pena!”. Please go listen to the real thing.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.

[viola-verse]

June 21, 2025.

Warnings: Briefly alludes to Yoongi's "scandal" and how the antis treated him. Military dischargement. Alludes to the speculation that Yoongi's married is starting. X is still called Twitter in this cause I'm not calling it X.

Wordcount: 1,593

Send a request or a suggestion if there is something you want to read

Author's Note: This is short and sweet, not all imagines will be this short (or long - some might be quick timestamps & social media posts). This is just the idea that I had that started the Viola-verse.

Viola is in one of the dance studios practicing her choreography for her second comeback as a solo artist. As the music to title song fills the room, she moves along with it precision and dedication. Beads of sweat form on her forehead as she pushes herself to perfect each movement. Suddenly, she hears the door to the studio creak open, interrupting her concentration. She turns her head, about to scold the person, but stops herself when she sees it's Yoongi. 

Yoongi steps further into the room, clad in military uniform and a soft smile on his lips. Because their relationship is still unknown to the outside world, she was kept busy with schedules and dance practice. 

"I thought you could use a break," he says gently, as he picks up her water bottle and towel and brings it over to her forcing her to take a break. 

Viola's stern expression melts into one of gratitude, and she nods walking over to the sound system and lowers the volume of the music. She walks closer to him taking the bottle and towel. She gulps down the cool water, and then dabs the sweat from her forehead with the towel. 

"Thank you," she says, as she leans in for soft peck. “How did your discharge and live go? I tried to catch the en-” 

She’s cut off when Yoongi presses a kiss to her lips, pulling her against him.  

“I’m sweaty and gross,” she mumbles against his lips, a soft giggle leaving her lips.  

"I don't care," he whispers, his breath warm against her lips.  

Viola's heart swells, and she wraps her arms around his neck, savoring the moment. For a few minutes, they stand there, holding each other, the music playing faintly in the background as they begin to sway to the song. 

“Is that your title track?” he asks, his smile turning a little smug. He knows for certain that the song playing is her title track. He had a hand in writing it with her.  

Viola chuckles and nods. "Yes, it is. And it's all thanks to you," she replies lovingly, acknowledging his contribution with a warm smile. Her title track – You, Me, Us – is an emotional love song that perfectly captures the love she shares with him. Yoongi co-writing and producing the song makes it even more meaningful to her.  

“I left my wedding ring on during the live,” he admits, unable to hold it in anymore. Yoongi’s intention was to switch his wedding band from his left to his right hand, but it slipped his mind as he anxiously waited for the live to start. “Can’t get anything past Army’s, they noticed I was wearing it before I remembered I was.” 

Viola's eyes widen slightly in surprise. “How did they react?" she asks, anxious about how his fans would handle it. Her mind flashing back to last year and everything that went down only makes her worry more. 

Yoongi lips brush against her forehead in a soothing gesture. "You know how the fans react to things. They go wild.” 

"You don't have to wear your ring during work if it makes it easier for you. I understand,” she says, softly, reassuring him that she doesn’t have an issue with it if that’s what he wants to do. They’d had a few conversations about what they would do once Yoongi is back with BTS being the rapper and producer everyone loves. Ultimately, they never decided on what they’ll do.  

Yoongi shakes his head, his gaze softening. "I know, but I’m used to wearing it. I have been for the last 11 months. It’s a part of me now,” he assures her. “Everyone will just have to deal with it.” 

"I love you," she whispers. 

"I love you too," Yoongi murmurs, pulling her close again and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Their moment is soon interrupted by the door swinging open, Namjoon and a frazzled looking Jin. The couple breaks apart, taking a step or two back from each other.  

“Ya! We’ve been looking for you!” Jin scolds the younger man, who’d quickly disappeared after his live, avoiding whatever surprise the rest of the group had planned for him. 

Viola and Yoongi exchange a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between them. “Sorry,” Yoongi says with an apologetic smile. “I just wanted to see my wife.” 

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, you’ve seen her. We have a surprise waiting for you.” 

Yoongi looks at Viola, who gives him an encouraging nod. “Alright, lead the way,” he sighs, trying to pretend to be annoyed as he goes to leave the room with them. 

“You too, Hannie,” Jin calls out to her, holding the door open, using the nickname he uses for her. Hannie being from her Korean name Ha-neul. 

“Me?” she asks, confused.  

“You think we’d have a surprise for Yoongi Hyung and not include his wife, Noona?” Namjoon asks. 

“Give me a minute,” she tells them, scrambling to turn off the sound system and gather her belongings.  

Yoongi waits for her, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he watches her. Once ready, Viola joins them, and together they head down the corridor. The sound of chatter and laughter grows louder with each step they take, a clear indication that a celebration is underway. 

They enter the large rehearsal room, which has been transformed into a celebration space. Decorations hang from the ceiling, and a large banner reads, “Welcome Back, Yoongi!” 

The room erupts in cheers and applause as they step inside. Jimin is the first to speak up, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We knew you’d try to hide, but you can’t escape us that easily!” 

“I knew you were planning something!” He says allowing his chosen brothers to hug him. 

“You know us too well,” Hoseok chimes in, handing him a drink. “Don’t worry we all went through this after our live. Couldn’t let all the food and cake go to waste.” 

Yoongi laughs, accepting the drink and taking a sip. The atmosphere is warm as everyone relaxes, enjoying the reunion. Viola watches as Yoongi interacts with the rest of his group, his face lighting up. It's heartwarming to see him surrounded by those who love and support him the most.  

As the evening progresses, each BTS member takes turns to express their happiness for them being back together again as a whole and being able to continue doing what they all love. Namjoon’s heartfelt words about brotherhood bring tears to Viola’s eyes, reminding her that no matter how much time passes, they’ll always be those same boys she met during their trainee days. 

When the celebrations start to wind down, Yoongi finds Viola conversing with Jimin and Hoseok. “Ready to go home?” he asks her. She nods starting to feel her social battery draining. 

They say their goodbyes to everyone and follow the staff member tasked with driving them home. Walking closely together, Yoongi slips his hand into hers as they exit the building to where the car is parked. The car ride is quiet but comfortable, filled with the soft hum of the engine. Viola leans her head against Yoongi’s shoulder, as they both feel the excitement from today turn into exhaustion. Both their social batteries are on nil. 

As they near their home, the city's vibrant lights reflect off the car windows, casting a warm glow inside. The driver pulls up to their building, and they thank him before stepping out into the night. Yoongi's hand finds hers again, their fingers linking naturally as they head toward the entrance of their home. 

Once inside, Yoongi and Viola change into more comfortable clothes and settle on the couch. Yoongi leans back, pulling Viola close, resting his chin on her head. Viola has her phone in her hand and starts scrolling through social media. It doesn’t take her long to find posts about Yoongi possibly wearing a wedding ring. 

"People are already speculating about your ring," she tells him scrolling through some of the comments left on one post. “It’s already trending.” 

He chuckles, taking her phone to get a better look. "Let them speculate. We’ll be fine as long as they don’t do anything." 

"What if the antis or sasaengs do something?” she asks, voicing her concerns. “It broke my heart seeing those funeral wreaths with your name on them in front of the building. My manager had to stop me from going out and destroying them. I should have done it anyway," she frowns remembering what happened in the months following his stupid scandal.  

Yoongi's expression softens as he takes her hand in his. "I know it was tough, but we'll face whatever happens together,” he tries to assure her. "For now, how about we focus on something else?" Yoongi suggests, trying to lighten the mood and get her mind off things. "Our first anniversary is coming up next month. Have you thought of a way that we could celebrate?" 

“If we have the time, I was thinking we could go away for the weekend. Maybe to the beach,” she says, the thought of a beach getaway bringing a sparkle to her eyes. 

Yoongi smiles, knowing the beach is one of his wife’s favourite places. “The beach sounds perfect,” he says, agreeing with her. 

Viola nods, feeling a surge of excitement at the idea. “Once I know our schedules, I’ll start looking for places we can stay.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Yoongi agrees, pulling her closer and presses a kiss to her lips. 

©️2025 @viola-verse & @dancinglikebutterflywings - Do not copy. modify and/or repost anywhere.

Tagged:

@carattinymoa - @rainyday-daydreamer

[robzombies-hotwife]

I completely disagree that Twelfth Night ends with two happy couples after all of the events of the play. It definitely ends with one, as Orsino and Viola do seem thrilled to be together. By contrast, I think Sebastian and Olivia have a more strained final dynamic. Their very last interaction is Sebastian basically telling her, "So this was all a confusing mistake, huh?" Honestly, think about their situation. Olivia realized that she'd hastily married a total stranger, not even the person she'd been acquainted with, and basically granted this person all of her money and prestige. Throughout the play, her suitors constantly try to take advantage of her beauty, wealth, and noble title and the whole reason she projected feelings onto Cesario was because he didn't do that. But Sebastian is not Cesario and as far as Olivia knows, he'll just be another opportunist even though he assures her that the deception wasn't malicious in intent. Sebastian (already established as an extremely emotionally turbulent character) had been wandering through Ilyria in confusion and horror as random people kept trying to beat him up for no reason, and he married Olivia on desperate impulse because at least she seemed inexplicably fond of him. Their marriage was a whirlwind of dreamlike confusion and his big monologue to himself right after it was mostly wondering if he'd lost his goddamn mind.

Olivia and Sebastian shared the characteristic of intense grief during their introductions, both having lost a sibling recently and Olivia her father as well. Grief could've been something to bond over like it was for Olivia and Cesario (though that's not exactly healthy), but in the end, Sebastian's sister returned to him and Olivia truly stands alone again, wrapped in her black veil of tragedy. To add salt to the wound, the one person that Sebastian is shown to truly, passionately care about besides his sister is Antonio, his savior and friend who's openly and obviously in love with him.

I feel a lot of sympathy for Olivia, actually, as grief can make a person do crazy things (like force feelings for and marry '"Cesario" just to try to escape the pain) and now she's still so alone at the end of the play. Technically married, but truthfully as alone as she always was.

[grandlinedreams]

childhood friends trope with Law please and thank you <3333 This particular trope always has me in shambles THE INTIMACY?? OR KNOWING EVERY VERSION OF THAT PERSON?? THE INSIDE JOKES? UGHHH And lets not forget the tenderness that comes with knowing that person for years and then some. Good shit. I just want this lonely brooding twink to have something constant in his from from his childhood to adulthood. The softness makes me wanna hurl i love it

YESSSSS i am also such a sucker for childhood friends trope bls I hope I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: fluff, a touch of angst, dressrosa arc spoilers]

He's lucky to not be dead.

You kneel on Law's other side, limp hand in both of yours. You've never seen him so still and quite frankly, you're terrified.

You know you should talk to him, try to keep him tethered here in the land of the living ㅡ but your mind is horribly blank given the chaos still unfolding around you.

Were you more sentimental, you'd beg. A thousand pinky promises and accompanying eyerolls, the smirk you so often threaten to punch him for when he's being insufferable ㅡ you'd take it over this.

"You must care for him quite a bit," Viola says, and you know she's trying to find something to say, to reassure you that Law is going to be just fine. "Are you..."

She trails off, tact where there often is none when it comes to you and Law. Because there's only so in sync you can be with someone else, share looks and understand what the other wants, seemingly operate as two halves of a whole before you get that question.

"No," you say, "we're just friends."

ㅡ

You're a lot more than just friends. That implies that there's been much of a time where you didn't know each other, and there really hasn't. Or that the two of you met through traditional means.

That isn't quite true either. You meet when the world is on fire for the both of you, in ways so similar and yet not.

Grief is such a funny thing when you find comfort in someone who's lost just as much as you. It's easier to tread those dark waves when someone else is threatening to sink with you ㅡ find solid ground in linked pinkies and eyerolls that follow, wide grins made hole-punched by missing baby teeth.

Of course there's also Shachi, Penguin and Bepo ㅡ they aren't far behind you in knowing Law, but it still stands that you've been a constant for longer.

"Of course I'm gonna come with you, idiot," you huff, eyes gleaming with laughter, "who else is gonna put up with you the way I do?"

You don't need to tell him you'd gladly follow him through the gates of hell. He knows, because he'd do the same for you.

There's only one person who knows you better than yourself, and his name is Trafalgar Law. You don't turn as he exits Kyros' house, eyes still skyward as he sinks onto the step beside you.

"The stars are pretty," you remark.

"You should be asleep." Law's eyes narrow when you mouth his words at the same time, and you scoff.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who got shot, then almost lost an arm." Law meets your gaze, then looks away. "I'm not expecting you to apologize, because that isn't how we operate. But we made a promise, didn't we?"

"[Name]ㅡ"

"Law."

Law huffs. "We were kids."

"So? Hasn't stopped us before. As I recall, you've pulled this card on me several times." You hold your hand up, pinky extended. "Do it, Law."

Law stares at you, as thrilled about your tradition as he ever is, but links his pinky around yours. You grin, and he rolls his eyes. "You're a pain."

"Yeah," you answer, scooting closer to settle your head on his shoulder. "You're my pain, and I'm yours. That's how it works, right?"

Law is quiet, undoubtedly still coming to terms with the end of all of this and what it means for him ㅡ catharsis, a shackle unclamped from around his neck. Your hand finds his, fingers braced through the gaps of his, and you squeeze. You don't say a word, and you don't have to.

"Yeah," Law finally answers, lets his head rest against yours. "It is."

[norakbubbles]

Luffy x Nami: Unexpected Proposal

Drabble prompt: "But we're not married" "Then marry me"

Warnings: Extreme fluff; Spoilers (I think); Takes place in the future; a couple of theories I'm throwing in

Their hard work had paid off

All the blood, tears, shared laughter, unexpected obstacles, and adventure had come to an end.

Luffy had found the One Piece and became King of the Pirates and the news spread like wildfire. The slaves of Mariejois were free and the Celestial Dragons had been taken care of.

Zoro became the world's greatest swordsman

Sanji found the All Blue

Usopp became a brave warrior of the sea and is known worldwide for his heroics

Chopper finally found the cure to every disease known to mankind, even ones that had been left unsolved for generations

Robin found every Poneglyph

Franky now made ships for people far and wide and is sought out by anyone and everyone

Brook reunited with Laboon

And Jinbei was finally able to convince the fishmen and merfolk to trust humans and how the two races lived in harmony both on land and in the sea

Nami smiled as she watched the celebration going on in Laugh Tale right now. Her own dream was achieved as well. The map of the world was proudly displayed in a glass case made from a strong material that would prevent anything bad from happening. She sighed in content and leaned back against a stone, watching everyone. People they had met along the way were there, even those they fought in the past. The Cross Guild, Perona, Nojiko, Genzo, Foxy, Hancock, Iceburg, Paulie, Zeff, Reiju, Bon Clay, Conis, Shirahoshi and her brothers, King Neptune, Hachi, Camie, Pappag, Duval, Bartolomeo, Viola, Rebecca, Coby, Helmeppo, the entire Revolutionary army, the Heart Pirates, Bonney, Kidd, Kiku, Hiyori, Momo, Yamato, Smoker, Tashigi, Hina, and of course Vivi and Cobra. Hell, even Katakuri and Pudding showed up. Nami laughed as she watched Luffy bicker with Garp before the two fell asleep briefly. She pushed herself off the wall and walked to the extremely large buffet table. Sanji was still cooking up a storm with Zeff and Hachi's help. Good thing, too, since Luffy was eating like he hadn't eaten in days. She refilled her mug with some high-quality wine Mihawk had brought and picked up a small quiche.

"Big party, huh?" Vivi asked, walking next to her friend. She was holding a plate of fruit with a whale skewer in one of the pieces.

"Tell me about it. I'm surprised this island hasn't sunk with how many people are here," Nami replied causing the two to start giggling silently. They stood, saying nothing as they observed everyone around them. The people who they had so many memories with were all celebrating one person and for good reason. Nami's eyes wandered until they landed on Luffy. He was stuffing his face but that's not what caused her gaze to linger. Former warlord Boa Hancock was seated next to him, slightly turned away, a blush on her cheeks and her finger tips pressed against each other as she spoke. Nami couldn't make out what she was saying but was sure it was something about how she loved him. Luffy, of course, didn't register.

"You should tell him." Nami jumped.

"What?"

"You should tell him how you feel," Vivi said, gesturing to the redhead's hand. Nami realized she had gripped the quiche so hard it was now ruined. She sighed and wiped it off.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're Nakama, Vivi! And besides do you think that Luffy even returns my feelings? Much less when he has the undivided attention and affection from the most beautiful woman in the world?!" she shouted. Luckily the party was loud enough that not many people heard her. A couple heads turned but they brushed it off. Vivi set her plate down and took Nami's hands in her own.

"Nami...when I admitted my love for Koza, he didn't believe me at first. He thought that I was joking because I was royalty and he wasn't. It took some time for him to find out I was telling the truth but when he did, he couldn't believe it. He had loved me since we were children and that deep rooted voice in his head told me I would never reciprocate his feelings so he neglected to tell me out of fear... if you do the same, you'll lose Luffy for good. You will still be friends but you will never forget that you had a chance to make your true feelings known and you didn't because you were scared. You and Luffy have faced so much together. He saved you from Arlong, you're the only one he trusts with his hat, and you've fought alongside each other against the deadliest of opponents. You believed that he would be king of the pirates and he believed you would draw a map of the world and now here you both are. Surrounded by people who love and admire you. I have a feeling that Luffy loves you more than you may think. All you have to do is talk to him." By the end, Nami was crying and she threw her arms around Vivi, hugging the princess tightly.

"Thank you..." she mumbled.

"I'll always have your back. Now go," she said, nudging her in Luffy's direction. Nami started to walk in his direction and stood in front of him.

"Eh, Luffy?" He looked up and gave her a big smile.

"Hey, Nami! Have you tried the food? It's so good!" She giggled and nodded.

"Yes I did..." Nami looked at Hancock briefly, whose piercing gaze was boring into her head. "I, uh, was wondering if we could talk alone, Luffy?"

"Hm? Sure! You can have Hammock's seat!" Nami avoided a grin and a laugh at that statement but decided to sit on the other side of Luffy instead. Hancock rolled her eyes and glared at Nami before getting up and walking away, shoving Buggy to the ground in the process.

"So what'd you wanna talk about?" Luffy asked, shoving a piece of cake into his mouth. Nami couldn't help but stare. He was so immature, loud, and messy... but he was also kind, made her laugh, and was fiercely protective of not only her but everyone else who asked for his help. Luffy tilted his head when she didn't say anything.

"Nami, you ok? Are you hungry?" Nami sighed and shook her head with a small smile.

"No, Luffy, I'm not hungry, I,...I need to discuss something very important with you."

"Ok! What is it?" he asked, shoving a whole cantaloupe in his mouth.

"Luffy... ever since I met you, I had this feeling that you were different from any other man I met. The way you went about life so carefree and fearless was intriguing and it made me somewhat scared for your life. However...as I stayed with you and kept getting to know every part of you, my feelings grew into something much more serious. When you put your hat on my head back in Cocoyashi and promised to help me with Arlong, I felt something grow within me. Something that I hadn't felt in so long. And every time you smiled at me, saved me, or even promised to help someone else like Vivi, that something kept growing bigger and bigger. It took some time to come to terms with but Luffy...I fell in love with you. And I fell in love hard. I know you might not reciprocate or even understand the meaning and I understand if that's the case but I just wanted to tell you that-."

"I love you, too." Nami's head snapped up in shock.

"W-What?"

"I love you, too." I talked to Robin about it one time after we got her back from CP9, and I told her that it felt like things were dancing in my stomach whenever I saw you or was close to you. She explained to me that I was in love. I still don't fully get it, but what I do get is that I am in love with you, too." Nami felt like she was going to cry. All of the fear she had initially felt was gone.

"But, what about Boa Hancock?" Luffy shrugged.

"Eh, she's not my type. Also, she's like 12 years older than me, which is kinda weird." Nami couldn't help but laugh a little at that.

"Nami..."

"Yeah?"

"You know I'm King of the Pirates now."

"Of course. Why else would we be having this party?" she said half sarcastically.

"Well...a king needs his queen." Nami gasped softly at that. She turned to look at Luffy searching his eyes for any signs of deception but saw none, only truth.

"Luffy, you know that kings and queens are typically husband and wife, right?"

"I know that. And?"

"But we're not married." Luffy reached over and grabbed her hand.

"Then marry me." The redhead's eyes widened.

"Luffy..."

"Marry me, Nami. I know it's fast but I love you. Be my queen... please." The dam had broke, and Nami had tears streaming down her cheeks. Sanji noticed, and his gaze turned fiery.

"LUFFY!! WHY IS NAMI-SAN CRYING?? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER??" His yelling caught the attention of pretty much everyone else there, and they all stared at the two. Sanji set his leg on fire and leaped into the air, about to land a flying kick to his captain's face. Nami exhaled a shaky breath.

"Oh, Luffy, of course I'll marry you." Sanji stopped in mid-air and fell on his face.

"WHHAATTT???" everyone shouted at the same time, save for Robin and Vivi, who were both giggling off to the side. Luffy grinned wide and laughed.

"Shishishi! We're gonna be the greatest king and queen ever!" he said, wrapping his stretchy arms around Nami in a tight hug. Nami laughed too and hugged him back just as tightly. Everyone started cheering and clapping. Sanji was face down crying into the dirt. Hancock was off to the side chewing on her sleeve.

"Congrats guys!" Usopp shouted, clapping both of them on the backs. Robin and Chopper hugged Nami while Franky and Jinbei ruffled Luffy's hair.

"Never knew you had it in you, Captain," Zoro said with a smirk, taking a sip of his beer.

"Oi! Strawhat!" Luffy looked up to see Genzo giving him a stern look.

"You remember your promise!" he said, raising his mug. Luffy nodded and bowed.

"And I'll keep that promise!" Everyone's drinks were refilled and Sabo, with his arm around Koala, raised his glass high into the air.

"A toast! To the new king and queen of the pirates!"

"To the king and queen!!" everyone shouted happily. Luffy pulled Nami close to him by her waist and pressed his nose to hers.

"To us," he said. Nami smiled and placed her hand on his cheek.

"To us." They kissed softly as the cheering got louder and Usopp, Franky, and Bartolomeo let a barrage of fireworks off. Luffy and Nami watched the fireworks and Nami stole a glance at her now fiancé's huge grin. She was going to marry her best friend and she was going to be a queen.

And she was going to be the best damn queen the world has ever known.

END

[heich0e]

begin - nicholas wolfwood/f!reader (trigun) prequel to the poly!au, bounty hunters!au, wild west-ish, tw BLOOD/INJURIES, reader is patching up a bullet wound so warning for all the expected nastiness that entails, tw mentions of attemped assault (not reader and not in detail), mentions of sex work, gratuitous mentions of nico's stubble

BOUND - poly!au masterlist

You live in a nothing town, in the dead middle of nowhere, called The Bend.

It’s called that because a long time ago—long before your days, or your daddy’s days, or even your granddaddy’s days—there used to be a wide, rushing freshwater river snaking through the valley, and right where the town centre now sits is where it used to turn east to the far-away sea. 

But the river’s dried up now, and it took the green grass with it.

The sea is farther than you could ever hope to travel. 

And the B on the sign that marks the border into your dusty little nothing-nowhere town has rusted off and decayed away with the years, which means the only warning that any misguided traveller has to tell them where they’re heading is an ominous old sign, half-rotted, that reads:

Welcome to The  end.

It’s fitting, you think. An omen to give anyone who wanders within spitting distance of the border a final caution that they have one last chance to turn around. A choice to get out while they still can.

It’s a choice you never had.

You were born and raised in The Bend. Your blood runs thick with the dust that coats the decrepit old town. It’s all you’ve ever known, and all you ever will know; your beginning, your middle, and your miserable, inexorable end.

Because that’s the thing about The Bend: few people ever show up here and those who do aren’t stupid enough to stay. And the unfortunate few that are born from the dusty earth and dried up riverbeds, like you? Well, those ones never leave.

There’s some comfort to be taken from that, you suppose; a kind of stability that comes from monotony. From certain inevitability. Every day the same, unchanging. A familiarity to the nothingness of your little town, your little house, your little life.

But then, on a night just like any other, something changes.

One night, you meet him.

Nicholas isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, but he isn’t all that surprised either. 

There’s something kind of undeniably fitting about bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere, supported on either side by two of the finest prostitutes The Bend has to offer—and flanked by a handful more as the group guides him through the dark, dusty night.

The Bend isn’t the first hellhole town Nicholas has ever stumbled into. His line of work has brought him to more than his fair share of seedy dumps just like this one. Towns like this are the perfect place for someone to hide from the law after all, because not many people would bother to come looking for you in places that might as well not exist. Most bounty hunters don’t even know about this particular town, and they don’t care to learn, especially since half the maps on the market don’t even bother marking its sorry half-existence down.

But Nicholas isn’t like most bounty hunters.

That’s what brought him to The Bend.

There’s a vicious flash of lightning that suddenly forks through the sky overhead, lighting up the dim, depressing town and the dusty valley beyond it as brightly as the midday sun for just a blink. It’s followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that makes the packed earth under his unsteady feet tremble, and Nicholas knows that means the lightning’s closer than he cares for it to be.

“’s it gonna rain?” he slurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky and looking over to the woman supporting him on his right (or is that his left?)

He wracks his hazy, addled brain as he tries to remember her name. Starts with a V, he’s pretty sure. Victoria? Viola?

She snorts, her ruby rouged lips lifting at one painted corner. “Honey, it’s been almost five months since we’ve seen a drop of rain around here, and even then it was nothin’ to write home about. You just focus on puttin’ one boot in front of the other, and don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.” 

All at once, Nicholas is reminded of the burning pain in his arm; the searing, radiating agony of a bullet nestled deep into flesh. 

Oh. Right.

He got shot.

It’s not the first time he’s suffered a similar wound, nor will it likely be the last if he makes it through the night—God, or whatever all-knowing bastard’s out there, willing. That doesn’t make it any less of a miserable bitch to deal with, though.

How the hell did he get shot, again?

He ponders this question for a moment, reflecting on it through alcohol sodden introspection, and the answer comes back to him in bits and pieces as he keeps aimlessly shuffling along through the night.

The sound of heels clicking overhead at the town saloon—that’s the first thing he remembers. The clacking metronome of Big Annie’s working girls crossing the wooden floorboards of the brothel that operates above the only place in this awful little town to get a half-decent drink.

A drink. 

Yes, it was something bitter and dark—completely nauseating to presently even think about. It burned on the way down, and now it sloshes unpleasantly in his stomach as he walks. The girls had made him down the better part of a bottle after he’d been shot—to help with the pain, they’d said, and he’d been anything but reluctant to heed their advice—and he’d already had fair a few glasses earlier in the evening as he’d occupied his table in the corner of the bar on top of that. Panic had palpably sizzled between the women while they watched the tattered cloth Nicholas held to his arm ink steadily darker with scarlet in the lamplight of the old bar following the shooting—the tension building amongst them like the perspiration beading at his temple. They were bickering about something then.

No, not something.

Someone.

“We gotta take him to see Mama!” 

It was Charity who said that, he recalls—the pretty little thing with full lips and a mane of thick, curly hair that Nicholas had complimented the first time he ever saw her traipsing through the saloon. She can’t be a whole lot older than 20, and her voice is still high and childlike; even more so that particular evening as she stomped her foot petulantly, looking over at him with worry-filled eyes as she made her plea to the other girls watching him bleed out in the musty wooden booth.

“Mama won't want anything to do with this one.”

That was Violetta who’d replied to Charity’s fractious appeal. She’s one of the older girls who works for Big Annie at the brothel. She’s got a sort of seasoned air to her, with a husky rasp in her voice—like the sand that blows through the empty streets in town has roughened it. She’s still undeniably pretty, but she comes across a little tougher than the rest of them. Doing the job she does in a town like this one, Nicholas doesn’t blame her for it.

Violetta’s the one currently supporting his right side, leading him through the night towards the woman who’s supposed to be his saving grace.

Towards Mama.

But who the hell is that?

He’s sure he’s heard the name in passing while he’s been kicking around the town saloon between his work, nursing half-noxious drinks and flirting harmlessly here and there with Big Annie’s working girls—who seem to have taken a liking to lingering around his table between visits from johns. 

Nicholas wasn’t even supposed to be staying in The Bend long, only for a day or two to follow up on a bounty lead he’d caught wind of three towns over—but the lead went cold, and a few days turned into almost a week. Nevertheless, while his stay may have been extended, he just he never thought to ask any more questions about this mysterious matriarch all the working girls seemed to know so well and speak so highly of. But now, as those very same girls are dragging his half-conscious ass to the other side of town in search of this Mama, he wishes that maybe he’d dug a little deeper.

“Mama’s gonna get you all fixed up, handsome,” little Charity appears on Violetta’s other side, her eyes wide enough as she stares at him that they reflect the next flash of lightning as it rips through the dark of night. She looks worried, in spite of her words—even in his present state of drunkenness and blood loss fuelled delirium, he can tell that much. 

They all do. Even the toughest, Violetta—though she seems reluctant to let on as she stands stoically at his side and shoulders his flagging, stumbling weight. 

Charity nods, but it’s a gesture that seems more to reassure herself than anyone else. “Mama always takes care of us; she’ll have you good as new by morning.” 

Ah, so this woman must be a doctor of sorts—or as close to it as a shithole little town like this can offer.

It’s Nicholas’ turn to nod, a bobble of his cotton-filled head the only recognition he can muster to her words, as he just keeps staggering on under their guidance. He’s lucky that The Bend even has some kind of doctor to look after him, even if it’s just some old lady who looks after the saloon girls.

The unlikely group soon arrives at the doorstep of a little house at the edge of town—as slummy and dilapidated as all the rest of them—and Queenie, the girl who’d moments before been supporting Nicholas’s injured left side, raps sharply on the door.

“She’s not gonna answer,” Violetta mutters dourly under her breath, still at Nicholas’ right side.

“She will,” Charity counters with her arms crossed over her chest, punctuating the assertion with an indignant little huff for good measure. “Mama always answers when we come knockin’.”

But Nicholas worries for a moment—a long moment as the door stays firmly shut—that Violetta might just have a point. It’s the middle of the night after all, and this ‘Mama’ could very well be sleeping like any other reasonable person would be at this hour. 

Queenie knocks on the wooden door for a second time, this time with an open palm. This series of raps is a little louder. A little more insistent.

“Mama? It’s us! Open up!” she calls, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Nicholas—who’s got his entire weight slumped over onto poor Violetta, now.

Nicholas is bleeding out on the front porch, and part of him still almost feels bad for waking up some poor, unsuspecting old—

The door flies open.

“What the hell do you want?”

Oh.

Nicholas knows that his eyes travel up your frame in a way that can only be considered wholly impolite. But he’s not really in his right mind, after all—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he justifies his immodest stare. He starts at the uneven cuffs of your paper-thin trousers, before climbing up, up, up your body to the tight white undershirt your wear—appreciating the way it clings to the curve of your waist and sits snug around your chest, and he particularly admires the pretty little edge of lace that frills around the neckline at your breasts. Finally, his gaze makes it to your face, and you look irritated to say the absolute least on the matter.

He’s not all that sure what he was expecting to find on the other side of the chipped paint of this shabby front door, but he can say with a steady hand to his foolhardy heart that it certainly wasn’t you.

For a moment, Nicholas is convinced they’ve got the wrong house—as improbable as that might be in a town as small as this one. At the very least, he waits for someone else to come to the door—a mother, or grandmother even—because surely you can’t be the one that these women have been calling—

“Mama! You gotta help us,” Queenie exclaims. She’s luckily perceptive enough to stick out her foot once she sees you fully process just what’s waiting for you outside, keeping the door jammed open with her heeled boot as you rush to slam it shut.

“I haven’t gotta do anything,” you counter sharply from around the edge of the door, your face pinching in a blatantly vexed expression at the way the woman is keeping it ajar.

Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas through the gap between the door and its frame, surveying him with a look of disdain that might just have been enough to offend him if he were a little more himself.

“Mama, he got shot!” Charity suddenly bursts into what can only be described as a spectacular display of tears—blubbering noisily between each word as she elbows her way through the group towards your door. She reaches across the threshold and desperately clutches at the front of your shirt with both hands as she pleads to you. “P-please let us in, y-you’re the only one who can h-he-help him.”

“Bertie, what in God’s merciful name is wrong with you?” you sigh aggrievedly, roughly batting her hands away from their grip on your clothes. In the next breath, you wrench open the front door to your home, stepping back to allow your unexpected visitors the space to cross through the doorway. “And cut the waterworks or you’re gonna wake up half The Bend and get us all shot.”

As the girls help Nicholas inside and across the gnarled, warped floorboards of your little house, you slip wordlessly away into another room out of sight. When you return moments later, you’ve pulled on a creased button-down over that pretty little undershirt of yours. 

Nicholas can’t help but notice that you’re dressed practically like a man, especially in comparison to the painted faces and petticoats of the other women in the room. But it strangely suits you, for reasons he can’t quite place.

“He got shot fightin’ some bozo tryin’ to rough up Ada on her way home,” Violetta explains when you look to her with an expression that demands context. She’s the most level-headed of the five woman gathered in your tiny home, so no one can blame you for turning to her first. 

Nicholas feels dizzy, the modest lamp-lit room around him reeling like a child’s toy spinning top gaining speed. 

Did he do that?

He remembers hearing something out back in the alley that runs behind the saloon and the inn when he went out to take a piss late into to the evening, well after it had dropped dark. He was already sufficiently drunk by that point, but there was no mistaking the sound of a woman putting up a fight the moment that he heard it. He followed the racket and found the pair quickly—on instinct more than anything—grabbing the drunken man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him off the poor girl he was trying to force himself on. In the ensuing scuffle, the man pulled a gun that Nicholas wasn’t expecting. With his senses drink-dulled, he didn’t react quickly enough to miss the shot entirely and caught it in his arm—but he’s lucky the guy had such terrible aim to begin with, or the night could have turned out a whole lot worse.

But who’s this Ada? He thought the girl he’d helped’s name was Priscilla—having met her a few times in the saloon. She was always quieter than the rest of them, a little more reserved. She didn’t say much to anyone from what Nicholas had witnessed in his time spent in The Bend. But Ada’s not the first name he’s heard since showing up at your door that’s unfamiliar to him.

“You've got a lot of nerve dragging some no-good, half-cocked brute to my door like this in the middle of the damn night, Sarah Jane,” you hiss through your teeth, your eyes flickering from Violetta over to Nicholas once more.

Violetta snorts, but offers no argument.

“Please, Mama,” Priscilla (or is it Ada? Nicholas can’t keep track anymore) says quietly, though her tone is unmistakably earnest. It’s the first time she’s said anything since the girls came stumbling through your door with the injured man propped between them. First time he remembers her saying anything at all—at least other than when he heard her screaming and chased off the scum that was hassling her.

Your attention suddenly turns to where Priscilla stands just off near the corner of the little room, with Theodosia (another one of Big Annie’s working girls) at her side with a comforting arm looped around her waist. It’s not hard to see the way the woman trembles as she holds her shawl around her shoulders. She’s got a bad scrape across her cheek, and her lip is split—evidence of the ordeal she’d gone through earlier in the evening. Her skin still looks clammy and sallow from the shock. 

Your expression softens as you contemplate her.

“C’mere, Adaline,” you beckon to her, reaching out a hand. “Step into the light and let me take a look at you.”

She approaches you without any reservation, and you carefully inspect her wounds after taking her face gently in your hands. A long, resigned sigh slips from your lips once a moment has passed, having turned her face this way and that to fully scrutinize her condition. You look around at the women gathered in your home, and the man slumping between them, then your head hangs in defeat. Your hand lifts to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Bertie, go grab my bag from my room. Georgie, fetch some clean water from the basin in the kitchen.”

Charity and Theodosia move briskly once you’ve issued the order—like they don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind.

Nicholas finds it a little funny how easily these women yield to you, though most seem to be your seniors—you’re just a scrappy young thing, only a few years into your adulthood if he had to guess. As he watches you, he sees that you carry yourself with a  certain quality that’s beyond your years—every action and word steeped with a sort of weary assuredness that you haven’t even lived long enough to properly earn. 

He watches you move with the grace of a woman, and listens to you speak with the authority of a man—and It could be the blood loss talking, but Nicholas thinks you might just be the most interesting thing he’s stumbled upon in this god-forsaken little town.

“You’re a doctor?”

You freeze, your head snapping in his direction when you finally hear him speak.

Your lip curls and you bare your teeth to him, and Nicholas is suddenly reminded of those city cats that wander the back alleys in Julai, hissing with their hackles raised when you happen across their path.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” you sneer at him derisively.

For some unplaceable reason, Nicholas almost wants to laugh—the sensation bubbling up in his stomach in the wake of your harsh words.

(Though, that might just be the liquor.)

“Her daddy was a doctor,” Queenie whispers to him quietly as she and Violetta help Nicholas up onto the wooden table at the centre of the room at your instruction, leaning him back until he’s laid flat across it with a grunt. “Only one The Bend’s seen in the last 80 years."

“Prudence, you better shut your damn mouth if you want me to do anything about this mess,” you snap without looking up, busy rifling through the ancient leather medicine bag that Charity just dragged in from the other room.

You tend to Priscilla first, fixing her up with a compress on her cheek and a salve for the cut on her lip. She’s not the most desperate case in the room, but no one tries to turn your attention to the man on the table until you’re good and ready to do so of your own accord—a unanimous, though entirely unspoken, pact of silence lest your precarious agreement to help be withdrawn. Once you’re satisfied that the woman’s been sufficiently looked after, leaving her once more in the dutiful care of Theodosia, you finally turn to Nicholas.

The lamplight is fairly dim, even though you’ve moved it closer to the table to help illuminate your work—and there’s very little oil in the grimy reservoir of the glass lamp to keep it burning.

You approach him slowly.

“You a lefty?” you ask him, plunking yourself down in the wooden chair nearest to his injured left arm.

“Luckily not,” he slurs, his head lolling over to look at you as you sit beside him at the table.

“Luckily?” You huff, and Nicholas thinks that maybe it’s as close to a laugh as someone as mirthless as you ever gets. “You must not’ve heard: luck left The Bend years ago, and it’s not coming back.”

Nicholas really does find himself laughing then in the face of your plain, bur distinctly dour expression—and he immediately winces as a sharp pain shoots through him from the strain of trying to hold it back.

Your eyes survey the sopping, blood-soaked handkerchief he’s holding to his injury, then you lean over towards the medicine bag and begin digging through it again. He watches as you pull out an inhumanely large needle and some thread.

“Clear out, ladies,” you remark flatly to the group of onlookers without glancing up from the contents of the bag before you. “None of you are gonna wanna see this.”

The girls delay momentarily even after you bark out the order, as though worried that once they leave the room your willingness to help may exit with them.

You lift your face in their direction, some gauze and a corked flask of an indistinguishable transparent liquid in hand. Your lips pull down noticeably at the corners when you see the way the women are hesitating. “Go on, then. I’m making this exception for you once, and never again. Get Ada back home safe, and then the rest of you oughta do the same.”

Still, no one seems keen to heed your words.

You and Violetta share a pointed look, and it’s clear your patience—hardly-there to begin with—has worn dangerously thin.

“Alright, whores—clear out!” the older woman says, turning on her heel and corralling Queenie, Charity, Priscilla, and Theodosia towards the door with her arms outstretched. “Unless one of y’all are keen to be the next one who needs stitchin'!”

It takes a moment to get everyone moving—Charity in particular putting up more of a fight than the rest of them—but eventually Violetta succeeds in ushering them out. She casts one final glance back from the doorway, and Nicholas catches the exchange of almost imperceptible nods of thanks between you.

It’s unbearably quiet once they’re gone.

You move swiftly but silently, and set to work without a single word exchanged between you and the man stretched across your table. Without hesitating, you drag a thin blade in two strokes up the front of Nicholas’s bloodstained shirt—one cut along the torso and then another up the sleeve—and then pull off whatever’s in your way. You don’t so much as bat an eye as the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen is suddenly bared; there’s no distinguishable emotion or thought on your face that Nicholas can make out, but he’s also fairly distracted as he bites back the groans of pain that threaten to slip out each time you jostle his injured arm too roughly. 

Next, you begin cleaning the surface of the wound—as best you can given that it’s still unstitched—in preparation to fish out and remove the bullet still stuck inside. That little flask from earlier has some sort of antiseptic in it, which Nicholas discerns by the acrid smell and unbearable burning that rips through him as you let it trickle over the open gouge in his skin. He cries out as it happens, and the sound even takes him by surprise—guttural and completely instinctive.

“Don’t be a baby,” you sniff, dabbing away at the blood and antiseptic around his wound with some clean gauze.

“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbles through his panting breaths, pressing his opposite hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

Your eyes flicker up to his briefly in the wake of his apology, and your gazes meet. You’re the first to look away after the momentary hold.

Next, you tip the flask into your hands, coating your palms in the stinging, astringent antiseptic. The lamplight catches in the little droplets as you shake them from your fingertips.

“My daddy told me once that doctors have to tell lies to keep their patients calm,” you say quietly, your lips pursing forward as you wrap one cool hand underneath his bicep. “Said that it’s just part of the job.”

You suck in a little breath, meeting his gaze briefly once more.

He can’t help but think your eyes look pretty when the light reflects in them like this. 

“But I’m no doctor—and this is gonna hurt like fresh hell.”

Outside your rickety little house on the edge of this forgotten, nowhere town, another peal of thunder roars.

You don’t often patch up bullet holes.

In fact, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve tried.

But you’re not a professional, and you’ve never claimed to be; you’re just a doctor’s daughter who used to follow her father on his rounds through town, helping out whenever and wherever it was needed. Unavoidably, you learned some things along the way—like treatments, and time-honoured remedies, and how to sew a stitch so it won’t pucker when it scars—but you’re about as far as anyone could be from trained. You’ve got no education beyond your reading, writing, and basic arithmetic—what little education the school house in town could offer you until you just stopped going altogether—and your experience is limited only to the care you offer to Big Annie’s girls: whether it’s cleaning up the messes left by their particularly nasty customers or treating them as best you can when they fall ill. 

You don’t bother telling any of this to the man bleeding all over your table, though. You doubt it would do him much good.

Daddy used to deal with gunshot wounds all the time. They’re about a dime a dozen in a town like The Bend, after all, where tempers are high and spirits are low—not to mention where the men outnumber the women by about ten-to-one. 

And if there’s one thing you know about men, it’s that they all love slinging guns but less than half of them ought to be allowed to—because it always leads to injuries like this. It’s rarely ever women who walk around town getting themselves shot.

But in spite of all that, and your lack of experience, you watched your father go through the motions frequently enough that the movements come to you now like second nature: disinfect, remove, keep pressure, suture, bandage. You know the order of things, and you find your mind clear and your hands steady as you set to work—starting by cleaning him up as best you can to prepare to extract the bullet. 

You can see the very butt of it in peeking out from inside his ugly wound; a pesky little thing, slick with blood that catches in the light when his arm twitches towards the lamp. It’s not nestled too deep in there, thankfully, and he’ll probably be fine if he lets it heal properly—but it’ll still hurt like a bitch to pull out. 

But that’s his problem, not yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a pair of tweezers you trust to pluck the bullet out—at least not a pair that isn’t rusty—so your god-given tools will have to be what you use for the undertaking. You disinfect your hands as best you can before you begin.

“Would you stop squirming?” you mutter under your breath as the man on your table flinches the first time your fingers graze his open wound.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and your eyes flicker up to his face again briefly. 

This man keeps apologizing to you. 

It’s unsettling.

His dark eyes are heavy lidded, but you can still sense them tracing along the lines of your face as you work. There’s visible sweat beading at his temple as he lies flat on his back atop the wooden table in the centre of your home, and his bare chest rises and falls with heavy, laboured breaths that shake every so often on the exhale—the lamplight at your side catches in the perspiration glistening there too, near the little smattering of hair that sits at the highest point of his sternum.

This guy—this stranger who’s bleeding all over the table you eat your meals on—really pisses you off.

He’s got an awful lot of nerve to show up here in the middle of the night, looking for your help after he went and got himself shot. A small part of you knows that’s not entirely fair to think, because he got shot helping Adaline and it was the girls who’d brought him to you in the first place, but you still can’t help but be resentful. 

You feel yourself frown.

Your fingertips dip inside the wet heat of his wound for the first time, and he lets out a gasping, wretched groan from deep in the centre of his chest—so loud it almost makes you flinch.

“Don’t pass out,” you warn him flatly, pinning his injured arm more firmly to the table and prodding further in as you try to get a grip on the evasive little bullet with the very tips of your fingers. “You’re dead weight if you’re unconscious, and I’ll drag you outta this house in parts if I have to.”

“Noted,” the dark-haired man says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempts to stomach the pain.

You don’t have anything to offer him to dull the sensation—though you’re not sure you’d waste something so precious on him even if you did. After a while, and a bit more poking and prodding, he seems to acclimatize to the agony anyway. 

Or at the very least he gets better at masking it.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” he grits out after a while of you unsuccessfully trying to remove the bullet—frequently having to pause and wipe away the blood that’s continued to seep from the wound, slicking you down to your wrist. It stains the cuff of your shirtsleeve now, and you regret ever pulling it on to begin with, because you know it will be a nightmare to pound out in the wash.

“Didn’t ask.”

“I know,”—miraculously, he manages to laugh a bit, even as you’ve got two fingers digging around inside his arm—“just thought I’d tell ya anyway.”

You don’t bother replying, your eyes honed in solely on the task at bloody hand.

“‘M grateful for your help, y’know. Even if it’s just an exception,” the man—Nicholas—slurs next, his head tipping to the side on your kitchen table. You can tell that he’s talking, if nothing else, to distract himself. A lonely bead of sweat drips down his throat as he looks at you. “It’s awfully nice of ya to take pity on a no-good brute like me, Mama.”

You feel a crick of irritation tighten in your jaw then, as he parrots your earlier words back to you. Your fingers, still poking around to retrieve the bullet in his shoulder, twitch—and you aren’t sure the gesture is entirely involuntary. The man on the table before you yelps, flinching away from the pain, and you lean closer with your eyes still fixed on the wound piercing his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss through the dull scrape of your teeth grinding tightly together.

Nicholas lifts his right hand to his mouth, curled into a fist, and his pearly teeth bite down hard into the flesh at the base of his thumb as he pants through the pain. You finally, mercifully, manage to get a grip on that damned bullet, plucking it out and tossing it into the waiting dish atop the table with a delicate, terribly anticlimactic clink. You swiftly press a pad of clean gauze to the wound to staunch the bleeding while you reach for the stitching needle you left set off to the side.

“Hold this,” you order him, and the man lets his hand slip from the bite of his jaw to do as he’s told while you rifle through the bag at your feet. You can see the marks his teeth left in his skin as he takes the gauze from your hand into his own and begins to apply pressure.

You stand and wash your hands off as best you can in the basin of water Georgie brought in for you earlier, poised at the end of the table. The liquid tints pink as you first dip them in, and then slowly it turns an even darker, uglier colour as you properly scrub his blood from your skin. You shake as much of the water off your hands as you can, and then use the front of your shirt to sop up the rest—faintly rust-tinged handprints left in the cotton.

You take your seat once more, and Nicholas watches you through mostly-closed eyes as you set about sterilizing the needle.

“How come I can’t call you that?” 

You light a candle using the lamp at your side. Then you swish the needle around in antiseptic before running it through the flickering flame until it sparks—careful not to let it lick too close to your fingertips. Your eyes slide over to Nicholas as you pluck it from the fire.

With his face tilted towards you, another little drop of sweat has tracked down his cheek towards his prominent nose, and it glistens against his flushing skin in the warm light of your oil lamp. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, too—from what you don’t doubt is the combination of pain and whatever booze he’s been guzzling to numb it—and lips part on a shuddering exhalation as you survey his face.

“Call me what?” you mutter, averting your eyes and turning again to search through your medicine bag for a clean roll of bandage.

“Ma—” A sudden, harsh glare cuts him off before he even has the chance to say it. He smiles a little, the expression half-delirious, and you can’t help but think that if he weren’t so weakened from the pain that wracks him, he might have even managed another laugh.

You kiss your teeth quietly. “Only the girls call me that.”

The man bleeding out in the middle of your table clearly knows your tone of voice means not to push it, because he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his head until he’s staring up at your dingy ceiling once more, though you can tell from the faraway look in his eyes he’s not seeing much at all. 

“The girls,” Nicholas remarks quietly, speaking more to himself than anything. “You don’t call ‘em by their names.”

That’s right: he’d only know the girls by their working names. You’re surprised he even caught that.

“The hell I don’t,” you mutter, turning back to face him in your seat once more with your last roll of bandage clutched tightly in your hand. You set it down atop the table as you set your supplies up just how you like them. “I call them by the names their mothers gave them.”

Nicholas hums thoughtfully. “Sarah Jane, that’s Violetta?”

You grunt out an affirmative, threading the freshly cleaned needle with nimble, dextrous accuracy. 

“And Charity, her real name’s Bertie?”

“Bertha May,” you correct him, snipping away the excess thread with a little pair of mostly-dull scissors—careful not to take more than you’ll need, but still giving yourself sufficient supply to work with.

“Priscilla’s name’s Adaline,” Nicholas continues, his eyes still tracing the cracks in your ceiling. “And what about Theodosia and Queenie?” 

“Georgina and Prudence,” you supply flatly as you secure a tight knot in the end of the stitching thread.

Nicholas sighs before slurring, “’s a lot to keep track of.”

You snort. “Wait until you find out Big Annie’s real name.”

He looks over at you with wider eyes than you’ve seen on him since he came staggering through your door. He catches the expression on your face and his own softens, clearly sensing that you’d said it only in jest. 

Annie’s just short for Annabelle, after all. Madam’s rarely need to take up new personas—why would they need to be someone they’re not if they aren’t the ones doing the dirty work?

Nicholas watches as you tug on the stitching thread one last time to test its strength—eying the glinting needle warily. You set the threaded implement carefully off to the side once you’re confident it’s ready.

“So you learned all this stuff from your daddy, huh?” he asks you next.

You swallow over the unpleasant lump you suddenly feel in the back of your throat and reach up, nudging his hand away from where he’s holding the gauze to his wound. He’s become a real chatterbox now, and part of you wonders why you’re even tolerating it.

You clean the area with antiseptic again—and Nicholas is just as dramatic as he was the first time as a low moan of pain tears through him. For a moment you worry he really might be on the brink of passing out, the whites of his eyes taking over as they begin to roll back, so you know you need to keep him focused.

“He used to take me with him on his rounds,” you mumble a reply to his earlier question. 

Nicholas’s eyes open a bit wider when he hears your voice, a little more focused now than they had been.

“My daddy, I mean,” your tone is dismissive and flippant, but it seems to be an effective distraction. “I just picked things up here and there while I watched him work.”

“You’re a natural.”

You snort mirthlessly in the wake of his reply. “Don’t know about all that.”

“You just pulled a bullet outta my arm with your bare hands, that’s gotta count for something.” Nicholas hisses as you press the antiseptic-soaked gauze to his wound one last time, then he sucks in a sharp breath. “And the girls trust you a lot, so you must be good at it.”

“Somebody’s gotta take care of them.” 

Lord knows no one else around here does.

You set the scarlet saturated gauze aside in the dish with the discarded bullet, then pick up your needle.

You make neat, even sutures through his skin, and you take your time to do it right. You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, even when you were young. You were born with a keen eye for detailed work like this, and your daddy used to get you to finish up the smaller wounds he was called to treat that needed finer stitching—said your little hands were just better at it than his own big, life-roughened ones. He always used to tell you that you got your steady hands from him, but your nimble fingers from your mother.

Not that you’d know anything about that.

Nicholas has stopped flinching now, a little more relaxed than he’d previously been, and you can’t help but look up at him every so often as you work—wondering if that steady, even rise and fall of his chest means that he’s finally knocked out. Especially since he’s suddenly gone so quiet. 

But each time you check, you find his eyes are still open—though only just barely—and are peering up towards the ceiling. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you too.

Once the wound has been fully closed in a tidy little line of stitches, you wrap the roll of bandages around it with some gauze tucked underneath, just in case.

“You’re all done,” you say quietly, slumping back in your chair once you’re finally finished.

All at once, you feel exhausted—the adrenaline you didn’t even know had been rushing through you disappearing in a blink. It reminds you of how the wind dies in the valley in the wake of a bad storm, like it took the breeze with it. You’re all too conscious of the fact that it’s the middle of the night now, and that you ought to long be asleep.

“Thank you,” Nicholas says as he pushes himself up onto the elbow of his uninjured arm, though he still winces at the movement. You don’t make any attempt to help him.

His shirt is in pieces, and he discards it since it’s of so little use to him now, shaking his right arm to free it from the only sleeve that remains in tact on the garment. You watch as he pushes himself fully upright, throwing his long legs over the side of the table to stand. When he does, he dips slightly—like the sudden movement makes him woozy, and his knees are weak—and his right hand shoots out to balance himself on the edge of the tabletop on instinct. You suppose it’s not unexpected given the amount of blood he lost.

You watch his toned, tanned back as he stretches himself out as much as his injury will allow; observing how his skin pulls taught over the defined musculature that surrounds his spine. He’s littered with scars—a map of wounds that weren’t stitched as neatly as the new one on his upper arm—and part of you can’t help but wonder how he got them all. Can’t help but wonder what stories those marks tell, written in a language you don’t know how to read.

You look away, feeling an inexplicable heat flood rapidly to your cheeks.

You stand and quickly slip off your own overshirt—just some old button-up left behind from your father, though you have no memories of him ever wearing it. You clutch it in your fist and stick it out for him to take.

He eyes it in surprise for a moment before accepting it.

“Those blood stains are yours, anyway. You might as well have it,” you say, eyeing the red mark at the cuff on the right-hand sleeve as the garment passes from your hold into his, “in any case it’s in better shape than the one you came here with.” 

It saves having to clean it, too. So it’s all the same to you.

“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, still unsteady on his feet as he begins rifling awkwardly through his pockets with his only useable hand. He almost tips right over in his haste, but you quickly slip beside him and steady his frame.

“Yeah, you will,” you agree, holding tight to his right arm to keep him standing. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

Nicholas’ bare skin radiates warmth with only your thin, lace-trimmed undershirt left separating you as you stand pressed into his side. He peers down at you curiously, blinking slowly like he’s being called to sleep. From this close, with him standing properly upright for the first time, you realize just how big this man is—tall, with a broad chest and defined muscles, and stubble dusted along his sharp jawline that you hadn’t noticed before. You take a sudden step away to put much needed distance between the two of you, these realizations making something stir in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel squeamish. 

“Do you know your way back to the inn?” you ask him, your arms crossing over your front.

Nicholas bobs his head in a completely unconvincing nod. It’s not like the town is big enough to get lost in in the first place—and he very well might know his way if it were daylight, or he weren’t half delirious—but sending him out into The Bend in his current state would be as much of a death sentence as it would have been to turn him away when he first showed up at your door. 

You sigh in resignation.

“Just sleep on the floor here for tonight. I’ll check your stitches again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

The man looks taken aback, but he nods quickly—as though he doesn’t want to give you time to rescind the unexpected offer.

You fish around in the depths of your father’s old medicine bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of murky liquid as Nicholas gets settled with an old cushion and a threadbare quilt near the unlit hearth of the fireplace. You use the edge of your nail to uncork it, take a quick whiff to make sure it’s the right one, and then tread towards the man on the other side of the room.

He peers up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, resting with his knees apart and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. You pass the little glass bottle to him, your fingers brushing as it passes from your grip into his. “Drink this, it helps to fight off infection.”

He eyes it warily. The outside of the bottle is suspiciously grimy, and the putrid colour of the liquid inside is no less reassuring. “What is it?”

“Hog Fennel.”

He grimaces, peeking into the opening of the bottle with one eye closed. “Sounds foul.”

You snort. “It is."

Nicholas doesn’t draw it out any longer, tipping the vial back an draining it all in one shot. He winces once he swallows it down, his pink tongue peeking out a little as he pants through the taste—which you’re sure is bitter and disgusting.

“How was it?” you ask him wryly.

“I’ve had worse, honestly,” he says, shooting you a little grin you can’t believe he’s able to manage not only in the wake of such a disgusting concoction but considering what he’s been through that night.

You blink, your brow furrowing, and then eventually nod dismissively before turning and shuffling off towards the other side of the room where the door to your bedroom is found.

“Thank you.” 

Nicholas speaks again as you’re just shy of crossing the threshold into your room, you consider pausing in your shock but then think better of it.

“You already said that,” you reply, your tone annoyed, and shut the door behind you.

You open it again a second later to poke your head back out towards him.

“I’ve got a gun in here, by the way, and I won’t miss. Just in case you were thinking of trying anything funny.”

Across the room, Nicholas is already laying down on his pitiful excuse of a resting place, looking strangely content.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

Part of you is annoyed at how comfortable he seems. How easily he talks to you. How normal his presence feels in your home.

Another part of you—one that’s deeper, locked away and hidden out of sight in a place where you think you’ve lost they key—isn’t.

You slip back into your room and close the door behind you with a soft click. 

And in the silent stillness of your little bedroom with your shoulder blades pressed back into your bedroom door, you realize that the thunder outside has stopped but you can hear the softest, faintest pitter patter of raindrops through cracked glass of your window.

Rain came back to The Bend.

Maybe luck would follow.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

So I shared, the Spanish-language horror visual references in this week’s Peaceful Property episode (which are great ghost story films for comparison in thematic elements, as well). The death this week, though, is yet another ghost story reference, this time in an English-language series with lots of commentary on class and the racial and gender politics of domestic work, The Haunting of Bly Manor.

🚨spoilers for both series from here on🚨

In Bly Manor, Hannah Grose, the estate’s maid is revealed late in the series to be a ghost, who had fallen into a well on the grounds. Although the series is based off Henry James’s Turn of the Screw and its celebrated film adaptation The Innocents from the 1960s and its celebrated 2000s remake The Others* with Nicole Kidman (in which the twist from the previous is that the governess main character is revealed to be dead), Hannah Grose’s death is a new addition in the Netflix series. It compounds the complex themes about class and domestic servitude in the original British story and adds issues of race to the proceedings.

Peaceful Property uses Baanchuen’s story for similar purposes. Migrant domestic work is an important issue in Southeast Asia. The International Labor Organization put out a report last year stating, “29 per cent of surveyed migrant domestic workers in Malaysia were in conditions meeting the ILO’s statistical definition of forced labour; as were 7 per cent of surveyed workers in Singapore and 4 per cent in Thailand. Indicators of involuntariness include not being able to quit your job, having to stay in the job longer than agreed, and being made to work without overtime pay, among others.” Shackles, like those on Baanchuen’s ghost, are an easily recognizable symbol of enslavement, indicating the extent of Aunt Phom’s cruelty.

But even under legal circumstances, domestic workers are one of the least protected group of laborers in Thailand and abroad. Taiwanese-American labor organizer, MacArthur “genius” grant recipient, and mentor/friend to BLM cofounder Alicia Garza, Ai-Jen Poo has a fantastic interview on On Being, in which she discusses the racialized, gendered, international, and cross-class dynamics that define domestic care work, which impacts the strategies to organizing for workers rights in the field.

“The average annual income for a home care worker [presumably in the US at the time of recording in 2020] is $15,000 per year. And I can’t think of any community that I’ve ever lived in where you can survive on $15,000 a year. It’s really quite extraordinary. And they’re there and see employers come home with a pair of shoes that are maybe more than they make in a week, and yet, their job is to care and support and love, and they do so. You can’t actually do your job as a caregiver if you dehumanize the person that is in your charge. And I think that that is so much of what’s needed in this moment. All of us need to understand that we have a profound set of challenges and inequities that we have to deal with and transform, but we have to do it with a boundless sense of compassion and humanity.”

I’d encourage some of my fellow watchers of Peaceful Property to heed Poo’s perspective on disrupting class distinctions and what the advocacy for equitable practices has looked like in her work. I’m a caseworker myself and have worked alongside people who had less privilege than me for caring wealthy people who never the less didn’t always recognize the value of those whose work they depended on and didn’t have the labor laws that might provide that guidance. There are a few pieces of work that explore this meaningfully (better than The Help, although Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer absolutely carved out depths in their characters stories that weren’t there on the page). Glad to see Peaceful Property making its attempt to explore these depths. It actually made me reflect on how many of the jobs after the first episode really focused on gendered aspects of labor—a wig-maker, assistants, food-making…

And for my Homepeach truthers out there, that gender conversation is not just about labor. Bly Manor is also notable for its queer romance storyline with a wealthier character running from her internalized homophobia/guilt after a car accident…

*Incidentally, The Others is also heavily influenced by the same Spanish film, The Spirit of the Beehive, as both referenced Spanish-language horror films in these weeks episode.

[usernameforaboredcat]

Can’t Hate One, But Not The Other

(Pudding & Viola)

Before I start, I wanna say that this is just MY personal opinion. I just see such different and drastic opinions that don’t make sense to me honestly. PERSONALLY, I love both Viola and Pudding, but who cares am I right? If you do have a split opinion that’s fine, I’ll just look at you with a little side eye, but also don’t hate me I’m sensitive.

Part One: The False Lover Turned Admirer

Imagine this, just for a minute for me, alright?

Yet another One Piece arc starts, we follow our Straw Hat chef Sanji. It starts with Sanji meeting a lady, a pretty lady. Sanji being his usual self throws himself at the lady, treating her nicely, spoiling her, being his usual over the top flirty self and even a little pervery pervery I mean it’s Sanji here we’re talking about. Sanji and the lady grow closer, spend time together, even get a little flirty and romantic together.

Only to find out the betrayal, the pretty lady is the enemy, helping the big bad villain of the arc to kill the Straw Hats and Sanji himself. But as the arc goes on, Sanji brushes it off, as if having a hunch that something is wrong, that the lady doesn’t entirely have a say in the current situation, but still goes out of his was to treat the lady nicely and with respect, just as Zeff had taught him.

During his continued persistence to treat the lady with respect, the lady starts to like him, fall for him in return even. The lady grows a respect for Sanji, and in return end up helping him and the Straw Hats in their plans, to save and help them.

Now…

What lady did you think of?

Same plot, different font.

Part Two: Sanji VS Toxic Relationships

To start the only difference between the women other then their aesthetics, ages, and arcs, they have their own personal reasons for what they did and why they did it.

Let’s start with Viola.

As we all know, Viola, who was under the allies of Violet, was sent by Doflamingo to personally deal with Sanji as he is seemingly well know to have a weakness for women.

Doflamingo is Violas toxic relationship.

As an easy start, Doflamingo invaded, over threw and manipulated her country just over night, using his Devil Fruit to make her father seem like the villain and Doflamingo himself as some righteous savior. Her father labeled as a criminal by the country, her older sister murdered, her niece nowhere to be found, and her brother-in-law long forgotten by her, she had no choice but to obey him if she valued her life, which was only the beginning. Not a lot of details are shared about their relationship, but it is canon that Doflamingo had raped Viola, and in return she could do nothing but let it slide since realistically there was nothing she could do. In theory that type of relationship continued for the next ten years. Hell, during her introduction scene when Sanji first saw Viola dancing, she wasn dancing a dance called “The Flamingo”, a very obvious reference to her connections to Doflamingo if you knew the dance, which also makes it safe to assume that they still had a sexually abusive relationship even up until that point.

Like any abusive relationship, sexual or not, it’s hard to escape, especially with one with Doflamingo himself. He’s a powerful man, physical wise, social wise, and Devil Fruit wise. It’s safe to assume that Viola would have the mindset and know the the sexual abuse and rape wouldn’t be the worst she could get out of him, especially since Doflamingo could easily sell her off. Fun fact for anyone who didn’t notice, the human auction house in the Sabaody Archipelago Arc is owned by the Donquixote Pirates, their Jolly Roger being seen on the walls multiple times. And considering the types of people who could buy her, princess or not, it would at least be a better option to stay in her home country, especially since she had Rebecca to keep an eye out for. Rebecca (to her knowledge) was the only family she had left, the last thing she had to her beloved older sister, probably scared out of her mind of what Doflamingo could do to Rebecca.

Now, let’s talk about Pudding.

Two arcs later, during the Zou Arc and Whole Cake Island Arc, Charlotte Pudding was assigned to be Sanjis wife so that the Big Mom Pirates and Germa 66 would have a close alliance, only for Pudding and her family to kill the Germa family.

Big Mom aka Charlotte Linlin is Puddings toxic relationship.

“The first person a child trusts is their parents” is what studies have said and shown, some of us understanding that personally. Besides her many a siblings, Big Mom is all that Pudding would have for a family, most likely being her only parent as well. Now some may ask “well what about her father?”. Well…only one father is ever shown, Lola and Chiffons father Pound, and as shown with them when the twins where born Linlin refused to let Pound meet his own daughters and essentially banished him, so it’s safe to say that the same probably happened to Puddings own father. As any child, she’d only want to love her mother, especially considering the environment that Pudding grew up in, a candy cotton filled dream, and even seeing how her older siblings would act and how they’d talk about Linlin.

To put it simply, Big Mom is a narcissist, showing many signs of being one, especially with how she acts towards her own children. She’d love bomb her children, show them that she cares and say that she loves them, only to ridicule them, Linlin herself saying that Puddings third eye “ruined her pretty face”. Which honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the same with some of her other children, like Katakuri for example. (Yes I know Kuri grew to hate his looks cause of what bullies did to Brúlée, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Linlin also made a few off comments herself). Pudding still obviously loves her mother, wanting to make her happy and help her achieve her dreams. She’s her mother after all.

Part Three: The Tear In The Fandom

This is just a personal section from me, from my own observations from my time within the fandom. I’d see people say ���oh I don’t like her because she manipulated Sanji” which 1. Both of them did and 2. As I explained neither of them really had a choice in the matter. Viola couldn’t cause she was too scared to defy Doflamingo, and Pudding couldn’t cause she just wanted to make her mother happy.

We can agree that Sanji can sometimes suck, his perverted nature being a real pain in the ass and making it hard to defend him, and I can say that as a Sanji fan girl. But he still has that likability, the ability to show these poor ladies respect and offer to give them the love they deserve.

Viola was 19 when Doflamingo took over her kingdom, him being 31. And for those ten years of her early adult life that sexually abusive relationship was all she knew, sexualising herself to manipulate Sanji in the first place. When Sanji did come along, he showed her the love and respect she deserved, and she quickly learned that.

Pudding on the other hand is only 16, still a child legally. She’d probably had never known what actual love and respect was like, never receiving either from the person she cared for the most, her mother. Which is why I called Linlin a narcissist, degrading her child only to love bomb her, make Pudding feel special so that she’d stay close to her, for her third eye that can read the poneglyphs in the future.

Part Four: Conclusion.

In conclusion of my stupid and probably pointless rant cause hey, I write fan fiction not essays, I find it hard to hate one but love the other, considering how very very similar their circumstances are.

I love them both, yes I have a personal favourite out of the two but will I say who? No of course not, I don’t want to cause some of y’all scare me.

At the end of the day both of these beautiful ladies are victims of abuse and deserve all the love in the world instead of hate cause really it brings down the vibe.

I hope y’all enjoyed.

And hey, if you wanna read some fanfics give me account a look at.

Bye y’all!!

[celestiall0tus]

Adamsapple Angst Week - Chapter 5 Power Imbalance/Jealousy/Relationship Problems - Pale

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7

            Husk stood behind the bar and cleaned up as he prepared for later. He moved to grab a glass when Lucifer teleported to the bar.

            “Good, uh, day, barkeep! A round or two, please,” Lucifer announced.

            Husk grabbed a pair of glasses and poured Lucifer his drinks. He watched as Lucifer inhaled the pair.

            “Lovely. Uh, a couple more, please?”

            “You know, you’ve been visiting the bar a lot more recently, your Majesty,” Husk commented.

            “What? Nah. I mean, at least once a day, yeah?” Lucifer said nervously.

            “Yeah, once a day, huh? Not three to five times? Not to mention you’ve been swiping bottle from my bar.”

            Lucifer pursed his lips. “What? No way. Who told you?”

            “Rain.”

            “Oh, yeah, that would make sense. They’re… they’re always watching, right?”

            “Your Majesty, do you need to talk about something?”

            “What? No. Why would I?”

            “It’s ok. I don’t like the fucker, but if you want to talk about Adam-.”

            Lucifer laughed. “Adam? Why would this be about Adam?”

            “Your confession he completely ignored last week?” Husk pointed out.

            Lucifer’s face fell as tears burned his eyes. He ducked his head down to hide them from Husk.

            “Barkeep, what do I do? I… I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought. I just… I don’t know,” Lucifer whispered.

            “Have you talked to him since?” Husk asked.

            “What? No way. How would I even talk to him after that?”

            “Do you like him still?”

            “I mean, I do, but why bother trying to tell him anymore? He didn’t care enough to listen to me in the first place, and with that Sera look alike Exorcist, he’s not paying any attention to me,” Lucifer said with a sneer.

            “Jealous, Your Majesty?”

            “Of course! I hate seeing his head turned by that stoic, cold-hearted bitch.”

            “And you’d rather he look at you that way.”

            “I… yes, but he won’t, and he never will.”

            “He certainly won’t if you don’t try again.”

            “What’s the point?”

            Husk sighed and leaned on the bar. “Look, Your Majesty, it’s difficult to share these things. To be… vulnerable when there’s baggage, no matter how big or small. You did screw him over, and all of humanity, and that kind of baggage isn’t easy to overcome. But you are forgetting one thing. Adam just lost everything for a second time. I hate to admit it, but he just got screwed over again.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “He was in Heaven, living a luxurious, carefree life for thousands of years. He dies and through some misfortune, he’s down here with all the struggle and strife. Not to mention the only things from Heaven he has down here wants to torture the man for all eternity. And that’s just the beginning of it. We don’t know what else he lost in that moment.”

            “I… I guess I didn’t think of that.”

            “Then it might be better if you just give him your support. Fucker is going through a lot. You can see it on his face a lot of the time. Just like when you tried to confess.”

            “How so?”

            “You could tell he wasn’t paying attention to you. He watched his guards toss Niffty around, then watched Viola and Myrtha. Whatever those women did caused him some distress. I don’t know what crossed his mind, but it was enough to show.”

            “So… I should just be there for him right now?”

            “It would be best, Your Majesty. Maybe once he’s ready, once he’s had time to heal, maybe then you can try again. But you have to give him time. If you don’t, we’ll be right back here losing yourself to a bottle that’ll never drown away your sorrows.”

            Lucifer sighed as Husk placed a glass of water and a shot of whiskey in front of him.

            “If you really love him, you’ll support him through this time, when he’s lost everything. If you can’t, you’ll know this wasn’t anything more than a passing fancy. Which will it be?”

            Lucifer glanced between the glasses and took the water. “I want to make this work. I’ll give him this time, but could I, maybe, talk to you from time to time. This… has helped a lot.”

            Husk smiled and nodded. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

            Lucifer smiled and took a sip of the water. “And I suppose I’ll replace the bottles I stole.”

            Husk waved it off. “No need. Charlie assumed it was Cherri, Angel, or both and already replaced them.”

            Lucifer shrank back and drank his water when Adam stepped into the bar.

            “Hey, pussy cat, one of those sodas, on the double,” Adam demanded.

            Husk growled, but moved to get Adam’s drink.

            “H-hey, Adam. How’ve you been?” Lucifer asked.

            “Huh. Oh, look who’s talking to me again. Should have known it wouldn’t last forever,” Adam remarked.

            Lucifer flinched. “So, how’ve you been?”

            “I’m awesome, as usual. Not like you. You look like a mess.”

            “Uh, yeah. Just… struggling a little.”

            Adam snorted. “Loser.”

            Lucifer looked away as Husk put the soda cup on the bar. Adam reached for it as Husk raised a hand and swatted it off the bar.

            Husk shrugged. “Oops.”

            “The fuck is wrong with you? Get me-!” Adam started.

            “Oh, Niffty, the bad boy did it again,” Lightning’s voice echoed.

            Adam’s face fell as he took off and disappeared. Niffty ran in, climbed up onto Lightning, and they chased after Adam. Lucifer sighed and looked at the ground.

            “That was… not the best,” Lucifer whispered.

            Husk smiled and took the shot. “No, but you did pick a tough one.”

            Lucifer frowned.

            “It’s alright, Your Majesty. It’s always rocky in the beginning, especially here. And you both have all the time in the world.”

            “I guess.”

            “And, look, even if you don’t get what you want, you can still have something good with him, right?”

            Lucifer looked down at his water. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose I would. Right, I can do this. Good talk, barkeep!”

            Husk nodded. “Always a pleasure, Your Majesty.”

[skuntank]

I know you’ve talked about other characters who act and their relationships with Diantha. Do you have any headcanons for Diantha’s potential relationships with any other characters in the entertainment/art world that aren’t actors? Characters like Elesa, Nessa, Roxie, etc. (These are just examples you don’t have to share thoughts for these specific characters if you don’t have any.)

Firstly, I am so so so sorry for making you wait so damn long. Thank you VERY much for the ask, and additionally thank you VERY much for your patience.

I'll go through a few that I can think of. Im gonna skip the ones ive already spoken about to some extent in the past, such as Brycen, Viola and Alexa, and Malva. everything going under the cut bc it got Long

Fantina: I would love to see this interaction. Fantina would be SUCH a big fan. again, i see this being some diva worship on fantina's part. diantha is used to it and is courteous, and fantina is overjoyed that diantha can handle her enthusiasm and eccentricity and not get overwhelmed. there is so much they can bond over. dancing. contest performance. queerness. their respective ghost types. nevertheless, i dont see diantha really going much deeper than "interacting with a fan." she does however immediately clock that that french accent is fake and. its like nails on a chalkboard to her. fantina artfully sidesteps any questions about her true origins.

Argenta: argenta is a fashion designer right. i dont really see them having interacted much in person. i wonder if frontier brains would go to league conferences despite not being formally a part of a league. i do think perhaps diantha would have commissioned her on one or two occasions. and there are some stellar photoshoots shes done showcasing some of argenta's work. i havent mulled argenta around in my head enough to have a feel for her character so im not sure how they would interact.

Elesa: i can see them getting along great. in my head, i have this entirely self indulgent scenario that i enjoy where i feel that elesa, diantha, marley, and cheryl would get along SO well and tbh i just want them to all have a fun lil Girls Night together. apart from me being entirely biased about each of these characters, i just think theyd all vibe together really well. ghhh tbh i wanna expand more on these four characters spending time togehter at some point. again, elesa probably is a big fan of diantha's and sees her as a role model, and i can see a hypothetical situation where diantha would be able to tell elesa in person that she finds elesa to be extremely inspiring and LOVES the way she sparkles (why tf are both of these characters so weird about shining and sparkling. whatever. gay shit) and i think that would take elesa right the fuck out.

Roxie: twerp. diantha tries to exercise patience bc they are technically coworkers and also roxie is beloved by a couple of people that diantha cares very much for. but roxie pushes her buttons. in fact, roxie jabs at her buttons. roxie is irritating as all hell. i think i mentioned it once before that i think roxie would push diantha to a breaking point and diantha would snap at her. roxie would get to learn first hand just how scathing diantha can be, i think. roxie's music isnt diantha's first choice to listen to but i think she would recognize skill for what it is.

Burgh: let me be biased. this is so self indulgent for me. they would get along sooooooooooo well. so so so well. they would never get to see each other but they would be the kind of people where when they do get to see each other like at conferences and stuff, they immediately make plans for lunch and yuck it up together like they get to see each other all the time. oh id love to expand on this more sometime. this makes my heart so happy.

Shauntal: diantha has probably read some of shauntal's stuff and not even realized it was her's. shauntal probably thinks diantha is intimidating to some degree, id think. very nice, but intimidating. loves diantha's gourgeist probably

Siebold: ok, maybe this feels like a bit of a shoehorn, but for whatever reason i see siebold being like. an anthony bourdaine-adjascent celebrity chef. i dont super see him being terribly fixated with being on camera, but enjoying traveling all over to enjoy what other places have to offer and trying to educate and expand people's understanding of food from around the world and also being very outspoken on his thoughts on humanity in general. he and diantha vibe so well. im definitely ganking this from fics ive read but they may as well be besties.

im gonna have to cut it here bc my brain has reached its limit for now, im so sorry, but there are other characters i want to talk about too and i will make a separate post for them later

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and worst of both worlds (part 44)

Tw: mention of previous assault, yves being manipulative as always

Vote down below pls i will only consider first 21 votes

Part 45

To your surprise, Yves wheeled you into a room that you have never been in. Neither did you realize it existed on the ground floor.

You called it the music room. There is a grand piano in the center, with various other orchestra instruments in the corner and on the shelves. It was lit by none other than a chandelier. Yves loves his chandeliers.

You asked him if he played all the instruments present here. He nodded and you found that impressive, since the number of items in this room is mind boggling. You don't even know the names to some of these.

"Would you like me to play something for you?" He asked, locking your wheelchair in place.

You said you would like to see it.

He walked towards the harp, positioning the seat properly before sitting on it. His elegant fingers strummed against the strings masterfully as he played a melancholic tune that you weren't familiar with. However, it was beautiful and moving, the rises and dips in volume invoked some powerful feelings in your chest.

Yves seemed to be completely immersed in his performance, his eyes were closed and his lips were pressed into a neutral line. His movements were fluid and hypnotizing, making you watch without ever blinking.

He ends his piece with an elegant fade. Yves opened his emerald eyes to see you gaping your mouth at him. He stifled a laugh as he rose from his seat.

"Did you like it?" He asked, gently pushing your jaw up to close your mouth.

You said it was amazing, you asked what was he playing. Yves tilted his head to the side and pouted playfully.

"I thought you would have recognized it. I was playing a song that is very popular among your age groups."

You were adamant that you have never heard it before. It sounded like something that was written by an angel, it was unbelievably ethereal and sublime. You don't think modern-day music was of this calibre.

An amused smile made its way to his face.

"Well, I am happy that you loved my rendition of it."

But you were curious, what did he intend to play?

He tapped the side of his face and looked to the side as he tried to remember the name of it.

"It is something that your peers danced to. I have only heard fifteen seconds of it, but it was repeated ad nauseam."

You asked him if he heard the full song.

"No. I improvised the rest."

You were wracking your brain, trying to figure out what modern "popular song" did he just let you experience in a completely different light.

Then you asked how were the dances like.

"There was a vast array of variations. However, they shook their rears in front of the camera for all of them."

And the lyrics?

"The artist managed to refer to her supposedly... fat buttocks four times in that short segment. They were standard lyrics about emotional infidelity." Yves was describing it almost clinically, only when it comes to the cheating part did he look disgusted.

You think you know which song he was talking about now. You're dumbfounded at Yves talent to recreate it in such a way it's unrecognizably beautiful. Not to say that the original wasn't good, it was. It's just that you're impressed at how Yves's musical abilities allowed him to create such a masterpiece.

For the rest of the afternoon, you tried out most of his instruments. Yves taught you the basics without boring you to death, he was patient and understanding when you either couldn't grasp the control or you gave up for being too hard. You noted that the quality of his items are always exemplary, he takes good care of all his belongings.

Occasionally, he would nag about being mindful of your property. He wanted you to share the same mindset of prolonging the health and life of an object.

But you were having fun, even if you were bowing the strings of his Viola horrendously so, that it could make a musician's ear bleed. Yves is elated to spend so much time with you while sharing his own interests.

And most importantly, your head is not filled with redundant thoughts about your dependence on Yves. Both of you are free to relax and be happy in peace.

__

You scrolled through your social media feed mindlessly as you laid on the loveseat of his music room, your casted leg hanging off the armrest. Yves had to leave you alone so he could speak with the professionals regarding his air conditioning system.

Yves told you to use a special fob to control the speed of the fan. You left it off because it's not sweltering right now and you believed that you should not waste too much electricity.

There was the occasional tinkering and stomping as they worked hard to remedy the issue. Other than that, the environment is pretty quiet.

You received a notification that your assignment has been graded. You reviewed it and found that you achieved the highest score possible, it wasn't surprising because you have Yves to guide you throughout the entire--

Where are your crutches?!

The thought shot through your head and everything that you were procrastinating talking to Yves about came rushing in.

You have got to talk to Yves about moving out and going back to school. And also, the whereabouts of your stupid crutches.

Just when you're about to send Yves a text about it, so you won't forget, you heard a knock on the door.

Yves entered holding a cold glass of freshly pressed fruit juice. It was beading with condensation as he took large strides towards you.

You took large gulps of the refreshing beverage, not realizing how thirsty and overheated you were.

"My apologies, dear." Said Yves as he dabbed a wet cloth on your forehead and cheek to further cool you down. "There was an accident causing the breaker to trip. They also had to cut the power supplying the ducts in order to repair the faults, why didn't you use the fan?"

You said that it wasn't that warm and you didn't want to rack up his electricity bills. He has nothing to apologize about, it didn't even affect you.

You couldn't understand why Yves looked defeated, as if he's expecting something bad was about to happen. It isn't like you're going to die from a little heat, you're simply going to sweat and whine. That's all.

"That is very considerate of you, my love. However your comfort comes first. I do not want you to worry about anything. Please. I will always take care of you no matter what." He pressed the cool cloth against your neck, soaking up droplets of sweat. It almost seems... desperate.

You told him that you're grateful. Then changing the topic about your crutches and the idea of going back to university, so that you could catch up on your studies.

His shoulders sagged in devastation. Yves sighed, burying his face in a hand for a bit before instantly regaining his composure. Oh, how he wished that he could just... control everything.

You wonder what that reaction was about. But you deem it unimportant in the end.

He switched the fan on to circulate the air in the room. You feel relief when the wind hits your face.

"(name)..." He called you quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. Yves squatted down to your level and looked you deep in the eyes. "Are you sure?" Yves spoke in a voice that sent uncertainty through your bones. You could feel an undertone of warning too.

You gulped and stammered under his scrutinizing gaze. You suddenly felt small and helpless, just like how when you first met him. Except, now it's much worse. Because you value his views on you a lot more.

Yet, you stood your ground. You noticed that you've been lacking a sense of agency ever since you got here. Yves wasn't treating you badly by any means, but subconsciously, you felt that there was something wrong. You felt like you were getting stuck in a trap that is slowly but surely killing you, and this is your attempt at clawing out of it.

No matter how much you tried to change the tone of the conversation to become lighter, Yves stayed there, unmoving, unsmiling and unblinking. He may not explicitly confirm it, but it is clear he is disapproving towards your desire to regain freedom.

You explained that you can get around with crutches, you need to go back to your old life- you can't stay like this forever, burdening Yves with your problems!

"You are not a burden to me, (name)." The seriousness of his intonation left no room for doubt that he was telling the truth. Deep down, you already knew it too, but you didn't like how he enjoyed taking care of you to this degree. It's as if he is intentionally incapacitating you so he could continue coddling you.

That wasn't a nice thought about someone who paid for your bills, housed and fed you. But it was a gut feeling that existed nonetheless.

You explained that you just wanted normalcy. Like how it was before your assault, where you would run from your own place to catch the bus. This sudden change in lifestyle is jarring and unnatural to you, it's stressing you out.

"It takes a minimum of eight weeks for your fracture to heal. You only rested for three, it is too early for you to start walking again." He explained, in a soft voice that sounded patronizing. You squirm under his unyielding and unsettling stare, he never stopped despite you showing painfully clear signs of discomfort.

You tried weakly arguing that you saw students move around the campus with a broken foot, they're using crutches and always arrived to class on time.

The room fell silent, save for the quiet whirring of the fan's propeller and the murmuring of the contractors.

Yves knew he was fighting a losing battle. But he tries, he tries to scare you into staying with him. Because he wasn't ready to let you go yet, not when he was spoiled with three weeks of uninterrupted bonding time with you. It is going to feel particularly excruciating when the luxury of being in close proximity to you is slashed tremendously.

So he waited. You were someone who associates silence and a stare as something terrible, hence he uses that against you. He calculated the chances of you backtracking or doubling down, and it was of equal probability.

You cower, feeling afraid and severely pressured even though Yves did nothing except appear menacing.

It is tempting to just dismiss everything and pretend like nothing happened, you could enjoy his pampering without a problem and let Yves take care of you like a delicate doll.

But... it's uncanny. You have never felt this strange towards a supposedly "good" thing. You will definitely have to participate in uncomfortable conversations with Yves, however, maybe the reward would outweigh the damages?

Using all your strength to temporarily push down the nauseating feeling of fear, you decided to choose a path.