#Silent Mary crew
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silentmarytheghostship · 1 month ago
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How did the Triangle affect Salazar and his crew?
(This is going to be long)
https://www.reddit.com/r/piratesofthecaribbean/comments/76n3ub/theory_the_curse_of_the_devils_triangle_and_its/
(My analysis)
When the Rotterdam (supposedly that's how the Silent Mary was called before her curse, before her name was changed by Captain Salazar) sailed into the Triangle, it set off a chain reaction and all hell broke loose for her crew
And literally
The Triangle seemed to sense its best victim, it wasn't natural - supernatural, at that exact moment, the volcanoes began to erupt and there was lava that heated the water, and a mysterious red light that later resurrected Salazar and his crew as something cursed - not exactly ghosts.
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As they entered the triangle, there was a tremendous amount of seismic activity under the water (It has been known for a long time that there are volcanoes on the triangle bottom)
The water heated up VERY quickly to a tremendous temperature
As the pre-Silent Mary crashed onto the rocks, which must have already been heated, they finally reached the gunpowder magazine and this caused the explosions that blew the ship apart
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In addition to the fire, which emitted a lot of smoke, the volcanoes, in addition to the heat, released volcanic dust, poisonous chemical compounds - sulfur dioxide, carbon dioxide, and so on, which irritated the eyes and skin of the unfortunates - probably when they were still alive, it is possible that when we saw the tribute to Sparrow on the screen, Salazar and others, including those who fell into the water, could still be trying to fight for their lives and for breath in slow agony and then, before they completely suffocated, they could have inhaled the smoke and all those chemicals in a lethal concentration, and that is what could have caused painful internal injuries, asthma in Salazar and probable brain changes in him and most of the crew (in addition, let's take into account that earlier in the panic they could have additionally injured themselves - Salazar hit the railing with his stomach with enormous force, it is possible that he suffered internal bleeding, which additionally reduced his chances in the fight with the sea), and according to the novelisation, it's the explosion that caused the hole in the head and neck finished him off, so he had to suffer a lot before that (+ notice the fact that he clearly remembered when he lost consciousness). But it is also possible that these conditions could have affected them after death, and it seems natural that they were exposed to these extreme conditions for some time before everything calmed down, although this is rather illogical that it could damage them more.
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It's hard to imagine the pain they must have felt (if the adrenaline didn't drown it out) when their skin... you know what happened to it. And their eyes had to endure SUCH a concentration of poison.
Notice the eyes of Santos and the others, which are somehow severely damaged and unnatural.
Their skin seems cracked, hard and thickened (the effect of cracked earth, as the creators said).
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When some fell into the water (e.g. the captain), they never came out alive - it's hard to imagine what a thermal shock it must have been, when you suddenly land in hot water and how the adrenaline must have jumped, Salazar could have been drowning and suffocating from the toxic compounds at the same time, while fighting for breath, consider how stupid their bodies must have been acting in that while, maybe that's also why Salazar sometimes talks so nasally and makes those strange sounds - and that chirping, as if he was drowning, and his crew sometimes did that too.
But notice how his body reacts when he is near the living - he suffers from severe asthma but also blood from the mouth (caused also by internal injuries? severe impact of the abdomen against the railing?) and reactions as if he were drowning. In the Triangle it was normal, it's a bit like the curse found its way to keep them on a leash, to guard this specific area, reminding them of their suffering during dying when they are where they shouldn't be, i.e. in the environment of people and too close to them, without killing them immediately.
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Maybe that's what drove them to such aggression towards everyone who came to the triangle? In front of people, it was as if their internal injuries were recurring - as if you had a bandage on but someone ripped it off and everything starts bleeding and hurting over again.
Besides, exposure to SUCH HUGE air pollution can cause changes in the body, we can see this in the example of Salazar's asthma, but apart from that, since they inhaled so much of this poison, unfortunately it is possible that some changes in the brain also occurred - you can see that they behave completely differently than when they were alive, I know they are cursed, they feel pain etc., but despite this there is something almost... reptilian, different, abnormal, inhuman about them (such a concentration of poison could also have affected their behavior).
Besides, the novelization says that Salazar gave some members of the crew a little longer so that what he was saying would reach their consciousness.
This seems to be confirmation of possible brain damage.
It was also written there that Salazar often squinted - which means, judging by the movements and behavior of the crew, injuries like missing body parts etc. affected them much less than those incurred in agony or after death due to some horrible situations/creatures they encountered in the Triangle.
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The conditions, adrenaline and terror at that drastic moment must have been indescribable, they have a HUGE trauma after that - especially since they remembered it all so precisely and for so long, and Salazar initially did not want to tell Barbossa about it (in the novelization he became aggressive at the suggestion of telling the story), but he broke through.
(Besides, they were violently stripped of their fame and pride, how would you feel then? That was terribly humiliating for them).
They had no chance of survival - even if someone had survived, they would have died painfully soon from poisoning with chemicals and dust. But it is still very unlikely that they would have been able to move on their own.
Now that we realize WHAT they went through, it's no wonder they were so stubborn and wanted revenge so badly.
And they had to deal with it mentally without any outside help (they might have been frustrated that everyone was afraid of them, but they probably weren't surprised since they had to be afraid of themselves at the beginning).
The cave trapped them in darkness for almost 50 years, so time must have dragged on for them twice as long.
It's no wonder Salazar was considered such a strict Captain, he had to maintain some standard on the ship so that his crew wouldn't morally fall to some horrible level.
On the other hand, I think their extraordinary abilities are some kind of compensation from the Triangle for how it treated them - they gradually started to discover them (I think we don't really see much of them in the movie because in the Triangle the conditions were more extreme, and in the normal world they were very friendly to them, so they didn't have such an opportunity that would force them to show everything they can do), and apparently they finally started to like how they can use their physical enhancements and their appearance to scare people and kill them - Salazar likes that when he puts his face closer to a mortal, they become even more frightened. In any case, after this macabre transformation, Salazar, his crew and the Silent Mary, which also came to life like them, were certainly the worst thing you could encounter on the sea.
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spookysanta · 2 months ago
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Orbit. (MBJ)
Summary: Reader goes with Michael to the premiere of his new film, Sinners. She's not prepared.
Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader
Warnings: SINNERS CONTENT, heavy smut
if you haven't seen sinners by now... babe. idk what to tell you lmao but SPOILER WARNING (kinda?) and listen idk if that whole scene was improv okay it's for the plot
from the drafts
MINORS DNI
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She thought she was ready.
She’d seen the dailies. Heard the whispered rehearsals when he thought she was half-asleep, slurring Stack’s lines into her neck before sunrise. She’d watched his jaw clench during tense calls with Ryan, caught glimpses of bruises from long days on set, rubbed sore muscles while he mumbled about Annie, about Mary, about blood, sex, heat. Hell, she though she knew the script, scene by scene.
But nothing could’ve prepared her for watching it unfold, thirty feet tall, bathed in light, in IMAX. For the way it gutted her. For the way it stole the air from her lungs.
And Michael? He sat beside her like it was any other Tuesday. Warm. Calm. Smiling.
Smug motherfucker.
The premiere was small, invite-only. Intimate. Just the cast, close friends, key crew. Everyone smelled like perfume and money. The theater hummed with low voices and champagne bubbles. But the second the twins appeared onscreen, everything vanished.
Smoke.
The moment he appeared, her breath caught. She felt it. Everyone did. His body moved with a lazy weight, a predator’s patience. When Smoke stepped into her shack with sunlight catching the edge of his cheekbone, the theater went still.
And then…
Then he bent her over.
The way his hips rolled wasn’t frantic but calculated. Possessive. Hungry. It wasn’t vulgar. It wasn’t even explicit.
It was just unholy.
Her hand flew out and smacked Michael’s arm hard enough to sting.
He leaned in, voice low and teasing. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You good?”
She kept her eyes on the screen, breath shaky. “You didn’t tell me you got down like that.”
His fingers slid along her thigh, firm and slow. “You know I do.”
“Not like that, I don’t.”
He squeezed hard to quiet her. “Watch the movie.”
Like hell she could.
The scene replayed over and over behind her eyes, even as the film moved on. She couldn’t stop clenching her thighs, couldn’t keep her breathing even. And then it got worse.
The juke joint.
Stack and Mary slipped away from the noise, hands tangled, breathless. Hushed words. Glances. A hidden room off to the side.
And then she saw that scene.
Stack's eyes looked up at her from the floor, dazed. “Baby,” he rasped, “you’re drooling.”
Mary’s grin curled slow. “You want some?”
He nodded once.
And then she let it drip, thick and slow, from her mouth to his.
She gasped, audibly. Actually clutched the pearls she wasn’t even wearing.
Michael turned his head slow, mouth twitching. She slapped his leg, eyes wide.
“Michael!”
He leaned in again, eyes gleaming. “It was improv.”
Her head whipped around. “WHAT?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Hailee went off-book. Ryan kept it.”
She slumped in her seat, betrayed by the editing team and her own body. Her thighs burned. Her lip was red from biting it. And Michael? He was relaxed, arm draped over her shoulder, like she wasn’t unraveling beside him.
He leaned closer, breath warm. “That part got you hot, huh?”
She couldn’t speak.
“You gonna act normal the rest of the night or should we leave early?”
Still, no answer.
Because she was already picturing it. Not the scene. Them. Him. In her. Behind her. Real hands. Real weight. Real breath. Not staged.
His hand slid higher.
They didn’t stay for the Q&A.
The car was silent.
Not tense. Just thick. Molten. Her knees were pressed together tight, heels dug into the floormat. She stared out the window, lips parted, still tasting the salt of her own tongue.
“Those scenes were…” She exhaled sharply. “So nasty.”
Michael glanced over, jaw flexing.
“That drool?” she added. “I literally couldn’t look at you.”
He drummed his fingers against the leather. “Did you even like the rest of the movie?”
“Of course I did.” Her voice jumped. “It was incredible. I was just... distracted.”
He smirked. “You mean turned on.”
She glared. “I’m allowed to be stunned that my man’s out here with porn-star energy.”
“And you didn’t mind one bit.”
“Didn’t say that.”
His hand found her thigh again, this time slower. Thicker. “You were squirming.”
“Because, what the fuck, Michael?”
His voice dropped. “You wanna see what it looks like when it’s not choreographed?”
She sucked in a breath. His eyes dipped to her lips, then her dress. Then back.
“We’re almost home.” His voice was molten. “And I plan on seeing you bent just like that. But louder. Sweeter. Messier.”
She whimpered.
He smirked.
The rest of the ride blurred.
She barely made it through the front door before he had her pressed against it. He locked it one-handed, the other already tugging the zipper down her spine.
“Don’t act shy now,” he muttered, mouth grazing her jaw. “You were almost creamin’ in that seat.”
The dress slid from her shoulders like a sigh. Her shoes hit the floor.
“Michael—”
He turned her, palm against the door, crowding her space. “Nah, say it.” His mouth ghosted hers. “You liked watching me bend her over. You liked that spit too. Had you twitchin’ in your seat trying to keep it together.”
“You looked…” Her voice cracked as his hands mapped her sides. “You looked so fucking good.”
He grinned, wicked. “You were losing your mind.”
“Still am.”
He kissed her, slow and punishing. Let her feel every inch of it. Then again, deeper. His lips parted over hers, tongue sliding in. One hand pressed flat to her lower back, arching her into him as the other grabbed the back of her neck. His mouth moved like he meant to taste every gasp.
He lifted her without breaking the kiss, her legs locking around his waist. Each step to the couch felt like a countdown. He sank down with her on top, his hands already tugging the straps of her lingerie down her arms, peeling the lace aside with reverence and heat.
She rocked her hips once, testing. He exhaled hard against her lips.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Take what you need. Ride it how you want.”
She kissed his jaw, then dragged her tongue down his neck. She bit lightly where his pulse kicked. He groaned, low and sharp.
“You got so into character,” she murmured. Her teeth grazed the shell of his ear. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”
“I was acting then.” His voice vibrated in his chest. “This is real.”
He flipped her beneath him.
Every movement intentional. One knee between her thighs. One palm spread across her belly to keep her grounded. He kissed her again, slower now, dragging his tongue across hers.
His mouth traveled down her neck, kissing and licking each inch. He nipped at her collarbone, then kissed the sting away. His hands traced the outline of her ribs, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her stomach.
When he dipped lower, his lips wrapped around her nipple. He sucked once, slow. Then again, harder. Her breath shattered.
He didn’t stop.
He kissed lower. Down her torso. The inside of her thigh. The crease of her knee. He spread her open with both hands and stared.
“You been this wet since the theater?”
She whimpered.
He licked her once, long and slow. She nearly bucked off the couch. He groaned, tongue flicking again. Then again. Then harder.
Her hips rocked helplessly as he sucked her clit with heat and rhythm, and when she moaned his name, sharp and broken, he slipped two fingers inside, curling them slow and deep.
“You mine?”
“Yes, yes. Michael, please.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
He undressed, dragging her panties down her legs like he was unwrapping something sacred. Then lined himself up, eyes locked to hers.
And when he pushed in, deep, all the way, she sobbed.
He kissed her through it. Through the whimpers. Through the stretch. Through the way her nails clawed his back like she needed him deeper.
He gave her everything.
Every stroke. Every growl. Every kiss.
He flipped her again onto her knees and pressed her into the couch.
“Louder,” he panted. “I want your neighbors to know who fucks you like this.”
She screamed his name as he came undone.
And when they collapsed, sweat-soaked, trembling, bodies still twitching, he curled her into his chest, brushed her curls back, kissed her forehead and whispered,
“Next time I play a preacher or a prince, you better act like you give a damn then too.”
She laughed into his throat.
“Only if you bend somebody over again.”
He grinned against her skin.
“Bet.”
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alwayssassydreamer · 4 months ago
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Undercover Love
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A/N: sorry Mary that it took so long but I finally made it, I hope you like it
Summary: you and ace are inseparable and marco and thatch realize that there is more going on between you two though they can't believe how oblivious you two seem to be about it
Warnings: a silly fluffy story
Characters: Ace x F!Reader, Marco, Thatch
Ace was sitting cross-legged beside you, his eyes flickering to the horizon as you buried yourself in a book, one of the many novels you'd brought along during your travels. The two of you often found these moments together—quiet but meaningful, the kind where words weren’t always necessary.
He leaned over and lightly nudged your arm. "Hey, you missed a page."
You blinked and looked down, realizing he was right. "I swear, you’ve got a sixth sense for these things," you muttered, grinning and shaking your head.
"Maybe," Ace said, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. "I just pay attention."
You went back to reading, but a few minutes later, a small gust of wind blew a stray strand of hair in your face. You swiped it out of the way with a frustrated huff, but before you could get back into your book, Ace was already there, plucking the hair from your face with ease and then put his hat on you. You glanced at him and caught a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, yet gentle.
"Always looking out for me, huh?" you teased, but you didn’t mind. You were used to this.
"Always, besides my hat looks good on you" he replied without missing a beat, his voice low and warm.
Ace laned back, letting his head rest in your lap. It was a familiar feeling, his warmth against you, the softness of his hair beneath your hand. You absently ran your fingers through his hair as you continued reading, and you realized that in moments like these, words felt unnecessary. The quietness between you was comfortable, more than any loud confession could convey.
Not far from you, Marco and Thatch were watching the scene unfold with knowing glances. It was clear to them what was happening. Marco had once casually remarked, "You two are like an old married couple," and while you had laughed it off at the time, there was truth in his words.
Thatch, had even tried teasing you both, but Ace was too oblivious to pick up on it. You, too, seemed unaware of how others saw the quiet closeness between you and Ace. You both laughed, fought, and drank together, never seeing the way the crew looked at the bond you shared.
Ace would often poke fun at you, calling you out for being so serious with your books, but that was just his way of showing affection. You’d shoot back with playful jabs, calling him an "immature lighter," and somehow, that made the bond feel even more familiar.
The meals were the same. You’d pass each other bites of food without thinking twice, sharing everything from a chunk of meat to the last piece of fruit you’d managed to snag. When one of you found something delicious, the other was right there, eagerly taking a taste. It was a give-and-take that had become second nature. You fed each other, laughed, and even bickered about who had the better choice of snacks.
Even when Ace would casually remove objects in your way when you were - once again - buried deep in a book you didn't need to acknowledge it. It was just Ace being Ace, looking out for you in his own way. And you didn’t mind. You were used to it, almost as though you didn't even notice how often it happened.
The Whitebeard Pirates watched all of this unfold - the deeper feelings growing between you was something the crew saw clearly. They’d exchange knowing looks when you two were together, sharing silent smiles over the quiet connection they saw blooming between you and Ace. But you and Ace were wrapped up in your own little bubble, caught in a routine that felt natural and right.
When the crew started teasing Ace about you, calling him out on his "sweetheart" moments or making sly remarks about your "togetherness," he’d scratch his head and offer his usual cheeky grin.
"Stop it," Ace would mutter, shooting the crew a half-embarrassed, half-challenging look. "We’re just looking out for each other."
And you’d back him up, saying something similar.
The Moby Dick had just docked on a new island, and you and Ace walked side by side down the gangplank, both excited for a change of scenery. The bustling atmosphere of the market greeted you immediately, with vendors shouting their wares and colorful stalls lining the streets. The salty air mixed with the smells of food, fried fish, roasted meat, and sweet desserts.
As you wandered, you couldn’t help but point out things you found interesting, a new fruit you wanted to try or a beautiful piece of clothing that caught your eye. Each time, you’d grab Ace’s arm to guide him over, his larger, muscular frame easily following you as you tugged him along. It had become a sort of unspoken habit between you two, an easy way to share the things that sparked your interest.
But it wasn’t just you pulling Ace around. Every now and then, Ace would grab your hand without thinking, drawn by the enticing smell of something delicious. You’d laugh at how quickly he could get distracted by food, his hand slipping into yours as he led you to a food stall. It was such a natural, effortless thing. No hesitation, no questions asked.
As you made your way through the market, Marco and Thatch were trailing behind, watching the two of you with bemused expressions. They exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with unspoken understanding.
"I don’t get it," Thatch muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "How can they not see it?"
Marco, ever the calm and collected one, just sighed. "Maybe it's just how they are. I don’t know how much more obvious we can make it for them."
"You think they’ll ever figure it out?" Thatch asked, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his lips.
Marco just smirked. "Who knows? But right now I doubt it"
Later that evening, the Moby Dick rocked gently in the harbor as the crew gathered for a casual dinner. The mood was lighthearted, everyone still buzzing from the excitement of exploring the island. You and Ace were once again side by side, as always, laughing, sharing stories, and just enjoying the company of each other.
But that didn't go unnoticed by Marco and Thatch. They casually approached you both, their expressions a mixture of patience and mild amusement.
"You two," Marco began, his arms crossed as he looked between you and Ace, "have been attached at the hip all day. You've barely left each other's side. And honestly, this 'just friends' act is getting a little old."
Ace glanced at you and chuckled, oblivious. "What, we’re just hanging out. What’s the big deal?"
Thatch grinned and leaned in, pointing between you and Ace. "The thing is, you two spend way too much time together. It’s like you're... I don't know, cozy together. You walk around with your arms linked, feeding each other food, sharing quiet moments—hell, you even lay your head in her lap, Ace!" His grin widened as he observed the subtle look that passed between you and Ace, both of you completely unbothered by the comment.
You blinked, furrowing your brows. "What’s wrong with that? I can’t help it if Ace is always hungry and needs someone to share food with."
"That’s not what we mean," Marco added with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "We’re saying that you two are, well, really close. More than friends. Like, ridiculously close."
You and Ace exchanged another confused glance.
"I don’t get it," Ace said, scratching the back of his head. "We’ve always been this way. What’s wrong with hanging out together?"
Thatch leaned back dramatically. "It’s not about hanging out, Ace. It’s about... being together, together. You know, in that way."
You stared at them, still not catching on. "You mean... like, how we’ve always been? Why does it need a label?"
Marco facepalmed, clearly struggling to find the words. "What we’re trying to say is, you two should really be together, in a... you know, romantic way."
You blinked again, your mind still in denial. "But we are together, in a way. We’re best friends. That’s... that’s enough."
Ace gave a small nod. "Yeah, exactly. We’ve always been this close. No need to overthink it, right?"
The tension in the air was palpable, and it was clear that Marco and Thatch were beyond frustrated. Thatch leaned back and crossed his arms, giving up. "You two are hopeless."
Nearby, Whitebeard, who had been listening to the conversation, let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "You two are truly something else," he boomed, his deep laugh echoing through the ship. "I can't believe you’re this thick-headed."
You and Ace both looked over at him, still not quite getting the joke. "What do you mean, Pops?" you asked.
Whitebeard chuckled and just shook his head. "No one’s ever been this clueless about that before."
It was at that moment, as you both stood there, still completely confused, that Ace suddenly stood up with a grin, clearly eager to move past the conversation. "Well, I don’t know about all this, but I’m in the mood for a dance."
You blinked, surprised by his sudden suggestion. "A dance? Now?"
"Why not?" Ace grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let’s make the night a little more fun."
You hesitated for just a moment before a grin tugged at your lips. "Alright, I’m game," you said, not entirely sure where this was going but willing to play along.
The two of you found a clear space on the deck, and Ace, in his usual carefree manner, pulled you into a loose, playful dance. It wasn’t anything formal - just a bit of laughter, spinning, stepping in rhythm to the sounds of the crew's ongoing chatter. You both were far from professional dancers, but the simplicity of it felt easy, like everything else between you two. You would rest your head on his shoulder or he would pick you up and spin making you laugh even harder.
As you spun in Ace’s arms, you caught a glimpse of Marco and Thatch in the corner of your eye. They exchanged knowing glances, clearly still in disbelief at how long it was taking for you two to figure things out.
"You know," Thatch said, his voice loud enough for both of you to hear, "this is almost exactly how a couple dances."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "And they still don’t get it."
Whitebeard, still chuckling at the sight of you two, added, "Maybe this will be the night they finally wake up."
Ace laughed as he spun you one more time before pulling you back into his arms. "I still don’t know why they're so worked up about us," he muttered, his grin wide. "But I’m having fun."
You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart light and full of warmth. "Me too."
The dance with Ace had quickly turned into something more energetic than you expected. His infectious enthusiasm had you both laughing and spinning around the deck, your feet stumbling over one another more than once. You hadn’t realized just how out of breath you’d gotten until Ace finally slowed down, his arms holding you steady as you both tried to catch your breath, grinning at each other like you’d just won a battle.
"You’re gonna wear me out at this rate," you teased, your breath still coming in ragged bursts, your forehead resting against his chest as you leaned into him for support. The steady beat of his heart was like a calming rhythm against your cheek.
Ace laughed softly, a little winded himself, but clearly enjoying every moment of it. "Hey, if you can’t keep up, that’s on you," he joked, wrapping his arms around you loosely, his cheek resting atop your head for a moment.
Despite the laughter and the warmth between the two of you, Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, clearly in disbelief. Marco’s face was a picture of exasperation as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"They’re really not getting it, are they?" Marco muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "How can they not see it?"
Thatch chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ship’s railing. "This is too good. We’ve practically had to spell it out for them, and they’re still acting like nothing’s happening."
Whitebeard, standing nearby, just laughed heartily, shaking his head at the young pair.
"You’d think after everything today—hell, the way they’ve been acting all this time—they’d get it," Marco said, still stunned. "But no, they’re just... friends. Sure."
Meanwhile, you and Ace were still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, enjoying the simplicity of each other's company.
You pulled back slightly, looking up at Ace with a smile, and he met your gaze with his signature grin, still blissfully unaware of the whispers around you. "Well, that was fun," you said, your voice still light from laughter. "I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages."
"Same here," Ace agreed, before you both let go of each other. He gave you a playful nudge, then glanced back at the others. "You guys should join in next time, you know? No need to stand around looking all serious."
The next few days passed in the same easygoing rhythm. You and Ace continued to spend nearly every waking moment together, and it was clear to everyone around you just how close you two were. Whether it was sharing meals, joking around, or just enjoying each other's presence, it seemed natural—so natural, in fact, that neither of you thought much of it.
You’d walk together, arms linked, holding hands, or sometimes Ace would casually slide his arm around your waist as you both strolled across the ship, laughing at something ridiculous that had happened. Every time Ace was hungry, you’d end up sharing your food with him, like it was second nature. Even when he’d lay down on the deck to rest, his head would always end up in your lap, both of you lost in the peace of the moment. It was nothing out of the ordinary, at least, not to you.
However, as the days wore on, it became more and more difficult for the rest of the crew to ignore just how cozy you two were. Every little gesture, every shared look, every soft laugh - it was all starting to make a lot of sense to the others.
One day, as you and Ace walked across the deck, lost in a conversation about something trivial, Thatch couldn’t help but watch. He exchanged a glance with Marco, who had a very similar look of resignation on his face.
“Alright,” Thatch muttered under his breath, nudging Marco. “I think I finally get it.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
“Yeah,” Thatch said, leaning in closer as the two of you passed by, still oblivious to what was going on. "They’re not just clueless. They’re extremely innocent and on top of that plain dumb."
Marco sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I’ve never seen anything like it. They’re acting like a couple - but -" he paused, as if trying to process the ridiculousness of it, "they genuinely have no idea."
Thatch grinned. "Every single thing they do together screams couple. And still, they look at us like we’re speaking some foreign language when we try to explain it."
Marco, too, found it hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You’d think after all this time, they’d at least get the hint."
It had been days of watching you and Ace and Marco and Thatch couldn’t take it any longer.
One evening, after dinner, Marco casually called you over to sit with him and Thatch. You and Ace were both in the middle of chatting, but after a quick exchange of glances, you found yourselves being pulled toward the two men who were clearly on a mission to finally make you understand what had been going on.
Marco and Thatch sat across from you and Ace, looking like two men about to embark on the most difficult mission of their lives. Marco rubbed his temples, while Thatch was already looking like he regretted getting involved.
“Alright, listen,” Thatch started, leaning forward like he was about to deliver top-secret information. “We need to have a serious talk.”
Ace, lounging lazily with his arms crossed, blinked at them. “About what?”
“You two,” Marco said, pointing between you and Ace like it should be obvious.
You and Ace exchanged a glance before you shrugged. “What about us?”
Thatch groaned. “Okay, how do we put this… You do everything a couple does. You drink together, laugh together, share food—”
Ace nodded. “Yeah, so?”
Marco threw up his hands. “You sleep in each other’s beds!”
You tilted your head. “It’s comfortable.”
Thatch’s eye twitched. “Ace carries you around when you’re tired.”
“Well, walking is exhausting,” you replied.
Marco pointed a finger at Ace. “And you tuck her in when she falls asleep on the deck!”
Ace huffed. “I don’t just leave her lying around like some abandoned crate!”
Marco leaned forward, trying to get through to you like a teacher dealing with the class clown. “And doesn’t that mean something to you?”
You and Ace exchanged another glance before looking back at them. “Uh… yeah?” Ace said slowly.
Thatch perked up, hopeful. “Oh? It does?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed. “It means we’re really close friends.”
Marco made a sound so strangled it could’ve come from an injured seagull. “No! Not just friends! You’re together-together!”
You frowned. “We are together. I mean, we’re here right now, sitting together.”
Thatch looked at Marco. “I swear, they’re killing me.”
Marco took a deep breath, then leaned forward with the patience of a saint trying to explain something to a particularly stubborn toddler. “Okay. Listen closely.”
You and Ace nodded attentively.
“When you see each other,” Marco continued, speaking slowly, “do you feel warm inside? Maybe like… butterflies?”
You and Ace exchanged another glance.
“…From drinking?” Ace asked.
Thatch smacked the table. “NO! From love!”
You tapped your chin. “Hmm. I mean, I do like Ace.”
Ace grinned. “Yeah, and I like her.”
Thatch and Marco both perked up. “Okay, great! Now—”
“But, like, friend like,” you added.
Ace nodded sagely. “Yeah. Deep, deep friendship.”
Marco dragged a hand down his face. “You’re messing with us, right? You have to be messing with us.”
Thatch was now pacing, waving his hands around like a madman. “Okay, fine! Let’s break this down further. When you touch, like when you hold hands, doesn’t it feel… different?”
Ace thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I mean, her hands are pretty soft.”
You nodded. “His are warm.”
Thatch’s eye twitched again. “No. No. Not physically! I mean, do you feel a spark? A rush? Maybe a deep longing?”
Ace frowned. “A deep longing?”
You blinked. “For what?”
Marco groaned into his hands. “To be together!”
Ace and you exchanged yet another confused glance before turning back to them. “But we are together,” you said slowly.
Thatch threw his hands up. “As a COUPLE!”
There was a pause. You and Ace both sat there, staring at them with blank expressions, as if they had just tried to explain rocket science to two particularly dense sea kings.
Then, Ace nodded thoughtfully. “Ohhh… I get it.”
Thatch and Marco sighed in relief.
“You think we should be a couple,” Ace continued.
“Yes!” Marco and Thatch shouted in unison.
Ace scratched his chin. “Hmm. Should we?” He turned to you, eyes casual. “Wanna kiss?”
You gave a nonchalant shrug. “Why not?”
Marco's jaw literally dropped, and Thatch choked on his drink, sputtering in shock. Whitebeard, who usually held the wisdom of the seas and the authority of a captain, was now wide-eyed, blinking in utter surprise. They all stared at you, processing what had just happened.
"Did... did you just say... 'Why not'?" Marco managed to ask, his voice half disbelieving, half amused.
"Yeah," you replied, still as casual as ever, "I mean, it seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it?"
Ace, looking just as unfazed as you, gave a relaxed grin and you both leaned in and kissed each other, as if this was the most natural progression in the world.
“OH MY GOD, STOP!” Marco shouted.
Thatch practically leapt out of his seat. “That is not how this works!”
Whitebeard, who had been listening from his throne, suddenly let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Gurarara… I have never seen two people be so dense.” Marco and Thatch nodded vigorously.
And then it happened.
You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you and you burst into giggles. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that even Ace shot you a confused look.
"Hey! Stop!" Ace said, trying to keep his own grin hidden, though it was clear he was fighting a smile. "You're ruining the act!"
But it was too much. The act, the drama, the whole charade - you couldn't keep up with it any longer. "I’m sorry!" you managed between laughs, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I just couldn't keep it up anymore."
“…Wait,” Marco said slowly.
Thatch narrowed his eyes. “Are you two…?”
Ace grinned. “Oh yeah. We’ve been together this whole time. Of course we knew what was going on between us. We just thought it was funny watching you guys try to explain it to us.”
"You guys... you guys really thought we didn’t know?" You leaned against Ace’s shoulder, still chuckling. "We’ve been together together the whole time. The whole time, guys."
Silence.
“You little shits.”
Thatch looked personally betrayed, and Marco just sighed, leaning back as if he had aged ten years in five minutes. Whitebeard, who had been listening nearby, suddenly let out a deep, booming laugh, shaking his head.
“I should’ve known,” he chuckled. “Only Ace would turn his love life into a prank on the crew.”
Marco stared at you both in disbelief. “You......You mean to tell me we just wasted half an hour-”
“More like weeks,” Whitebeard added with a chuckle.
Thatch collapsed onto the table, face down. “I hate you both.”
Ace laughed, throwing an arm around you as you grinned. “Aw, come on. You gotta admit - it was really funny.”
Marco just stared at the two of you, shaking his head in disbelief. "I... I honestly can’t believe this," he muttered. "You two were playing us this whole time?"
You simply shrugged with a smirk. "Yeah, you were so cute trying to explain it, though. We just couldn’t resist."
Ace laughed again, his arm still around you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Guess we got a bit of a kick out of watching you all scramble."
Marco groaned, standing up. “I need a damn drink.”
Thatch pointed at you both. “You’re menaces.”
You looked at Ace, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours nefore leaning in again to kiss him.
Whitebeard was still laughing, Thatch and Marco still muttering about you two being a pain in the ass as you and Ace simply leaned into each other, fully enjoying the absolute chaos you had caused.
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avocadorablepirate · 1 month ago
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Do you know the song "rewrite the stars" from the movie the greatest showman? What if you take that song and make it a story about Law and reader, but reader she is a member of the straw hat crew and he wished that she could've been on his crew instead?
So it's a little bit of a love story like enemies to lovers with a little bit of a forbidden romance just to make things a little bit more interesting?.😅
Ajmdndkdhsjdj thank you for requesting! 🫶🏽 No lie, I fell in love with this request the minute I read it 🤧, so I hope I’ve done it justice. I don’t think I’ve ever written something this fast, and honestly, I personally love how it turned out. I hope you like it too!
××××
When The Stars Align
Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader
Summary: Trafalgar Law never expected an alliance to lead to anything more than a means to an end. But when you team up with the Straw Hats, that’s not entirely possible, especially not when she’s with them. She turns his world upside down, and amidst all the chaos around them, they’re left to wonder if the stars will ever align in their favour.
Word Count: 1.6K
Warnings: just pure angst with a hint of banter, forbidden romance, implied enemies to lovers
This lowkey made me a bit emo but that could just be my period talking 😙. I would recommend listening to the song on repeat while you read!
Their relationship started like any other relationship between a pirate captain and a member of another crew - practically nothing.
He noticed her briefly at Sabaody, standing beside the idiot Straw Hat, arms crossed, as she bickered with him and the green-haired swordsman about how they couldn’t just go around attacking Celestial Dragons. In that moment, Law had pegged her as one of the more rational ones in the crew.
Then she decked a Celestial Dragon.
Hard enough to send him crashing into a wall. All because he had interrupted her.
Law revised his judgement: clearly, she was just as unhinged as the rest of them. No care for repercussions - a perfect match for her captain.
Two years down the line, their meeting at Punk Hazard altered just how deeply her life would become intertwined with his.
Law hadn’t allied with the Straw Hat’s because he liked them. He didn’t like anyone. They were just his best bet at bringing down Doflamingo. That was all. A strategic move. Just like everything else the Surgeon of Death did.
What Law hadn’t anticipated was that this alliance would be the catalyst for a long, chaotic adventure - not just in the literal sense, but the emotional kind too.
Nothing with the Straw Hat’s was straightforward. Things somehow tended to go in whatever unpredictable, illogical way they wanted it to go - and it was always a mess.
The literal adventure? That could be blamed on Luffy. But the emotional one? That was entirely because of her.
She questioned everything he said, which drove him to the point of frustration. Mocked his brooding silence and called him names like “emo Dracula,” never failing to get under his skin. Every irritation, every negative emotion one could think of - Law felt them all around her.
But then Dressrosa happened.
She fought like hell to protect her crew - bruised, bloodied, utterly exhausted - but never backing down. Law felt admiration.
And then…when the battle was over, when the dust had barely settled, she found him among the rubble - silent, arm still bleeding out, bullets buried deep in him.
She didn’t hesitate.
She brushed off the blood from his brow, knelt beside him and tended to his wounds in silence. Despite her own battle scars she mended his first. Not just the ones torn into his body, but the invisible ones he never let anyone see.
Law felt a small flicker then. A shift, just a twitch of his heart. He felt loved and he felt love.
Or at least, the dangerous beginning of it.
xxxx
The adventure continued, and through every twist and turn Law felt something new. Something that no longer had a negative undertone to it.
Now, months later, in the heart of Wano, Law leaned against the wall of a tea shop while the crowds bustled around him. The festival roared with noise, fireworks illuminated the sky. But in all that noise, there was only one sound that pulled at him.
Her.
The Straw Hats - loud and boisterous as ever - were clustered near a food stall, doubling over in laughter at something that was surely stupid (it never took much to set that bunch of idiots off). Law let out a sigh of relief, grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with their antics any longer. At least, he told himself he was.
But there was still one source of chaos, he wasn’t ready to let go of.
Her laughter stood out even more than Brook’s “yo-ho-ho-ho”. Leaning back on a bench, she clutched her stomach, hysterical over whatever nonsense Usopp had blurted out. There, was another similarity between her and that captain of hers.
As if she could feel his gaze, she looked up, eyes meeting his. She smiled, that same smile that crinkled the corner of her eyes, the one that had pulled Law out of the darkest of places more times than he cared to admit. Then without a word she slipped away from her crew, crossing the space between them, arms swinging casually at her sides.
“Do you always look this brooding, or is this a special occasion?” She teased, hands slipping into her pockets as she stopped in front of him.
He rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Do the Straw Hats each have assigned shifts to bother me?”
She grinned, settling beside him - close enough that their hands could easily brush if either of them moved just slightly. Not that Law was thinking about that at all.
“Nope,” she said casually, “I’m just putting in the extra hours.”
Law had to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching into a smile. “If you think I feel honoured, I don’t.”
She smirked, before letting out a dramatic sigh. “No, of course not. God forbid emo Dracula feels something.”
“I feel things,” he replied flatly. “Just not around you.”
She titled her head to look at him, eyes gleaming. “Liar.”
He didn’t have a comeback. Because of course he felt things around her. That was the problem.
Silence fell. A familiar, heavy kind of quiet. The kind that always pulled Law away from the world, forcing him to sit with the feelings he tried to ignore. The kind that had made him realise what he really felt.
“We leave tomorrow.” He said finally, as if it was some unfinished truth that needed addressing.
“Yup. Off to destroy or save another island. I can never tell which it is until the end,” she said with a light chuckle.
Another pause.
“You know,” she began, hesitant, as if her next words could break everything. Which it didn’t, it just formed the first crack. “If I were in your crew, you’d be a lot less grumpy.”
“If you’d joined my crew, I’d have thrown you overboard in a week.” Law said - though her words sent a slight jolt through his chest.
“Please. You love my company. You’d shambles me right back.”
His lips twitched again, except this time he gave in - letting a small smile take over.
“I asked you once,” he said, after a moment. “Back on Zou.”
She blinked, her gaze meeting his briefly before it dropped. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
She turned to leave, but he didn’t let her.
A blue sphere encased them, and in seconds they stood at a quiet edge of the island. No drunken laughter and thundering music, just the hush of the wind brushing against them.
“You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no either.”
She exhaled slowly, arms crossing over her chest - maybe to shield her vulnerability from him. “It wouldn’t work, Law.” Her voice was steady, as though she was so sure of herself, but by the way she avoided him, he could tell otherwise. “You’ve said it yourself. We’re different.”
Law kept his eyes on her, jaw tight, as he braced himself for the flood of words he knew would leave him broken - just like the night she’d found him in Dressrosa and had quietly put him back together, piece by piece.
“You’re calm, I’m chaotic. You’re quiet, I’m loud. You think things through, I run head first into whatever the hell seems like a good idea at the time.” She gave a short laugh, but he heard the way her breath hitched. “We’re bound to break.”
Law took slow steps towards her, hands reaching out, but she pulled away. Another crack.
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, rough with the kind of emotion he hated showing. “You think I haven’t run through every possible version of this?”
She finally looked at him, really looked at him - the same way she had back in Dressrosa, when he was bleeding out and she thought she was close to losing him.
“If it was just the two of us,” she said, her arms wrapped tight around her now loosening their hold, as if she was slowly letting him in. “In our own little space, I would have said yes.”
Law’s breath caught.
She softened now. “But the outside world - if they found out - there’s no telling what they would do. To you. To me. To us.” She clenched her jaw and looked up at the stars, as if they might protect her, but all they did was hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I don’t want to lose you to something we could’ve prevented.”
“You’re not going to lose me.”
Law tried again. This time she let him. His warm hands found her cheeks, wiping the tears that had unknowingly slipped away.
“But I could,” she said through ragged breaths. “This world…it finds your smallest weakness and uses it against you.”
He wanted to argue - to tell her she was wrong, that they could make it work even if the odds were stacked against them. But Trafalgar Law wasn’t one for fairy tales. He was a cynic. And cynics knew that even love stood little chance in a world driven by self-interest.
She tilted her head skyward, gaze landing on the stars again - the only thing that shone brightly amid the chaos. “It’s like the stars in the sky. We don’t get to choose where we want them to be. They’re just…there. Together in the same space, but never where they might shine brightest.”
For a long moment, they stood in silence, holding onto each other because it was all they could do. Law’s mind raced, searching desperately for some way to keep her close. His voice finally broke through the quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes…the stars align.”
“But not tonight.”
She looked at him, something akin to hope flickering in her eyes. “But when they do…come find me, Law.”
She pressed her lips to his cheek, lingering for just a moment. Then she pulled away and disappeared back into the city. And he didn’t stop her.
Not tonight.
But maybe someday.
If the stars ever aligned.
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I kinda want to make a sequel, but I also love the open ending, so who knows…
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aphrosheir · 2 months ago
Text
>>> Red Hair, Red Wine, Red Handed Pt. 2 <<<
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[A/N: Part 2 of this madness. I hope y'all are still following the plot??? Uhm... okay, bye!]
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
"Barb," Ava calls out from the doorframe of the kindergarten teacher's room like a perp. "Barbara."
"Ava, what are you doing?" Barbara lets out a long suffering sigh. The veteran teacher has been in Abbott for years, and she is one hairfall away from losing it. "If you need to talk to me, be a proper woman and sit."
"But Barbara, this is an important mission. High stakes! Classified."
"Lord, you know that I am not your greatest soldier."
"Give me strength."
"Ava. Sit down."
And just like that, Ava is sitting on—who's chair is this? Lacey Hope, the tag reads—because everyone listens when Barbara Howard tells them to sit down.
"You know, Barbara scares me. Just a little bit."
"Now, what is it that you so desperately needed me on a Friday afternoon after the kids have all gone and rested, mere days before the birth of our Lord and saviour?"
"(Y/N) and Melissa."
"No."
"But they're perfect for each other, Barb!"
"I know!"
"So, you're in?"
"I—what even is your plan?"
Ava wiggles her eyebrows, "I knew you'd come around!"
"I didn't say—"
"So, Christmas romance. What's the equivalent of locking two people together in a room until they confess their feelings?"
Barbara’s pointed look was lethal, but Ava—like all great heroes—persevered.
"Mistletoe. Barb, it's literally the most classic, most romantic, most lovey-dovey shit ever—Barbara, you cannot say no to this."
"It is not right to meddle with our friends' lives like this."
"Look, Barbara. I am not getting enough sleep because (Y/N) won't stop rambling about how Melissa's hair looks like a soft fire or how she would combust if she didn't kiss her yet. Tell me, are you not tired of their abuse on us?"
"Abuse?" Barbara's tone was a double deadpan at this point, listening to the antics of her boss—technically—and wondering how her life had let to this.
"I have lived my life by the word of the Lord, I do not know how I've come to this."
"Yes, abuse! Have you seen the bags under my eyes, Barb? I know, because I can see yours too."
Barbara gasped, covering her perfect face with her hands, and scandalised that Ava would say such a thing. "How dare you?"
"But... It is quite true. Melissa has been pestering me about the perfect gift for (Y/N) for how many nights now," she muttered.
Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something about patience being a virtue.
"But—I am not doing this."
"You know," Ava went on, undeterred, "if the Virgin Mary had waited as long as those two have, Jesus would’ve been born in July."
"Ava!"
"I'm just saying."
A long silence settled between them. Barbara folded her arms. Ava leaned back in Lacey Hope's chair like it was a recliner at a stakeout. Finally, with a tired sigh that sounded like the last gasp of her restraint, Barbara spoke:
"Fine. But if we’re going to meddle, we’re doing it with grace, decorum, and discretion."
Ava grinned, already pulling out her phone. "So… Operation Kiss-mas is a go?"
Barbara closed her eyes. "Lord, forgive me for I am about to sin in the name of love."
"I cannot believe that I am doing this."
"Oh, you betta' believe it, sister!"
"Wow, (Y/N)! Your house is gorgeous. This looks straight out of my 'Future Home if I Got Out of Bankruptcy' Pinterest Board." Janine exclaims excitedly as (Y/N) greeted them, now donning an oddly familiar "Silent Night, Violent Night" sweater over her dress.
"Ha!" Ava belly laughs at Janine's quip.
The crew stares at the cameras.
"I love how you kids still have that classic sense of humour. Keep it up, Janine, you might be able to make my good list next year."
"It wasn't... It wasn't a joke—"
"Now, are you all ready for a night of love?" Ava enthusiastically exclaimed, arms outstretched.
"—for our darling boy, Jesus Christ! Yes, that is right, praise His name, Hallelujah." Barbara cut in, as graceful as ever.
The crew cheered with a few stray "Merry Christmases" and a very enthusiastic "Happy Holidays" from Jacob filling the house.
"Ava, remember. Grace, decorum, and discretion."
Janine thanked the Lord that everyone agreed to come at the same time—save for Melissa, seeing as how the redhead was sitting at the couch like a grumpy little gnome as she stared at her phone like it killed her family.
If the time change was or wasn't caused by Ava 'convincing' everyone to make their lives easier and totally not to get Melissa and (Y/N) alone for that slowburn action, only the Lord knows.
"Oh, hi, Melissa!" Janine gave her a small wave. "How's the food?"
The deathly glare that Melissa sent her way was enough of an answer for her and—the rest of the crew—to maybe avoid Melissa until she gets a few more glasses of beer into her system.
"I mean..." Janine chuckled nervously, eyes darting to the side. "Melissa's usually grrr and rawr! I know that. We all know that. But, now it's like RAHHHH!"
"And (Y/N) hasn't even complimented my Slyther-claw sweaters with our initials! I just—I hope they're alright. Like, you know... I want to see the New Year, guys."
"Merry Christmas, y'all! Now, go upstairs and pick out your own rooms, especially if you are planning to stay. Find a room buddy and bunker up. After that, go wild! I'm lookin' at you, Jacob, my Mistle-bro!"
"Yeah, (Y/N) and I are tight. We're mistle-bros in this ho-ho-ho!"
"Jacob? Jacob, where are you?! The ladder is shaking!"
"Oh no, I'm coming, Janine!"
"Hey, (Y/N). Where can we put our food?"
"Right," (Y/N)'s uncharacteristic dull eyes lit up. "Y'all can put it somewhere on the dining table. I cannot wait to see what you've cooked up, Mr. Eddie-ble!"
"Please do not call me that."
But it was too late as Jacob gave a high-five to (Y/N).
Janine, on the other hand, had already led the group to the kitchen, Gregory being stuck beside a rambling Jacob.
"She’s loud. Social. Talks to everyone. But no one’s been here until now. That’s... something."
Jacob chimed in from Gregory's side, eyes frantically shooting from one place to another, "You know, this house gives strong ‘refined vintage with a twist of eccentric aunt’ energy. All this woodwork? Totally Craftsman. Those gold drawer handles? French provincial. And these trinkets? A curated chaos—it's like an antique shop got organized by colour theory!"
Gregory shoots the camera a 'please kill me' look.
"So, we just take any room here?" Janine asked, exploring the quaint yet surprisingly large house.
It housed 5 rooms upstairs and an attic turned library on the third floor. The halls seemed to stretch far and wide for Janine, who was leading the group, ever the over-excited camp counsellor.
"Yeah! My room is the farthest to the right. Nope, not that right, my right! Nope, still the wrong way—Janine, my right and your right are the same!"
Just then, Gregory put a hand on top of Janine's shoulders gently and quietly, turning her to the correct direction.
"Oh—uh, that one. Right. Thank you, (Y/N)!" She waved down to the woman downstairs before gingerly turning to her boyfriend. "And, thank you, Gregory."
"Move it along, lovebirds! I am trying to get my holiday glee awn," Mr. Johnson yelled, hauling his bag over his shoulder, pushing past the youngins in front of him.
"So..." Ava started, walking up beside Barbara who was taking in the kitchen; fluffing up a wreath, wiping a stray dust particle off the table, moving around a red-lipstick stain on a mug that ironically states (Y/N)'s mug—anything to keep Ava from talking to her. But alas... "Operation Jingle Smash is a go?"
"I thought it was Operation Season of Love? You know what, I still do not give a hoot about the name. Ava, what exactly is your plan now?"
"Well, for Operation Ho Ho Homoerotic Tension—" Barbara glares. "No? Okay. But, I suggest we just place a mistletoe somewhere they might frequent and lead them there. Easy peasy, pussy squeezy, right?"
"I—you are testing me right now."
Ava winks, "And you are passing, baby."
"But, well. That is quite easy. I suggest we start here, at the kitchen. We could call Melissa and (Y/N) to explain the dishes they've made? Now, wouldn't that be a nice bonding moment for them, a nice build up before they—you know."
"Kiss, Barbara? You can say kiss, can't you," Ava deadpans. "But, honestly, Barb. I don't think that's gonna work."
"Oh, come on. It'll be nice, Ava. Trust me." Barbara smiles, "Well look at me scheming all up on here, for Operation Proper Pairing."
"Still needs work."
"(Y/N)! Melissa!" Barbara calls out to the two women. (Y/N) turning her head from the couch as Melissa walks out of the right wing of the second floor, looking annoyed as she was in the middle of curling her hair.
"What'd'ya need, Barb," Melissa asks, clearly annoyed at the interruption of her beauty routine.
"Well, I was just wondering—" she clasped her hands together, in the usual Barbara Howard manner, "If our lovely cooks could explain the menu for tonight, seeing as how hard the two of you have worked on these—"
"Yeah, no. Pass, Barbs."
(Y/N) looked at Barbara, serious and unbreaking. "Barb. As much as I wish I could, but... I don't know if I can ever tell my trauma of the mashed potatoes without violently crying and throwing up. I'm sorry, Barb."
"I—"
"Told you, it wouldn't work."
"Well, what are we supposed to do now?"
"Give me your hand."
"What?"
Ava shot her a look. "Just trust me."
And just as Barbara's perfectly manicured nails hesitantly landed on top of Ava's, the woman grasped it so tight, Barbara couldn't move even as she saw that the trajectory of her hand was about to land on top of her precious sweet potato pie. "Ava!"
"Help, Barbara's hand is stuck on her hard and sticky sweet potato pie!"
"AVA!"
"How dare she call my sweet potato pie hard and sticky?"
"Was I wrong?"
"Stop being dramatic, Barb. Whatever youse plannin', I ain't fallin' for it." Melissa retorted, retreating up to her bedroom.
"I told you, it would not work. What a waste of a good p—Ava. Ava. I can't get my hand out, Ava."
"Was I wrong though?" Ava preached. "It took us a whole hour to wash that sweet potato pie off her hands."
"My nails smell of it."
"Could've been worse. It could've been smelling like Jacob's vegan nachos that looks like it came out of Santa's chimney. Seriously, how and why would you make nachos vegan?"
"So, 3 more hours to go and still no kiss." Ava sighs, lathering Barbara's hands in (Y/N)'s almost empty handsoap that she could've sworn she just replaced before they had arrived.
"It's... Alright. It was our first attempt, is all. Warm-up, correct?"
"Of course."
As the afternoon progressed, neat little garlands hung from (Y/N)'s high wooden ceilings, lights twinkling and up to safety code—according to O'shon. Now was the time for them to litter the whole house with mistletoes.
The couch where Melissa would frequent, watching the game that currently played on the TV. Beneath the tall pine tree that brought the whole room to life. Above the fireplace where pictures of (Y/N) in her years in Abbott had been kept.
Just a couple.
"Hey, did you move the stockings here?" Gregory asked, the askew decorations making his brain tick.
"No, but did you take off the star? I know it looks old but it's an important part of Christmas." Janine's voice grew in pitch, her once perfect makeup now had sweat tracks running through her forehead.
"I didn't," he said flatly.
Just then, Jacob came running in, "Oh my God, you guys. The little elf garlands I made of us? Hung it near the TV? Completely destroyed. Donezo. Gone. My elf even lost its head..."
Gregory let out a shrug, "Well... That one wasn't too bad."
"I don't know what's happening and I'm scared. What if it's Krampus, getting back at us for all the times we've been bad this year? Oh no, I knew that almond milk was bad but I kept still bought them. I love the film it develops, I'm sorry!"
"Okay, let's not jump into... Improbable conclusions, alright?"
"I don't want to live in a basket!" Jacob shrieks.
Gregory slaps him across the face, "You're not!"
"Gregory!" Janine exclaims.
"I am so sorry, Jacob. I don't know what came over me."
"No, it's fine. You're right. I've been a good boy. I ate my veggies. I slept before my bed time," Jacob stated with conviction.
"That's not..."
"Whatever happened here," Janine gestured to their ruined decorations, "We have to figure out who did it and put an end to—"
Thud.
"Oh no, Krampus is here to take me!"
"Hey, what is going on here?"
"—I told you, put the ladder to the left! Ava, you are the principal, but I am well sure that my kindergarteners would be able to take my instructions better than you because they actually know where their left and right is!"
"Damn, Barb. I thought you were all about grace, decorum, and discretion?" Ava mutters as she helps the woman stand.
"This is grace," Barbara gestures to herself. Her hair is sticking out in a bunch of directions, beige blouse untucked and the matching brown pants wrinkled.
Janine steps forward, staring at the carnage of tinsel and baubles. "What have you been doing in here?"
"We were smuggling mistletoes to gift Santa's elves for being good helpers this year," Barbara answers incredulously. "What does it look like to you, Janine?"
Jacob leans towards Gregory, "Uhm... I'm still scared. But I think it's not of Krampus anymore."
"Ava, I have been teaching for well over 20 years. I am not about to lose my sanity over two over-grown, emotionally impaired babies who thinks they'll explode if they show an ounce of emotion and a God-forsaken mistletoe!"
The growl she let out at the last part sent a shockwave through the hallway, making the teachers take a very mindful step back.
"I hope Gerald doesn't arrive any time soon. He might kill me for breaking his wife."
"So..." Ava takes a hesitant step forward, quickly snatching the poor mistletoe from Barbara's hand as if she's taking a bone from a rabid dog. "I say, let's stop this and let them be, maybe?"
"No."
Janine could swear that she saw smoke curl from her nostrils and a dangerous red flare pass her eye.
"We're going to finish Operation All I Want for Christmas is for These Idiots to Kiss even if it kills us."
"Us?"
"Yes, us. Unless you want what happened to your little elf counterpart to happen to you too, Jacob."
"For years, I have watched Melissa Schemmenti chase after men who couldn’t tell her love from drywall—getting her heart trampled on like church flyers at a state fair. But not this time. This time, she has a devoted woman—determined, loving, borderline feral—and she’s pushing her away!"
"I have not meddled once. Not once. But this time, Schemmenti? I am onto your mess. I am in your mess. I am practically neck-deep in your emotional debris."
As Jacob had hung up his elf once again—the head held up by glue and prayers—he turned to a calmer Barbara, "I did notice them avoiding each other."
"Don't get me started when they practically burn a hole through the other's head when staring at then when they know the other wasn't looking," Gregory said, crossing his arms.
"Honestly," Janine added, frowning, "I haven't seen them talk to each other this whole day..."
"Children—when you have known Melissa Schemmenti for as long as I have, you'd know that that woman is practically a flammable material."
Janine nodded, "And (Y/N) is like a matchstick to her. She eats confrontation for breakfast."
"I wonder what happened to them. Before Melissa arrived, (Y/N) and I were just talking about her wanting to impress Mel."
"So... Melissa and I kind of got into a fight earlier."
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paramountinplace · 3 days ago
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Always Got Your Back - Little!Van, CG!Shauna
Summary: After a run-in with a nosy woman out at the store, Shauna finds herself feeling extra protective of Van the next time they go out in public. Based vaguely on this post/ask! I enjoyed writing the dynamic of these two a lot
It's not like it happens often. At first, it was almost constant—the whispers and stares as passersby craned their necks to see if they really had just recognized that one girl from the covers of the grocery store tabloids and news channels. Their faces are plastered everywhere for a while and going out in public becomes a chore, faces hidden behind sunglasses and ball caps or hoods drawn up to hide their hair. It dies down after a time, once the camera crews stop trying to hound them and they stop receiving e-mails asking to interview them. There's a few lawyers involved in it all somewhere, but Shauna's never paid too much attention to them. She manages to get away unnoticed a lot of the time because she's average height and her hair isn't anything special and she knows how to make herself blend into the background.
So, she stops thinking about it after a while. She doesn't double check that Van has a hood she can draw up to cover her face or that Misty tugs a hat down over her curls to make themselves just a little less recognizable because she hasn't been stopped in the aisle of a store for ages.
Mari's trailing her around the grocery store, begging for various treats that Lottie would never let her get if she was doing the shopping and Shauna relents on a few of them because Mel's giving her puppy eyes. They've lost track of Van at some point, but Shauna's sure they'll run into her again soon because they're about to pass the candy aisle and the chances of Van being there are pretty high.
"Mel, do you remember if Gen wanted the blue bread or the red bread?" She asks, holding up two different loaves. Mel stares for a long moment before pointing at the blue one and Shauna prays silently that she's correct. Gen gets a little picky with bread and won't eat it if it's not the exact brand and type that she likes.
"Can we get white bread?" Mari asks. "It's been ages since we've had it."
Shauna pauses, considering. Truth be told, she kind of misses having white bread in the house too. It really does make sandwiches that much better. She's about to agree when something in her chest flips over and she feels a sense of urgency creep in.
"Not today," she tells Mari. She tries to keep her voice calm, because nothing is wrong, per se, she's just got an odd feeling. "Let's try to find Van now, okay?"
Mari and Mel nod, pulling out ahead of Shauna. They round a corner before she can and almost immediately, Mel's running back into the aisle with a worried expression on her face.
"There's a lady talking to Van," she blurts out, hushed. Shauna bites back a few choice expletives.
"Watch the stuff please," she instructs, striding forward. Mari's hovering anxiously at the end of the next aisle and Shauna directs her back to where Mel is standing before setting her sights on Van, all the way at the other end of the aisle. A blonde lady is standing by her and talking, hands flinging around in front of her wildly. Van's shoulders are drawn up tensely, hands twisting around each other as she fidgets uncomfortably, unspeaking.
"—saw the special they did on that one network, you know the one, and they had this horrid reenactment, oh it was so graphic—"
She cuts herself off when she sees Shauna storming towards them, eyes flickering in recognition. Her mouth is opening again, but Shauna beats her to it, making sure Van sees her before she slides an arm around her shoulders.
"Nope. Bye."
"But I—"
Shauna puts her hands over Van's ears as she steers her in the opposite direction, not bothering with a glance back at the lady. She can vaguely hear her talking after them, but she's not really listening, blood roaring in her ears.
She should have thought to have Van stick closer by or to wear a hoodie or something. Just last week she had been jeered at while out with Laura Lee and Lottie by a pair of young boys, which had had Laura Lee positively fuming. Shauna wasn't sure she'd ever heard the blonde use as many dirty words as she had while recounting the scenario to her and Tai after getting home.
She should have given the lady a right smack in the jaw, just to teach her a little lesson about stopping traumatized young women out in public, she thinks bitterly. Her hands feel white hot over Van's ears and she takes them off quickly, settling them on Van's shoulders instead as they approach Mari and Mel.
"Shauna?" Mari's voice is small and a little scared, which makes the roar in her ears calm some. She takes stock. She's walking too fast, pushing Van a little too strongly out in front of her, face contorted angrily. Her whole body is tense and she tries to take in a deep breath before she replies. She loosens her hold on Van's shoulders.
"Sorry, bud," she murmurs. Van doesn't reply, but she doesn't move away from Shauna either. A little louder, she repeats herself. "Sorry, guys. Everything's fine. I'm not mad."
"You look mad," Mari replies warily.
"I'm not mad at you," she corrects, fighting to keep her voice gentle. She isn't mad at them, not at all, but sometimes, it's hard to keep her anger from bubbling up and over. She's so frustrated with that random lady for stopping Van to babble about her scars insensitively that it's making her whole body thrum with energy, tightening her shoulders and fists without her consent.
She's about to bite out something about stranger danger, maybe a little harsher than intended, but she feels a hand slip into hers and it stops her again. Van, looking wan and defeated, is inching closer to Shauna's side. She twines their fingers together and stares up at Shauna with an expression she can't quite read, but cools some of the fire building up in her chest.
Van's like that sometimes.
Sometimes, Van and Shauna can go in circles at each other, firing off arguments about usually pointless things until they're both fuming and dry in the throat.
Other times, usually when Van is quiet and small and would sooner run and hide than put up any kind of fight, Shauna feels an overwhelming surge of protectiveness for the other girl.
"I'm not mad at you guys," she repeats, softer than she'd fully expected of herself. "I'm frustrated with the woman who stopped Van to talk to her, because that's not a very nice thing to do."
Mel is studying Van carefully, concern painted across her face at the way Van is clinging to Shauna's side.
"I don't think we need any white bread," Mari murmurs, looking up at Shauna earnestly. She feels a rush of affection for Mari, who can be so combative but always tries her best to be helpful in moments like these, and nods.
"I'd agree, Mar. Let's get checked out and get out of here."
Van helps them unload the groceries onto the conveyer belt and accepts a bag to carry in each hand, but her movements are mechanical and she almost drops the bag with the eggs. Mel is talking softly, going on about something Shauna thinks might be related to the movie they watched last night.
She pauses by Van's door as she passes by to the driver's seat, leaning forward under the guise of helping the redhead with her seat buckle.
"You gonna be okay for the drive? Or do you want to sit up with me?"
Van's eyes flicker to Shauna at the offer, indecision playing out across her face. She keeps quiet, letting Van work through whatever it is that's going on in her mind. Mari and Mel are chattering on her other side—they've taken one of the smaller cars.
"Sit with you," Van finally whispers, wiggling out of her seatbelt.
She doesn't fight when Shauna tells her to strap in once she's in the passenger seat, but she keeps a hand on the release latch, gnawing at her cheek as Shauna starts up the car. She's not sure if she should be talking to keep Van calm, but they've never really been the most talkative pair, so she opts to just tune into the conversation happening behind them.
Mel is trying to convince Mari to pick another Ninja Turtle movie for her choice of movie that night, but Mari's stubborn about her Barbie pick, which Shauna's pretty sure Mel secretly really enjoys. The blonde is probably fighting for the Ninja Turtle movie for Van's sake, who finds the Barbie movies amusing, but not as much as the others.
Once they're home and the groceries have been unloaded, Shauna finds herself with a shadow. Van trails her from room to room, keeping her distance, but refusing to stray too far away. Eventually, Shauna just settles in the sitting room where Laura Lee is and watches as Van takes a hesitant seat nearby.
"C'mere, tiger," she murmurs, lifting an arm to invite her over. Van obeys, scooting closer and resting her head on Shauna's shoulder instinctively. Shauna opens her book and begins to read aloud softly, missing the way Laura Lee smiles at them, focused more on the way Van's shoulders slowly begin to lose some of their tension.
She reads for nearly an hour, stopping only when she feels Van's body go sleep-limp against her.
For the rest of the afternoon, Van sticks close to Shauna, peeling herself away only when Tai comes home from work. Still in her pressed clothing, Tai lets Van collapse into her arms and gives Shauna a questioning look over her head. They discuss it briefly over tea after dinner before the sound of Van's tears drift into the kitchen from the sitting room and Tai excuses herself to put Van to an early bed.
...
The next time Van has to go out in public, it's a much larger group. Nat, Tai, and Gen are all working, but almost everyone else is bundling together into a couple of cars to make a run to a shopping center. Mel needs a new coat as it's getting colder, Jackie wants a scarf that doesn't scratch, and Laura Lee has a list of various other things she wants to look at.
It's all fairly orderly. They pile out of the cars in the parking lot and Laura Lee starts splitting them into groups so the trip can be as efficient as possible. She puts Mel and Mari with Shauna, telling Lottie and Van to go with her and Jackie, while Misty and Akilah are already wandering off together on their own, both feeling big and in search of a food court.
Shauna is about to walk away when she feels a tug at her sleeve. Van is standing behind her, brows furrowed something fierce.
"I want to go with you," she says quietly.
Shauna nods without thinking about it, forgetting that she should probably check with Laura Lee before agreeing.
"Wait, Van," Laura Lee cuts in gently. "You're coming with me because you need new gloves and we're going to the right store for that for Jackie's scarf."
"I wanna go with Shauna," Van repeats. With the way she's holding onto Shauna's wrist loosely and her voice breaking slightly over her name, Shauna finds it hard to deny her.
"Van." Laura Lee's tired, Shauna can tell. She'd been up with Lottie the night before and isn't wielding her usual amount of patience. The blonde reaches a hand out. "Just work with us, please. You're the only one not listening."
It's something Laura Lee would never say on a normal day, but she's exhausted and doesn't want to be at the shops. It makes Van's face crumple and Shauna catches a tear tracing down her cheek silently as she follows Laura Lee. She's standing there wishing that Van would put up more of an argument while Mari whines about how they're not walking yet before she realizes she hasn't said a word.
"Laura Lee," she calls, jogging forward.
The blonde turns with a world weary expression on her face and it almost makes her falter, but then she sees the way Van's face is wet with tears and her chest tightens protectively.
"I'll take her. My group can go back in the other car if you all finish before we do," she says firmly. "Seriously. It's okay."
Laura Lee doesn't argue and Shauna instantly finds herself with an armful of teary Van. She's quick to hush her, pulling back to wipe her tears with her thumbs and give her an encouraging pat on the back. She can let Van cry it out a little more later, when they're not in a parking lot, but she lets Van grab on to her hand as she directs her group forward.
Van keeps half a step behind Shauna, ducking her face when people glance their way, and Shauna realizes, not for the first time, just how recognizable Van's hair, even short as it is now, and scars make her. She's pretty sure no one's looking looking at them, but she shucks off her hoodie as Mel peruses racks of winter coats in a big store, pretending to be too warm as she passes it off to Van casually. The girl seems to relax a little once she's buried in Shauna's sweater, hood tugged up over her head, and she goes to help Mel look through her options.
As they continue on, Van perks up a little more, even as she strays back to Shauna's side more than usual. Shauna starts scanning ahead of them, making sure she keeps Van in her sight and watching for anyone who looks like they might be approaching them. It might be a little overkill, but she knows Van notices her paying attention and she likes to think it helps her relax a little.
She pulls the three into the bathroom when a man walks towards them with a little too much intent, recognition sparking on his face, and he's gone when they reemerge. Van doesn't go far from Shauna after that, but she's smiling and not crying, which she counts as a win.
By the time they get back to the car, the minivan with the others has already disappeared, but Shauna finds that she doesn't mind so much. She ushers Mel and Mari into the backseat, closing the door before she turns to Van.
"I want you to know," she starts, feeling a little awkward, "that I always always have your back, okay? It's—I—"
Van cuts her off by flinging herself into Shauna's arms, hugging her tightly. Shauna wraps her arms solidly around Van's body, thinking of Tai telling her that she doesn't ever let go of a hug first when she's around the girls.
They don't say anything when they separate and Van climbs into the passenger's seat without prompting. They don't really need to.
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jerzwriter · 3 months ago
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I've decided that my 30-day challenge will likely take 60-70 days, but I'm OK with that as long as I'm still writing. 😊 Day 8's prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting's 30-Day Writing Challenge is - Write about finding a new hobby. @snoopdogcone sent a request asking me to do this for Tobias and Casey. Thanks, Mari, I had SO much fun with this!
Book: Open Heart (Post-series) Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (F!MC) Featuring: Bryce Lahela, Jackie Varma, Sienna Trinh, Ethan Ramsey Rating: Teen Words: ~1,750 Summary: A dinner out with friends leads Tobias & Casey to realize they don't have any hobbies that can be discussed publicly, and they are determined to do something to change that.
30-Day Challenge Masterlist | Full Masterlist
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It began innocently enough – dinner out with old friends. Casey had planned on meeting Bryce, Jackie, and Sienna at a trendy new waterfront spot, but when Tobias and Ethan decided to join in, it officially became a party!
The restaurant would have been wise to film this crew – seven smart, sassy, and attractive people laughing over drinks and shared appetizers, with no shortage of playful flirtation to boot. You can’t pay for advertising like that!
Just before the coffee arrived, they were discussing stress management when Bryce aired a grievance.
“I swear,” he said with dramatic flair, “if one more person tells me I need to relax and find a hobby, I might take up martial arts just to learn how to toss them over my shoulder.”
“You?” Jackie snorted. “Please. You’d be too busy staring at your reflection in the mirror to learn anything. And even if you managed to learn something, I’d still be able to kick your ass when you were done.”
Ethan's stony face cracked enough to almost produce a smile, “I’d pay good money to see that, Jackie.”
“Not happening,” Bryce smirked. “But, seriously. What’s the big deal about hobbies? Besides, I have hobbies. I surf...when I can. I rock climb. I mix cocktails. I...”
“Sleep with your therapist,” Jackie cut in.
“She’s not my therapist! She’s a psych masters candidate who enjoys psychoanalyzing me post-coitus.”
“Exactly,” Jackie proclaimed as laughter rippled around the table.
Trying to shift focus away from poor Bryce, Sienna chimed in. “Well, hobbies are good for you. Especially when you have high-stress careers like we do. I’d be lost if I didn't have my baking."
"Yeah," Tobias chuckled, patting his stomach. "So would we! And thanks to your hobby, I have one, too. Hitting the gym!"
"All right, but seriously," Sienna asked, turning her attention to Tobias and Casey. “You’re both so busy with work and Sammy – do you even have time for any hobbies?”
“Sure,” Casey shrugged. “We do lots of fun things together.”
“Yeah,” Tobias added, wrapping his arm around his wife. “Tons of things.”
“Really?” Bryce asked with an arched brow. “Name one that doesn’t involve sex.”
The table went silent. Casey wanted to retort - opening her mouth, then quickly closing it. Tobias didn’t even bother.
“Well?” Jackie snickered. “We’re waiting.”
It was embarrassing. It wasn’t that they didn’t do things together - they did. They took long walks and had their favorite shows. But actual hobbies?
Honestly, what they did in the bedroom—and the kitchen, the shower, the laundry room, on occasion, on the rooftop deck—essentially, anyplace in their home—yeah, that definitely took center stage.
By the time dessert arrived, the couple had been thoroughly roasted, and Casey was determined to change things. They barely made it through their front door before she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch. “God, are we really that bad?���
Tobias slipped off his coat, a proud grin on his lips. “I wouldn’t say it’s bad. I’d just say we’re… efficient.”
“Efficient?” she echoed.
“Yeah. We optimize our limited free time for maximum mutual gratification.”
“Tobias,” she laughed. “You’re literally describing sex.”
“Exactly,” he said. “But I don’t see a problem here.”
Casey tugged him onto the coach. “It’s not a problem, Mr. Efficiency. But we should find a real hobby. You know, one we could discuss at public gatherings. One that doesn’t end in orgasms.”
“If you insist,” he said, pulling her close. “But just to be clear… we’re not banning orgasmic hobbies, correct?”
“God forbid!” She laughed. “But let’s come up with three things we’d like to try; something that can hold our attention while keeping our clothes on. Next time we see our friends, we can tell them we do have that in us.”
~~~~~
The first attempt came on Sunday morning. Casey had rearranged the furniture in the family room and turned on some soothing music. Tobias laid matching yoga mats out on the floor.
“Yoga was a great choice,” Casey stated. “It’s great for stress reduction and relaxation.”
Tobias plopped down on his mat, gazing suggestively at his wife. She took one look at him in his tight black T-shirt and grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination, and she forgot what they were supposed to be doing.
“It also helps increase flexibility,” he teased. “And you know how important that is to me.”
“Tobias! Focus!”
“All right! All right!” He laughed, promising to take things seriously.
And he did - for a while. There was deep breathing and bursts of laughter as they moved through different poses. But somewhere between the downward dog and the pigeon pose, Tobias let out a low, salacious groan - but it wasn't due to pain, but because Casey’s backside was aimed squarely in his line of sight.
“Baby,” he muttered, his voice dangerously low. “You’re right, yoga’s incredible. In fact, I think I’m having a spiritual awakening right now.”
Casey leaned lower, peeking at him through her legs. “Is your chakra talking dirty again?”
“Yep. It’s saying you look fucking hot in those leggings, and I should do something about it.”
“Tobias!” She laughed. “Focus!”
But even as she said it, she knew the battle was already lost. One playful swat on her backside, a shared giggle, and that was it. The mats were abandoned as they made a beeline for their bedroom, where all that newfound flexibility was pleasantly put to the test.  
~~~~~
A few nights later, they decided to try something else.
“This is perfect,” Tobias said, tying his Kiss the Cook apron behind his back. “We enjoy cooking together. We’re foodies. So, let’s take it to the next level. You’ll see. We’ll be leaving medicine behind to start our own restaurant within no time.”
Casey looked up from sifting flour with a grin. “Considering how the yoga experiment turned out, maybe hold off a bit before making such grand declarations.”
“What?” He grinned. “We can do anything we set our minds to, baby.”
“Yeah,” she signed. “But we usually end up doing each other.”
“Well, not tonight,” he laughed. “Come on. We’ve got this.”
They had picked a recipe together - dark chocolate molten lava cake with a ganache center and a berry compote. Tobias had even laid out the ingredients ahead of time, determined to keep them on task. At first, everything was going perfectly: measuring, stirring, folding… licking batter off each other’s fingers... that’s when things started to go south.
Tobias accidentally smeared melted chocolate on Casey’s cheek - and insisted on wiping it off… with his tongue. She retaliated by flicking cocoa powder at his shirt, which led to him dramatically peeling it off - inch by tantalizing inch. Things escalated quickly.
Before they had a chance to put the cake in the oven, Casey was sprawled across the counter, Tobias approaching with a wicked grin and a spatula loaded with icing in his hand.
“Oh, look at that,” he teased, dragging the spatula slowly down her leg. “Seems I got icing on your thigh.”
“You sure did,” she replied, breathless. “I’m going to have to insist you clean that up... sir.”
By the time they were finished, they did have a craving for something sweet—but that required delivery. Because despite all the heat in their kitchen tonight, there was no cake to show for it.
~~~~~
Their final attempt at finding a respectable hobby was Tobias’s idea. He’d always loved boating—it was calm, rhythmic, and meditative—but he hadn’t taken the boat out for a long time, and he missed it. Casey loved the idea; as anticipation built, she even bought them adorable nautical outfits for the occasion.
The weather cooperated —it was a perfect day. They spent the afternoon gliding across the harbor while Tobias taught Casey how to steer and read the depth finder. She picked it up faster than either of them expected. Everything was going great.
“We’re actually doing it,” she squealed. “Look at us! Enjoying a real, sex-free hobby.”
Tobias grinned at the wheel. “It only took three attempts and a ruined cake.”
“Hey, what happened after was well worth the loss of those ingredients,” she laughed.
They cruised peacefully for a little longer, the sun sparkling off the gentle waves, a light breeze brushing through Casey’s hair. Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly.
Ten minutes later, Tobias was helping Casey navigate a narrow turn. He stood right behind her, his hand over hers on the throttle, his other hand resting gently on her hip.
“You’re a natural,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “I’ve gotta admit... it’s kind of a turn-on.”
He didn’t need to say it – she could feel it pressed against her lower back. She swallowed hard.
“We said sex-free,” she reminded him, though her voice lacked conviction.
“We did,” he agreed, kissing her neck. “But it's not a law or anything. Come on,” he said enticingly. “We went most of the day without doing anything... that counts, right?”
A few more kisses and one lingering look were all that it took. The wheel was abandoned, and the boat anchored in a flash. They couldn’t stop laughing as they stumbled below deck – their nautical outfits tossed onto the floor, and sighs of pleasure filled the air as they gave in.
Afterward, they attempted to catch their breath. Glowing and with a gentle giggle, Casey curled into her husband. Her head rested on his chest. “Baby, we suck at this.”
“What?” He gasped. “We’re amazing at this.”
“Not at sex,” she chuckled. “Of course we’re great at that! But we were supposed to find a non-sexual hobby, and we failed miserably.”
“Oh, I’m going to have to disagree with you there, princess,” he smiled. “Hon, we did yoga. We cooked. We went boating, and I dare say we were damn good at all three.”
Casey lifted her head to look at him. “And yet, every single time…”
Tobias shrugged. “So we have a very enthusiastic way of expressing ourselves. We know how to celebrate. There’s no shame in that.”
Casey’s smile softened. “You’re insane.”
“Nope,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I’m right.”
She sighed happily, her limbs tangled with his. “Maybe we don’t need a separate hobby. Maybe the whole point is we just love doing things together.”
“Exactly. And if one thing leads to another…”
“...and one thing always leads to another...”
“Then we’re just following our natural God-given gifts, babe.”
“Oh, yes,” Casey laughed. “And we are very gifted.”
“The most gifted,” he agreed. “Let people talk shit if they want. Honestly, I think they’re just jealous.”
“You know what,” she said as her lips met his again. “You’re absolutely right.”
His hands found her hips beneath the sheets, and she let out a breathy laugh as he rolled on top of her again. It wasn’t long before round two was well underway… and all that talk of hobbies? Yeah. They never brought that conversation up again.
@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @choicesapril2025
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bethanydelleman · 11 months ago
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what do you think would have been the most personally tragic (plausible) outcomes for each of the heroines?
Catherine Morland - She was somehow forced to ride in John Thorpe's gig for a third time.
Now I'll be serious. I refuse to imagine my dear Catherine in a tragedy.
Marianne Dashwood - Willoughby seduces her and she ends up pregnant and ruined. I've written this, twice. Also, she could have died from her fever
Elinor Dashwood - Edward marries Lucy Steele, she ends up resigning herself to a prudent but loveless marriage or never leaves home, occasionally hearing through her family that Edward is completely miserable
Elizabeth Bennet - marries someone she doesn't really respect and becomes a female version of her father
Jane Bennet - never gets over Bingley, eventually settles for a loveless marriage and it kills her inside
Fanny Price - Edmund marries Mary Crawford and Fanny watches in silent agony as she destroys Edmund's (weak) moral core and he becomes an entirely different person. William's ship is lost and Fanny never hears from him again
Emma Woodhouse - kind of cheating since it's in the book: Mr. Knightley does fall in love with Harriet Smith and stops coming to Hartfield as often, leaving Emma loveless and lonely
Anne Elliot - Captain Wentworth marries Louisa Musgrove out of duty, he also realizes his love for Anne but sees no way out. Anne remains within his sphere through her connection to the Musgrove family, she is aware that he loves her but there is nothing either of them can do about it. After a few years and two children, Wentworth confesses and Anne is forced to remove herself to the house of a distant family member. She eventually marries and Wentworth takes on more and more risks as a naval officer, leading to his ship being destroyed and his entire crew dying. He survives and feels so guilty that he eventually hangs himself, leaving his disillusioned wife and kids to fend for themselves (don't worry, Louisa has a great family and a good fortune).
Lady Susan - Sir James refuses to die and escapes all of her attempts like a clueless cartoon character who cannot be killed. Her daughter is also widely reported to be more beautiful than her.
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ramblingoak · 1 year ago
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The Repugnant
Chapter Two: Setting Sail
Read Chapter One / Check out amazing art by @foxybouquet HERE
Your father always warned you that you were too curious for your own good. After hearing rumors of the pirate ship The Repugnant in the area you snuck out of your father's villa to try and get a peek at the dreaded pirate and his crew of monsters. But what happens when Captain Mary Goore gets a peek of you first?
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Mary Goore x Female Reader
Warnings: vampire!pirate!Mary Goore and special appearances by Copia and Terzo, vampire shenanigans, horror, violence, no one is dead but they're not exactly alive either so ye be warned, um canon accurate Terzo?, nsfw 18+only mdni, 2,500 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the banner, collage and dividers!)
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Your blood was on fire.
Mary had spent a few moments licking over your pulse, chuckling at your continued pleas to let you go.  At the first touch of their fangs your knees went weak and Mary settled more firmly against you to keep you upright.  The pain was blinding, making your mouth open in a silent cry as it seemed to build and build.  You had never felt pain like this before, never felt anything like this before.  Your hands clawed at Mary’s back but it was no use.
You were going to die in this alley.
As soon as the thought crossed your mind Mary pulled away.  You couldn’t stop the whimper that left you as his fangs pulled out of your neck.  Despite his bite only going on for a handful of moments it felt odd not to have them there anymore.  Like you were empty almost.  The feeling scared you, your mind wandering to the stories your nanny had told you about those that fell under a vampire’s thrall.
“A thrall?!”  Mary’s head whipped up, their eyes brighter than any ruby you had ever seen and their smile wide and dripping with your blood.  “That’s adorable.  Do you wanna be my thrall, little starfish?”
“I don’t want to be your anything.”
“You say that now but I bet I’ll change your mi–shit!”
Mary doubled over when you jammed your knee into his crotch.  Their grip lessened enough that you were able to shove them down onto the mist covered ground and escape past them.  You stumbled across the uneven cobblestones, desperate to at least get to the street.  If you got there you’d have a better chance of getting away and hopefully either finding somewhere to hide or one of your father’s soldiers.  
As you reached the end of the alley the mist became thicker and nearly impossible to see through.  Mary shouted behind you and you dared a look back right as you reached the street.  The only thing you could see were his red eyes glaring at you from the mist and you knew that would be something that would haunt your dreams for years.  You gasped when your foot got caught on a stone and you stumbled, bracing yourself to land hard on the ground except the ground never came.
“Steady now, ragazza.”  
The heavily accented voice drifted over you as you tried to steady yourself in the man’s grip.  You looked up to thank him, expecting to see a soldier but your words froze in your throat.  
There was nothing there.
“Wh-what…”  You tried to pull away from whatever had a hold of you but the grip was firm and a chill began to creep up your arms.  “Let me go!”    
“Yeah, Copia,”  Another chill ran through you but this had more to do with the monster now standing at your back.  “Let go of my snack.”
“You were supposed to bring her to the ship, idiota.”
“I’m working on it.”  Mary wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you back against their chest.  “Just got a little sidetracked is all.  Did her daddy get the note?”
“Sì, Phantom left it on his front door.”  
The hold on your arms finally disappeared and you quickly wrapped them around your waist.  Behind you Mary laughed and you whimpered when you felt their breath on the wound they left on your neck.
“What’s the matter, starfish?  Never seen a ghost before?”  Your eyes searched the mist before you, trying to make sense of what was happening.  A ghost?  “You have to focus now.  Just watch.”
As Mary spoke the mist before you seemed to get thicker, swirling and concentrating until it began to resemble a figure.  Your eyes trailed up from the cobblestones, taking in the man that was seemingly appearing from nothing.  He was still not entirely there, the building behind him visible through his body.  The only things that seemed solid about him were his green and white eyes and right now they were focused on you.  
“Ciao, bella.”
“Hey!”  Mary slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you securely against their chest.  “None of that, she’s mine.”
“I just said hello!”
“Yeah but that’s how it always starts.”
The ghost, Copia, rolled his eyes but you could see a hint of a smirk on his face.   
“We need to go.”  Copia took a few steps back, his form briefly disappearing into the mist before he was visible again.  “Before the spell wears off preferably.”
“Where are you taking me?”  You tried to dig your heels in but Mary was too strong, easily pulling you along as they began to walk down the street.  Ahead of you Copia’s eyes appeared off and on but he seemed mostly concerned with if anyone was following you.  “Are you…can I go back home?”
“Nope!  Someplace even better.”
Fighting was useless so you let Mary pull you through the streets.  There was random shouting around but you never caught sight of anyone else.  Occasionally Copia would disappear completely only to come back with blood dripping from a very real looking sword in his hand.  So many questions were building up inside of you but you kept your mouth shut until you finally saw your destination.
The Repugnant.
“No!”  You shoved at Mary with all your might, kicking at him when they lifted you into the air.  “Let me go!”
“Sorry, starfish.  You’re stuck with us for a while.”  Mary grunted when your foot connected with their knee, letting go of you with a curse.  “Copia!  Take her!”
You quickly looked up from where you had fallen onto the street, your eyes immediately meeting those of the ghost.  The moon peeked through the clouds and you were able to make out more of his face.  Hair that was blowing wildly around his head despite no breeze around, sideburns and then a mustache perched over a smug grin.
“Mi dispiace, bella.  Captain’s orders.”  
All the fight left you then and you didn’t say a word when the strange cold hands lifted you up onto your feet.  There was no telling what they’d do to you if you kept fighting them.  At least for now it seemed they were trying to get something from your father so perhaps you were safe for the time being.  You turned your head to look at Mary, shivering when you saw their ruby gaze on you.  The bite throbbed under his stare and you couldn’t help but press one of your hands over the still bleeding wound.
Maybe safe wasn’t the best word to use.
Mary started stalking towards you, their eyes glued onto your neck.  You shivered when they reached a hand out to pull yours away from the bite wound.  Copia muttered something behind you and Mary jerked their head towards the ship.  Mary’s grip tightened on your hand as the ghost disappeared, leaving only cold air behind you.
“Are you going to behave, little starfish?”  When you nodded weakly Mary smiled and licked their lips.  “Good.  I’d hate to have to tie you up.”  Mary brought your hand close to their face, sniffing at your skin briefly.  To your horror they stuck their tongue out and lapped at the blood that had gotten on your hand.  “Has anyone ever told you how good you taste?”
“Please…I’m sure my father would pay anything you asked for to get me back.”
“Oh I’m counting on it.”  They laughed when you tried to tug your hand away, holding it even tighter.  “On second thought maybe I should tie you up.  Drink my fill of you while you can’t do anything about it.”
“No!”
“No?  You don’t like that idea?”  Mary grinned and yanked you against them, one hand slipping around your waist and resting low on your back.  “You’re right, it’ll be more fun to have you put up a fight.”
Their mouth descended on your neck again but instead of teeth you just felt the wet strokes of Mary’s tongue.  They lapped at your neck slowly, cleaning up the blood that was quickly drying in the night air.  You let yourself go limp against them, silent tears streaming down your face while they worked. 
What would become of you on Mary’s ship?  Was it full of more ghosts like Copia?  Or were there worse things on board, things that you’d only be able to imagine in your nightmares.  Would Mary drink from you again? 
Oh don’t worry, starfish.  I’ll be tasting you again.
You froze when Mary’s voice drifted through your head, looking at him in alarm when he straightened up to meet your eyes.  When you started shaking your head Mary just laughed before starting down the dock towards the ship, dragging you along behind them.  You couldn’t help but stare at the ship in awe as they tugged you towards it.  The tall black sails disappeared into the night sky but you could just make out the jolly roger flag billowing in the wind.  Mary stopped at the edge of the gangplank, a bright grin on their face while they reached up to cup your cheek.
“Soon you'll be begging for it.”
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The deck of the ship was chaotic.
You found yourself hiding your face against Mary’s shoulder, scared to see what was around you.  There were shouts, snarls, growls…sounds that you had never even heard before.  You couldn’t even imagine what they might belong to.  It was almost a relief when you heard Copia’s voice.
“Are you putting her in your cabin?”
“No, she’ll be too distracting.”  Mary wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lifted your chin up with a single finger.  “She can stay with your brother.”
“Terzo isn’t going to like that.”
“Yeah?  Well Terzo is in no position to dictate what I do on my ship.”  The vampire poked the tip of your nose before addressing you.   “You don’t mind hanging out with Terzo, do ya starfish?”
“Wh-what is Terzo?”
“Ah, he’s mostly harmless.”  Mary tugged at your shoulder and started leading you towards the stairs that led into the ship’s belly.  “Honestly it’s probably the safest place on my ship.  Hard to say what the others might be tempted to do to you.”
“What are…”  You dared a look around you, freezing when your eyes landed on something that could only be described as a giant insect.  The creature cocked their head and blinked at you before a set of wings spread out behind them and they took off into the air.  “I think I’m going to faint.”
“Don’t worry, starfish.  They might be tempted but they know not to touch you.”  Mary continued to lead you through the inside of the ship, past various doors until they stopped before one at the end of the passageway.  “Only I get to do that.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Come on, we both know that’s not true.”  They began to move closer, crowding you back against the wall.  It was beginning to be overwhelming having them this close.  All you could think about was their tongue on your skin and their teeth in your neck.  Mary pushed their head up close, their lips grazing your cheek when they spoke.  “It sure feels like you enjoy it when I touch you.”
“That’s a lie!”
Mary easily blocked your knee and grabbed your hands when you tried to hit him.  You felt like crying when they spun you around to face the door to the cabin.
“There’s no use lying to me, I can already feel your emotions.”  They lowered their head and licked across the bite wound, their chest vibrating with laughter when you whimpered.  “Just imagine what I’ll be able to do when I get an even better taste.”
Mary had the cabin door open before you could think of an answer, shoving you inside roughly before slamming it closed.  You took a few tentative steps as your eyes adjusted to the dark room, nervously looking around for whoever or whatever Terzo was.  The small window barely let any moonlight in so you could just make out a bed, a dresser and a table with a couple chairs.  There were a few items on top of the dresser, one almost looked like a mannequin head but you were too scared to get any closer.  When your eyes finally adjusted to the dimness you were able to make out what looked to be a figure sitting in one of the chairs in the far corner.
“H-hello?”  You gripped your dress skirts in your hands to try to stop them from shaking.  “Terzo?”
“Buonasera, dolcezza.”  Your head jerked over to the dresser, startled when the voice seemed to come from there instead of the chair.  “Mi dispiace, I would have cleaned up if I had known I was going to have a guest.”
“I’m not a guest.”  It was hard to keep the venom from your voice but you couldn’t help it.  You looked back at the chair when the legs moved, one leg elegantly crossing over the other as you watched.  “I’m a prisoner.”
“Ah, so the Captain was successful then.  Bene, molto bene.”
“Yes, he kidnapped me.  Him and that ghost.”
“So you met mio fratello then?  Quite the sight isn’t he?”  Terzo laughed then and you nervously glanced towards the dresser top again.  “What you can see of him anyway.”
“Are you a ghost too?”
“Un fantasma?  Oh no dolcezza, I’m as solid as they come.”  
A horrible tingling sensation started crawling over your skin as you watched the figure in the chair straighten up.  There was something off about it but it was too dark to get a good look.  You couldn’t help but take a step back when they got up and began to walk towards the dresser.  The sparse moonlight caught the figure and when you finally realized what was wrong about them your jaw dropped.  
“You…you…”  
You couldn’t even get the words to leave your mouth as the horrific sight before you started to make sense.  No, not sense, nothing on this ship made any damned sense.  The sound of a match being struck filled the room and when you got a better look at Terzo as he lit some candles you stumbled back until you hit the door of the room.  The knob rattled uselessly in your hand, locked and unwilling to turn.
“Is everything ah, okie dokie, dolcezza?”  Terzo finished with the candles and then held the match out to the mannequin head.  You jumped when a face was briefly lit up in the light before the match flame was blown out.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“How are you…”  Your vision started to swim as Terzo picked up the head, his head, casually holding it in his hands at his waist.  “But that’s your…”
“Sì, I’m afraid my head got separated from the rest of me.”  Terzo lifted his head up higher, close to where it should be on his neck.  “I’d almost rather be a ghost to be honest.  Or un mostro.  What do you think, dolcezza?” 
Terzo thrust his head your way then, his lips turned up in a bright grin.  You barely were able to make out his features before the room began to get dark again.  As your knees buckled and you fell to the floor you could have sworn you heard Mary’s voice in your head...
Sleep tight, starfish.
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archaospetryx · 3 months ago
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Whats Otto's purpose if they have one? Like as a toy product I mean!! (if they are one.) (Ie. Huggy: Hugs, Poppy: Treating her like a real girl, etc)
Okay so I actually have 2 other Tarantulas besides Otto bc like the Smiling Critters having the Nightmare Critters as their antithesis, the Longlegs Family have their own antithesis in the form of the Tarantulas(it would be cheesy to name them the Tormentulas tbh but idk wdyt?)) and since we’re talking abt Otto’s purpose, I’ll talk abt 2 other ocs in the making related to Otto
So there’s Otto, Octavia(Via), and Octavio(Vio)
Do forgive me for my lazy concept arts
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Otto’s purpose is to be a strong and durable toy that can hold up to 10-20 books and even a whole school bag so children(or teens even and maybe adults too) can organize their stuff and have the Otto toy carry their heavy items or use him to carry or hold anything. Here’s more abt who Otto was before becoming a bigger body
His game mechanics when avoiding him would be audio and visual cues with a hint of trying to run as fast as you can IF Harley decided to light up one of the nearby monitors of the area to alert Otto. Plus he’s very strong and nearly as tall as Huggy so he will break anything just to get to you
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Artwork is not finalized^^
Octavia’s purpose is to record videos and apply them to empty vhs tapes which are sold separately. The cameras are placed on both her paws which are very bendable. Her bigger body version is blind all bc of Harley and his petty rivalry/hate with Penelope Huntsman.
Her game mechanic would be to avoid getting caught by her camera or hide if you’re caught bc it takes a while for the vhs to process on her screen which act as her way to “see”(her “sight” is delayed by 5 seconds)
Oh yes btw, this is Penelope, Arthur’s step sister and she became like this bc Otto accidentally injured her that she looked “dead” but Harley “revived” her to become Octavia
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Artwork is not official^^
Octavio’s purpose is to record voice tapes. Their cutout counterpart does have a mouth but Harley made sure to make the bigger body version silent because the employee(Mary Anne, an oc))inside was part of the theatre accident but her body wasn’t counted bc before the cleanup crew arrived Otto took her body to beg Harley to save them. They learned how to speak using their tape recorder and the voices of the ppl in the tape, learning from 1006/the Prototype which nearly caused them to get killed or set them free.
Their game mechanic would be audio cues bc you have to follow them or respond to them if they speak in the following voices: Cole Vaughn, Penelope Huntsman, Poppy, Dogday
You’re safe to proceed but sometimes the audios will be jumbled so listen carefully
If they speak in the following voices: Leith Pierre, Bruno White, Harley Sawyer, and Otto Tormentula
Don’t move or approach Octavio. This will get you killed…
Funfact: Octavio and Octavia Tormentulas were banned from bringing to school usually due to how students could cheat using the dolls’ features.
Also their bodies are very plush and cuddly despite being durable.
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zeke-fanfucs · 27 days ago
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@riooooooooo I think these are your babies. Hope you like them
7/17
✦ “Nuts, Bolts, and Bounty Breaks” ✦
A Normal Day with Jessie, Marie, and Ann
☀️ Morning ☀️
The sun hadn’t technically risen yet. Not that it mattered in the junkyard—light didn’t mean much when your sleep schedule ran on energy drinks and faulty timepieces.
Inside their cobbled-together home built from ship scraps and forgotten tech, Jessie sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter, sipping something that was probably coffee. She had goggles on her head, oil stains on her face, and a bagel clenched between her teeth as she typed furiously on her tablet.
Marie stood nearby, arms folded, watching her reboot a small drone that looked like it had been mauled by a blender.
“You need sleep,” Marie said.
Jessie responded by taking a bite of her bagel.
Ann—who had just finished shock-zapping a toaster to make it “faster”—buzzed by, grabbed a wrench off the wall, and zoomed under the table. Jessie didn’t flinch.
“That’s my little war gremlin,” she mumbled with pride.
Marie blinked once. “You call that praise?”
Jessie grinned. “Highest kind.”
🌤️ Afternoon 🌤️
After tuning up their gear (and wrestling a mutant ferret out of the generator), the three prepped for a bounty.
Their target? Some punk who stole tech and was hiding in the lower slums of Maya City.
Jessie strapped on her boots. “Ann, charge your plasma buzzsaws. Marie, don’t kill unless I give the look.”
Marie: “You don’t have a ‘look.’ You point and scream.”
“Exactly.”
Marie just nodded.
By the time they reached the slums, Ann had already scouted the area, flashing red lights and hissing under crates. Marie, disguised in his heavy cloak and gloves, scanned from a distance. Jessie snuck up on the thief from behind a stack of trash drones and—
“HI!” she beamed, upside down, hanging from a support beam. “Give the stuff back or we ruin your whole week.”
The guy screamed and ran.
Marie stepped in his way. “Wrong direction.”
Ann tackled him.
Jessie gave a thumbs up as she dropped to the ground. “We’re keeping his boots.”
🌅 Resting Time 🌅
Back at the junkyard, Jessie kicked off her boots and flopped onto a pile of faded blankets, arms wide
“That,” she declared, “was a productive day of not dying.”
Marie dropped the confiscated tech in the corner with a clank. “One plasma rod short. He used it to cook a rat.”
Jessie blinked. “…was it a good rat?”
Ann buzzed a displeased note and sat on Jessie’s stomach. Marie, despite everything, handed Jessie a drink from the cooler—a reward
Jessie raised it like a toast. “To weirdos, wires, and weekly chaos.”
Marie: “You say that every night.”
Jessie grinned. “Because it’s always true.”
🌑 Chaos 🌑
Nightfall. The junkyard was quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
Something exploded in the distance.
Jessie shot up like a caffeine-fueled meerkat. “…Did I leave the self-destruct prototype on!?”
Ann whirred and ran off toward the sound. Jessie followed—half-tripping over her blanket and dragging a wrench behind her.
Marie calmly followed them both.
They found the cause quickly: a runaway robot possum had broken into the toolshed and knocked over several unstable devices. Now it was wearing a helmet and had somehow activated a small flamethrower
Jessie stared.
Ann hissed.
Marie, deadpan: “That’s new.”
Jessie: “We’re keeping it.”
Marie: “We are not.”
🛏️ Late Night 🛏️
Eventually, the chaos died down. The possum-thing fell asleep in a shoebox. Jessie patched the hole in the wall with spare satellite plating. Ann buzzed contentedly as it recharged in a bucket. And Marie sat silently in the corner, watching his little crew.
Jessie rolled over in her pile of pillows and looked at him. “Hey. You good?”
Marie nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. You’re stuck with us forever.”
Marie, with the faintest trace of sarcasm: “Tragic.”
Ann: pleased beeping
And with that, the junkyard fell into a rare and peaceful silence—until morning came and someone inevitably blew something up again.
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silentmarytheghostship · 4 days ago
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TOO many people are stupidly and with indignant wondering why Barbossa died. It pisses me off that it's taking so long, so okay, I'll explain it to you. Barbossa got himself into this and it was ALL ONLY HIS fault - his recklessness got him into this. He ignored the warnings.
Why did he die?
The answers are simple - one is directly in the movie, the other is in the novelization but mentioned in the movie. He messed with too powerful dark magic twice and ignored the warnings about it. So don't blame Disney for this, fools, they did a good job and stuck to the plan.
1. Shansa
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A) meeting
According to the novelization, Barbossa knew EXACTLY that being in the same room as this witch was madness. Especially if you are an unannounced guest. In the movie, Shansa CLEARLY said that after visiting her, EVERYONE pays. We have seen the example of a skeleton in the corner of the room. With her, the price for a visit is blood, and therefore - death. If you didn't catch that in the movie, invest in a hearing aid. Barbossa knew EXACTLY that visiting here was madness. That fact alone should have dissuaded him from the idea. But he did it anyway, which means he worked for his own death.
B) warning of the dead
Later, the witch suggested to the captain that he move to the countryside - deep inland he would be safe. And asked him if his treasures are worth dying.
She WARNED him not to meet the dead. But he insisted. He extracted information from her about how to save his belongings from the dead. She told him about Jack and the Trident, and he - despite the warning - decided to meet the dead.
Why did she agree to this, since he had helped her before?
She knew he will die. After his PURPOSEFUL meeting with Salazar - for sure. But he had been warned. He had not listened to it. For the second time.
She said what she said about that meeting - so he'd get them to the Trident before Jack. But she knew he will die anyway. Why "the treasures would come back to him"? She meant Carina - you know the ending of the movie. She came back to him, and compared to her, no other treasures matter much. He met her before he died and called a treasure. Shansa had foreseen that. Just like Salazar had foreseen his exit from the Triangle, with help of the compass.
You might have thought he would pull his ships full of treasures from the sea bottom, but no - they wouldn't return to him, because even if Shansa withdrew her spell, he would die from the second spell he had also brought upon himself despite (not only) her warnings.
II. The Silent Mary
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A spooky, terrifying ghost ship, home to Captain Salazar, ruler of the Devil's Triangle, the captain called Death, and his crew. The worst possible captain to meet in Caribbean waters. After the Triangle collapsed, the curse and all other horrors stayed with this ship - the ship survived, the rest of the area did not. A supernatural storm follows her, the sky of the Triangle, with an unnatural frequency of lightning at night, but that's not everything. The ship is doubly magical - both the magic of the Triangle and Salazar's. If you look very closely at her in the movie, you'll see that MOST OF THE TIME she moves on her own - not just when provoked by Salazar.
Breathing? (such aggressive creaking in random but aggressive moments is also puzzling)
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This ship is NOT normal in any way. It would take a long time to list, but it is the only one that can sail (forward) when there is complete calm on the sea - no wind and no tides. That is how she caught her victims in the Triangle. She breaks the laws of physics, is immaterial and can appear and disappear.
So why did Barbossa seal his fate after meeting the Silent Mary?
ANYONE WHO TAKES THE COURSE ON SILENT MARY BRINGS TO THEMSELVES A DEATH SENTENCE.
Taking a course for her is much more madness than meeting Shansa in the same room.
NO ONE HAS DONE THIS BEFORE.
It's a clear signal to your crew that you've lost your mind. And Barbossa not only did it, but he didn't change his mind and didn't back down.
"Captain, is there a reason ... for such a unreasonable direction?"
"Capitán, a ship sails towards us"
EVERYONE knew HOW SERIOUS a mistake it was. Lesaro (Salazar's lieutenant) was very surprised, almost shocked, that someone had dared to do this and deliberately did not give way. And Murtogg and Mullroy - horrified by the captain's decision. They tried to dissuade him from this idea.
But Salazar was happy. He knew that this fool will die.
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Why did Salazar, being a pirate hunter, agreed to a deal with Barbossa, a pirate, instead of killing him right away and looking for Sparrow on his own?
Because he knew that no matter what happened, the pirate will die anyway. And what was left of his crew could be easily killed. So he could focus more on the mission - since he had already met him and knew he would die, why not use him, since he claims to have the right knowledge? Salazar had already been mentally tormenting Barbossa during the conversation and the pirate promised that he would lead him to his goal. It was easy, he would do the work for him, let's spare him for a moment.
So, to sum up, Barbossa got himself into this mess.
He thought he could outsmart everything with the help of the trident. His own bravado and madness were his downfall. He deserved it - because he worked for it. If he had followed the warnings and not met those two, he would still be alive. But the fact that he ultimately died was his own fault.
Whatever you think about it, consider that I spent my time to explain to you how EXACTLY it REALLY was.
P.S. That guy was probably standing there to discourage people from dying. That's why you had to pay him a lot to let you in.
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mrsalwayswrite · 10 months ago
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What Words Can't Say - Chapter 5
a/n: hope the length makes up for the wait.
Warnings: swearing, unwanted physical contact, mild violence, Gale is a teddy bear
Words: 10k
Series Masterlist // Next Chapter
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July 1943
Dusk painted the sky in colorful hues when the mechanics finally packed away their tools. Tonight, the small crew decided to go out to the local pub to celebrate Simon's birthday, and everyone was eager to get started. The consensus was the guys would come collect Abby from her hut once they were cleaned up and ready to go. 
Abby would never admit out loud how fast she ran to her hut so she would have even a smidgen more of time. She raced the clock to take the fastest shower of her life and even then she could still feel stubborn spots of oil and grease on her. With the lack of time, she was forced to towel dry her hair as best as she could and then let it fall naturally down her back, so her straight brunette locks ended just past her shoulder blades. She giggled at the mental image of the shocked faces of some of the nurses who painstakingly and religiously used curlers in their hair. 
Slipping into the only dress she brought to England with her, a fond smile arose with the memories attached to the dress. It was a simple navy blue dress with white polka dots all over, the hem dancing about her knees. Her Aunt Hassel gifted the handmade dress to Abby when she arrived to live with them. The first of many gifts and ways that her aunt and uncle showed they were happy she moved in with them. A decision she would never regret. 
Lastly, Abby swiped on Ada's Victory Red lipstick she left on her nightstand, thinking Ada would not mind. More likely, Ada would fuss and want to help her get ready. All the other nurses were off at the Club or doing their assigned rounds, so Abby had the hut to herself. A rarity but especially helpful tonight when she did not want to answer any questions about why she was dressing up. 
Steeling herself, she took a glance in Ada's small compact and fought the immediate urge to wipe the lipstick off and crawl into bed, claiming illness. Warring thoughts and voices buzzed like bees inside her mind. Their sting, an almost palpable thing, as she fought to control her breathing. She could do this. There was no one she was dressing up for, just herself. This was supposed to be fun. It would be fun. No one was going to berate her. She trusted the men she was with. She had promised Ken she would go. 
Despite her own mental encouragement, she knew it would be so easy to crawl into bed. To hide the dress in the bottom of her footlocker again. To erase the lipstick. To tie her hair back up. To return to the feeling of safety. She could do it…
Before she surrendered to the urge, she stalked out of the hut with her black Mary Janes clicking on the hard floor. 
Dusk transformed into darkness by the time she stepped out. Taking several deep breaths, she stared up at the stars as if silently seeking strength. The cool night air slid around her legs, only protected by the nylons she wore. She relished the shiver it shot through her, displacing the heat generated from her turbulent mind and insecurities. 
Luckily the rest of the mechanics came around the corner only a couple minutes after she stepped out. 
“Did you dress up for me, love?” Simon teased, after a long whistle. 
“Only because it's your birthday.” 
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”
Ken slung an arm around her shoulders, smelling much better than he did previously, as they followed the rest of the crew. “You look nice.”
“Nice?” Winks snorted from Ken's other side. He peeked over at her through the gloom. “Abby looks beautiful.”
“Thanks, John.” She smiled at him, a flush on her cheeks from all the attention. 
Conversations ebbed and flowed amongst their small group as they made the walk through the airbase and onward to the village. A renewed liveliness danced around them, the laughter and teasing increased the further they walked from base. As if a heavy cloak was dropped at the gate leading onto the base and now they could celebrate unimpeded. A warmth filled Abby as she watched and listened to the men around her. This was what they all needed, a temporary release from the weight of their work and all it entailed. A reminder that they were all still young and alive. 
Well, most of the crew. 
Simon was the oldest, turning twenty-eight today. When he signed up, he initially wanted to be a P-51 pilot but as he progressed in the training, decided he liked working on the planes more than flying them and was transferred to ground crew. He left a wife and toddler back home in Michigan. However much he joked that he joined the war effort to get a break from the wife and toddler, no one commented on the way he carried a photo of them in his pocket at all times. 
John “Winks” Herrmann was from Connecticut and Ken's best friend. He was a sweet guy that felt like an honorary ‘Lemmons’ with how quickly Ken and his friendship blossomed into a brotherhood. He hardly ever said a negative word about anybody and was always willing to help out. He was a bit naive in certain ways but mostly because he was young and this was his first time away from home. 
The rest of their group contained: Allen “Al” Hendricks from Missouri, Cricket Cox from Alabama, Paul Wilson from New Hampshire and Lincoln “Dog-Face” Miller from Montana. 
Without any outside light due to the blackout, it was hard to truly tell what the pub looked like. From what she could tell, it reminded Abby of the stereotypical English pub - small and quaint and lively. The only problem was a lot more noise drifted from behind the door as they walked up to it than she expected. 
“I thought you said no one would be here.” Abby quietly asked Ken. 
“Maybe it's locals?”
But something in her gut told her that was not the case, and when they opened the door, light and noise spilling out to encase them and drag them into its confines, like a spider into its web…Abby knew she had made a mistake. 
A handful of locals were scattered throughout the pub, some old men talking and grumbling and several young women either on the dance floor or drinking with the soldiers, but the pub was swarmed with uniforms boasting those of the 100th Bomb Group and RAF. 
As if sensing her urge to abandon the night, Ken snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He put his mouth close to her ear to be heard over the noise. “It's fine. We'll find somewhere in the back.” 
She nodded mutely. 
Al found a table off to the side, snagging it as the locals headed out, most likely wanting to retain the use of their hearing due to the sheer volume echoing in the place. Abby found herself sandwiched between Ken and Simon in mismatched chairs, but instead of feeling claustrophobic, she felt she could breathe again. She was surrounded by people she trusted and they were out of the main view of people. Not that she was hiding, per se, but she was not here to show off. 
Lincoln and Al came back with the first round of beers and whiskey, and without a second thought, she took a generous swallow of the whiskey placed in front of her, hoping the alcohol would settle her nerves. She wanted to enjoy her time out, she really did. So she resolved to ignore those around them and try to focus on the men at her table. 
She could do this…
*****
“So there I was naked, and hidin’ in the hay pile, prayin’ to God ‘imself that her daddy couldn't see me.” Al told his story, much to the amusement of those around the table. “I waited about two damn hours for the man to leave. I swear, he was like a coon-dog, tryin’ to find me. Well, that damn hay is itchin’ me somethin’ terrible but I don't dare move, right? Who knows if he could see the hay shiftin’?”
“You said it was night. I doubt he'd see you.” Paul countered, leaning back in his chair, as he twirled a screwdriver around his fingers. He never went anywhere without some sort of tool on his person, claiming you never knew when something needed to be fixed. Abby thought it had more to do with superstitions but kept that to herself. 
Al ran a hand down his face. “I was seventeen! And terrified! That man could make even the devil himself shit his pants.”
“What were you doing messing with his daughter then?” Simon countered, ever the voice of wisdom.
“Swear to God, she's the prettiest thing you'll ever see! Even puts Rita Hayworth to shame!” Al placed a hand over his heart, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. 
“No!” 
“I don't believe you!”
“Don't you blaspheme about Rita!”
“Fine, fine.” Al smirked, leaning forward as if to share a secret with his companions. “She had the biggest breasts I’d ever seen and said I could touch them. What dumbass would say no? Not me.”
“There it is!” Simon laughed. 
Abby giggled, playing with a strand of her hair. She was feeling good. Two whiskeys sloshed in her system while she nursed her first beer of the night sitting before her. She was not drunk, she knew that feeling and did not like it, but gloriously tipsy and everything felt light and easy and she wanted to revel in the feeling. Laughter spilled from her lips and she could not remember the last time she had so much fun. 
“So, what happened? Did he catch you?” Ken asked from beside her, a flush on his cheeks betraying his own intoxication. 
Al wagged a thick finger. “No. No. The bastard didn't catch me that day. No. It was worse.” He leaned forward again, a forearm on the table and tapping his finger on the table to punctuate his words. “No, turns out I'm allergic to hay. Who knew? Broke out in goddamn hives that lasted for days. It was awful! Don't laugh at me!” 
But the group laughed anyway at the turn of events in the story. With the embarrassing and hilarious stories being shared, all focused on their group, it felt like they were in a world of their own. The talking and laughter of the others in the pub was only white noise, drifting in and out with the music playing. 
“Alright, whose turn for the next round? Huh?” Paul asked, scratching his thin black beard.  
“I'll go.” Abby said, pushing back her chair to stand up. A wave of vertigo smacked into her and she gripped onto Ken's shoulder to steady herself. 
“You good?” Ken questioned. 
With a smile on her face, she shook her head, dislodging the strange sensation. “Yeah, just been sitting too long, that's all.” She reached out and ruffled his hair, causing him to smack her hand away with a grimace and whine like when they were younger. 
“I'll come with you.” Lincoln said, his thick jowls and thin lips highlighted by the lights. “Gotta step outside for a minute anyway.” 
A new conversation started up around the table as the two skirted away and methodically weaved through those filling the small pub. Abby appreciated Lincoln leading the way, his wide shoulders and thick frame cleared an easy path for her to follow. 
She felt like a fairy, moving around the dancing crowd and seeing the twinkling lights. With a stupid giggle, she spun in a circle, making her dress fan out around her knees. Unfortunately, she bumped into a soldier, but before he could say anything, Lincoln grabbed her hand and dragged her the rest of the way to the bar counter. 
She leaned against the wooden counter, sticky form spilled alcohol and decorated with dents and circle stains from years of use. “Sorry.” She giggled again, tipping her head back to look at the much taller man. “I haven't walked in heels in some time.” At least, she thought it was the Mary Janes that caused her to momentarily lose her balance. 
“It's fine.” He smiled down at her, something indiscernible in his dark eyes. 
She blinked for a long moment, wondering if she was missing something. Why was he still smiling at her? Unsure, she went to brush her hair behind her ear and realized his hand was still in hers. 
Oh. 
“Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry. I just–” 
He chuckled as he pulled back his hand. “It's fine, Abby.” He glanced towards the door and then shuffled from foot to foot next to her. “Is it– I mean, I can stay–”
“Go.” She awkwardly pushed his shoulder, probably looking like a kitten bothering a German Shepherd. “I'll wait for you here.”
“Oh-okay. I won't be long.” He waited for a moment as if she would change her mind, but after she pushed him once again, he quickly stepped out of the pub. 
Turning her back towards the pub, she idly traced the circle stains on the wood. The bartender was helping a group of patrons further down and she did not mind waiting. 
Her thoughts drifted towards her departed companion. She disliked the nickname ‘Dog-Face’ for Lincoln but unfortunately it held merit. He was incredibly kind and humble but his countenance resembled that of a bulldog. To his credit, Lincoln rolled with the nickname. He was a good mechanic and a good friend. Ken had confessed to her early on that Lincoln had a crush on her, although he had never acted upon it and she had never witnessed it herself. She figured it was just boy gossip and Ken trying to tease her. 
As she glanced down the bar counter again, her attention was caught by Captain Dye and Lil, the two coyly flirting with one other. She had met Lil once when traveling into the village to pick up something from the small, local store they had. Abby was fairly certain she had heard rumors that Lil and Major Egan were seen together. The nurses had plenty of thoughts about Lil and some of the other local women, but maybe that was just rumors? 
“I dare say, it's quite a shame to see a beautiful woman standing alone at a bar. A true disgrace.”
Abby turned back, a wave of surprise coursing through her and dissipating some of the clouds in her brain, as she noted the man standing quite close to her. Upon hearing his British accent and seeing the uniform he wore, her mind quickly put together that he must be RAF. 
“Who said I'm alone?” 
He was handsome enough, she guessed. The slicked-back dark hair, the mustache and the cocky grin he wore most likely made many women swoon. But it was the way his gaze appraised her, like he knew he had already caught her without even having to try…that immediately erected her walls and sobered her further. 
He made a show of looking around her. “I do not see anyone or am I mistaken?”
“I'm just getting the next round for the group I came with.”
“Ah.” His grin widened and with a half step, crowded her against the counter. “I'm positive they won't mind waiting a little longer as we get to know each other.”
“No, thank you.” 
“No? May I at least have the honor of knowing your name, love?”
“I don't think that's necessary right now.” She hissed, one of her hands against his chest to keep him from moving closer. 
“I promise to be a perfect gentleman. What do you say, love?”
Yet his actions sang their own tune. 
While he spoke, his hand hovered on her lower back, an unwanted weight to pin her in place. She almost missed his last statement, a final plea for her attention because his hand crossed into turbulent waters and unknowingly released a storm. 
His back faced outward, a shield, a barrier, from the eyes of those in the pub. An illusion of privacy. For residing in that illusion, his hands chose to wander. The left was firmly placed on her lower back, while the right gripped the fabric of her dress covering her thigh. 
“Care to dance?” He breathed into her ear, alcohol wafting like a fog over her face. His hand though, slippery as eel, slipped under the hem of her dress and slid up her inner thigh.
“Get your hands off me.” She quietly snarled, grabbing his hand to cease its further exploration. 
She could feel his sigh against her cheek, that hot exhale of breath. More importantly, she felt his hand on her lower back drift downward…and she saw red. 
On instinct, she stomped the heel of her Mary Jane into the top of his leather shoe, and used her hand still against his chest to shove him hard. 
He hissed, teetering for a moment but catching his balance with a hand on the countertop. 
Slowly, she turned to face him after brushing the hem of her dress back into place, warily watching him for retaliation. She would rather not make a scene but if he came at her again, she had no problem with showing him her infamous right hook. 
Thankfully, he had a few brain cells that still worked. Anger burned in his eyes but he kept his lips closed. His gaze scanned over her with unrestrained disgust. With a shake of his head and a snort, he turned and walked away without a word. 
Her heart raced like an engine being pressed to the max. Placing her elbows on the counter she covered her eyes with her hands and she focused on steadying her breathing. An alcohol-induced fog skittered at the edges of her brain, shoved away by the ugly encounter but easing back in to soften her heightened emotions. 
A minute later, the barman finally made his way to her, apologies pouring off his tongue. She ordered and waited as he filled the new glasses, hoping she appeared confident. The encounter with the RAF pilot had left her shaken. She knew logically she was unhurt and had handled the situation as best as she could. Yet her gaze darted around, perceptions high to make sure no one else snuck up on her. Her hand repeatedly brushed at the thigh that he touched as if she could wipe away his stain on her skin. 
Lincoln reappeared as the barman loaded up the drinks onto a tray. Before he could move the tray to their table, Abby snatched one of the glasses of whiskey and tossed it back. She hissed, eyes smarting as the liquor burned down her throat. Leaving the empty glass on the counter, she led the way this time back to their table, purposefully ignoring Lincoln's quizzical glances at her. 
Back with the group, she tried to embrace the same lightness as before, that feeling of being wholly relaxed and having fun. The shot of whiskey and being back with the mechanics alleviated some of her jitters but she could not entirely erase the twitching nerves or how her gaze frequently swept the pub for that RAF pilot. A vine of resentment twisted around her heart for that pilot, how he ruined her freedom for his own amusement. It was a painful reminder that no matter where she was, she always had to be on guard. 
After she finally finished her warm beer, the clouds were back in her mind and her nerves had dissipated somewhat. At this point, sleep called to her as if from a distance and she was ready to beckon its approach. 
“Ken–” She said in a hush, her head leaning on his shoulder and his arm behind her back. 
“Yeah, me too.” Her cousin replied quietly. “Ready?”
At her nod, the two carefully got up. Ken spoke to those at the table. “I'm going to take Abby back. I'll see you fellas in the morning.”
The chorus of farewells echoed from those remaining. The two mechanics meandered through the crowded pub, dodging the patrons both drunk and mildly sober. Ken led the way, cutting through like a schooner through the waves. With all of her attention focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not being knocked into, she barely noted when Ken took a detour away from the door, her feet faithfully following him. 
“Kenny!” 
“Hey ya, Ken!” 
The familiar cheers for her cousin erupted from the large table in front of them. She briefly wondered how he knew the majors were sitting over here, tucked away in the corner like they had been. The question flitted away from her mind almost as quickly as it emerged. 
“Hey fellas. Just poppin’ over to wish you a good night.” Ken explained, unnecessarily waving like a kid on a playground. 
Abby attempted to cover a giggle with her hand, hiding behind her cousin's back. Was he drunk? He appeared steady enough standing there. She decided to poke his back to make sure. 
“No! Sit down!”
“Yeah, join us! Where's that extra chair?”
“It's here! Sit down!”
Ken shrugged his shoulders, swatting away her hand like a fly. “That's ‘right. Thank you though.”
He did not tip so Abby concluded he was not drunk but she decided to poke him again for good measure. 
“Ouch!” Ken squirmed, turning around to grab her hands to prevent any more pokes. Mischief danced along her veins, so she stuck her tongue out at him. 
“Hey, who's that with ya?” 
By this point, Abby was feeling all three glasses of the whiskey flowing through her veins and the beer she had been sipping on. She would be the first to admit she was a lightweight, not drinking often did that to a person. Plus with her slimmer stature, alcohol raced through her faster than a fart through a fan. 
Hearing Biddick's voice, she shifted to the side to look around Ken. Directly in front of her at the large wooden table was seated someone from the 100th she recognized but could not figure out his name but thought he was a navigator. Beside him was Major Veal, then Major Egan, Major Cleven, Lieutenant Biddick and Major Kidd, while across from them sat three other men in uniforms but she could not see their faces easily. 
“Hey, boys.” She smiled at the familiar officers. That very smile lighting up her face at the looks of momentary shock crossing the faces of the men she knew. 
“Holy shit! Slugger, is that you?” Egan almost spit out his drink, wiping away what dribbled down his chin. 
Biddick let out a wolf whistle. “Lookin’ good, Abby!” 
“Alright, you're going to embarrass her.” Ken waved off any more rowdy compliments, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side.  
“Now you gotta sit with us!” Egan demanded. “Hey, Bubbles, go tell Croz to get something for Kenny and Sluggar here!” 
“Yes, sir.” The man she couldn't put a name with -apparently Bubbles- got up next to them and held out his chair. “You can have my seat. I'll sit on the other side with Croz.”
“Thanks, Bubbles.” Ken said. He bumped her with his hip, directing her towards the vacated seat while he slid into the empty chair between Bubbles’ chair and the unknown men. 
Once she finally seated between Veal and Ken, she was finally able to discern the faces of the other men at the table. All three were clearly RAF, but when she locked eyes with the one in the middle, seeing the familiar sleazy smirk on his face and his rakish gaze, she wondered if she might end up resorting to violence tonight after all. 
“What are you doing here? I thought you never left the hardstands.” Veal teased Ken. 
“Just out celebrating, sir. We're not allowed to have whiskey at the hut or hardstands.”
“That sounds terrible.” Egan dramatically lamented, then leaned forward and pointed a finger at Ken. “We should fix that! Can't have good work go without rewards!” 
“No, Bucky.” Kidd glared.
“Come on, Jack!”
Abby smiled at the one sided argument Egan was trying to put up. Her gaze slid around the table to land on Gale, and to her shock, locked on her already were his baby blue eyes. Once their eyes connected, the corner of his mouth lifted and he sent a cheeky wink her way. A giggle bubbled up within her, spilling out even as she tried to suppress it with her hand. The sound seemed to unlock something within him for a genuine smile rolled across his face, eyes softening as he continued to stare at her. 
Seemingly continuing an interrupted conversation, the RAF pilot in the middle began speaking, throwing a proverbial wet blanket over the jovial group. “I admire you Americans, you're up there in broad daylight, seemingly oblivious to the downsides.”
“I…I don't understand what you're saying, Captain.” Kidd slowly said. 
“Nevermind, old boy. It's one for the higher ups.”
“It's a question of philosophies.” The RAF on the left continued the train of thought of his comrade, not even trying to hide his patronizing tone. “We bomb at night because it doesn't matter what we hit as long as it's German. Bombing during the day is suicide. I could foresee in the future, American strategy adjusting due to the unfortunate losses you'll no doubt continue to suffer. Maths.”
Abby squinted her eyes at the Brits, wondering what kind of churlish conversation took place prior to Ken and her arrival. Even with her sluggish thoughts, she could feel the strife floating in the air like a cheap perfume. 
Egan inhaled sharply, gaze narrowed at the men across the table from him. “Maths?”
“I mean, maybe if you bombed during the day, you'd hit your targets.” Biddick snarked. 
“And why the hell do you Brits add an ‘s’ to the end of math?” 
The cocky RAF smirked, slowing his tone like he was talking to a child. “Because there's more than one of them.”
Biddick mocked. “There's more than one of them.”
“I can see more than one of you too.” Egan raised his hand, seemingly illustrating his point. “I could knock all of you out.” Veal smacked his hand down but the major kept going. “Probably in one punch. In one punch.”
Thankfully, the arrival of alcohol distracted from the rising violence. 
“This outta wet your whistles, boys!” Crosby announced carrying a tray of drinks over. 
The drinks were quickly passed around, slid along the tabletop or handed to its owner. Abby noted how Crosby specifically handed Gale his ginger beer, a hint of reverence in his action. Yet Gale never took his gaze off the RAF pilots, accepting the drink without looking at the apparent admirer behind him. 
“Here ya go.” Bubbles’ voice snagged Abby's attention away as he placed a whiskey in front of Abby and one for Ken. “I wasn't sure what you wanted.”
“Thank you.” She murmured to the soft spoken man. 
He nodded, then retreated to the opposite side of the table. She witnessed them elbowing each other out of the way and being a nuisance to one another as they settled in their seats. 
“Ken…”
Her cousin looked down at her, “hmmm?”
“We need to go.”
“Hold on, another minute.” His attention turning back to the Brits, sucked into the turbulent conversation. 
With a sigh, she leaned her head on Ken's shoulder. Without looking, he twitched his shoulder, making her head move. Giggling, she smacked his arm but laid her head against him again. She could feel him scoot closer and settle his arm against the back of her chair, before taking a sip of his new whiskey.  
“How about a song?” The youngest of the RAF eagerly changed the subject, directing his particular question to Egan. “I hear you sing, Major.”
Those that knew the major either cheered or grimaced, depending on their opinions of John Egan's vocal talents. 
“Pick one. What's your favorite?” The young Brit encouraged. 
Egan grinned like he had won some kind of award. “Good idea!” Even though many around the table loudly disagreed with this assumption. 
To her hazy recollection Abby had never heard Major Egan sing, she almost opened her mouth to add encouragement when Biddick broke through the ruckus of voices. 
“Hey! You want to get Major excited? Baseball!” 
Egan pointed a finger at Biddick. “Specifically Yankees.” He clarified because apparently the distinction was important. His attention slid to his best friend by his side, a silly grin steadily growing as he gazed at him. “Oh my buddy, Buck, here, he thinks they're a waste of time, don't you?” 
Leaning forward to slip into Gale's space, Biddick added. “It's not just sports he doesn't follow. I mean, you don't follow anyone, do you?”
Gale nodded, allowing a pregnant pause as he bit into a toothpick before casually stating, “I follow you, Curt.” 
“And he would still find a way to show off!” Biddick chuckled, further leaning over Gale, now invested in this strange conversation. “For example, you remember Walla Walla. We had a visit from wing Cleven here, slow-timing Hollenbeck's engines. Just so they remembered who he was. He buzzed the Tower, all engines feathered. I–”
“No. Three, three engines–” Major Veal interrupted, holding up three fingers. “He still had one.”
Bubbles agreed. “I remember he called you ‘One Engine Cleven’.”
Biddick hushed the interruption. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey. I'm– I'm telling the story here, All right? It's my story. It's four engines. Next thing I see this fort sailing twenty-five feet over the runway. Yeah,” Biddick clicked his tongue, giving a dramatic pause, “silent as the grave.”
“Beautiful.” 
“Hmm.”
“Wanted to do that all my life.” Egan murmured, smiling at Gale. 
Those around the table collectively laughed or agreed, a comradery between those of the 100th and their experiences together. Gale shook his head, a hint of color on his cheeks from the attention. 
A barely heard laugh escaped Abby's lips as she watched Egan squeeze Gale's cheeks, further embarrassing the man. 
Kidd raised his whiskey. “I'll drink to that. No Engine Cleven.”
“No Engine Cleven. Here we go. Hear hear!” Those of the 100th tapped their drinks together, too caught up in their own merriment to see the side-eyes and mocking looks by the RAF pilots.  “And here's to Ken and Sluggar for being there to fix us up after!”
With the attention of them, Abby raised her head and grabbed her drink. After clinking her glass against those within reach, she took a sip and licked her lips. She stared at the amber liquid, wondering if she should be worried that it no longer burned when traveling down her throat. Maybe her body was used to it by now? For experimental reasons, she sipped again. What warmth filled her belly was dashed with an icy blast as her gaze locked with the RAF pilot-Byron she thought she heard his companion say. He raised his own glass to her, a mock salute, before taking a sip. Meanwhile his rakish gaze never left her. With a repressed shudder, she looked away and tossed the rest of her whiskey back. She could feel his hands on her again, even if it was only in her mind. 
As if summoned, her hazel eyes connected to the baby blues of Gale's. A slight furrow between his brows betrayed his relaxed posture. She saw his gaze shift to look at the Brits and then back at her. A question there but one she did not want to answer. Even if she tried, the words tangled on her tongue in knots. She leaned her head back against Ken's shoulder, lazily watching the lights around them. 
When Byron spoke up again, Abby wondered if the idiot liked confrontation, especially with his haunty, arrogant tone. “Would you have rather been a fighter pilot, major?” 
Egan snapped, clearly hearing the Brit's tone also. “Buck is a fighter pilot. A fighter pilot who happens to fly a bus.”
“And so are you, Bucky.” Bubbles added. 
Egan shook Bubbles’ hand. “And so are you.”
“So, let me get this straight.” The visibly confused younger RAF leaned forward, pointing a finger between the two majors across from him. “You're Buck and he's Bucky?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a shortage of nicknames in the 100th?” Byron asked, causing laughter between himself and his two companions. 
Yet Egan's response instantly sobered the group, reminding everyone of the truth of war. 
“No. Just a shortage of crews.”
Bryon stated. “Hmm. Pity.”
Egan nodded along, head bouncing in a way that hinted at his lack of sobriety. “Pity. Pity. Yeah. Pity, pity, pity. What?”
“I said it's a pity.” The RAF explained. “You'd have more if you flew your missions at night.”
The underlying tension returned like a heavy cloud just above their heads. 
Abby watched, shocked the Brit would bring the topic back up again. When his gaze darted her way, everything clicked in her mind. Confrontation. The bastard liked the tension and arguments. She had hurt his ego or something else equally foolish and now he needed to feel…something. Her brain could not even fathom what at this point. Her hazy thoughts darted away like minnows in a pond, back and forth, but there was one she finally scooped up. Without a second thought to the legitimacy of it, she poured it out onto the table. 
“Ohhh I get it.” She sat up and tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing to see past the fog in her mind. “You're just taking the piss outta them cause you're mad I wouldn't let you stick your hand up my dress.”
Byron barely looked her way as he sneered. “With the way you've portrayed yourself, it's clear you have a deficient lack of taste and standards.”
What tension hung over the table immediately redoubled at the scathing remark. What once had been a brewing storm cloud now transformed into a hurricane. 
“Sonofabitch.” Ken muttered, starting to rise from his chair. 
Abby narrowed her eyes and glared at the smug bastard. Yet in the back of her mind, the stinging thoughts from earlier hovered, as if the Brit's comment had unknowingly opened the door for their return. Stinging thoughts of inadequacy, of never being good enough…
To her surprise, Major Egan was the first to speak, breaking the shocked silence. “Why'd you have to go and say something like that? Especially about Slugger.” 
“Well, perhaps I was getting bored of all the heavy petting going on at your end of the table.”
Egan squinted his eyes. “I don't even know what that means. What's that mean?”
Veal echoed beside him. “What does that mean?”
The two men continued to question, seemingly conversing with only each other as everyone else remained silent.  
“What's that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“What's that mean?”  Egan finally turned back to the Brits, a hard glint in his eyes. 
Byron grinned, as if enjoying every moment of this. “Let's make a bit of sport ourselves. How about it? For the lady's honor.”
To Abby's further surprise, Gale was the first to reply, eyes like steel as he stared down the RAF pilot. “I think that's an excellent idea.”
Biddick's quiet, “Oh, here we go,” was lost as Egan started to stand only to be roughly shoved back into his seat by Gale. 
“Abby.” Ken got her attention, his own focus jumping between the Brits and herself. She could clearly see his want to protect her honor himself but also his concern for her wellbeing. “We can leave if you want…you-we don't have to watch.”
“No…no. I want to.”
“Okay.”
The two mechanics followed the crowd spilling out onto the dark street in front of the pub, only the full moon and stars illuminating them. Somehow word about the fight must have circulated since more members of the 100th emerged from the pub, drinks in hand and drunken cheers on their lips. 
“What does RAF mean?” Biddick called out as he finally stepped outside. 
“Riffraff.” Someone answered, much to the other's amusement. 
Abby was mildly stunned when she saw Biddick taking his jacket off and shaking his arms out. She thought Gale was the one to pick up the verbal gauntlet but she must have missed something. Perhaps he only meant he thought a fight was a good idea, not that he would be throwing the punches. From what gossip she heard, Gale was not much of a fighter, typically having to break up fights instead. But she could have sworn there was something in his eyes when he voiced his agreement….
Not that it mattered now. 
Her feet guided her to the edge of the impromptu boxing ring. A part of her envied Biddick, the foolish wish to trade places with him so she could defend her own honor and punch the asshole. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself to remain on for sidelines. However wonderful the retribution would feel, she could not risk the discipline. Not again. 
“You alright there, Abby?”
Caught up in her own swirling thoughts and wishes, she had not realized she placed herself between her cousin and Gale, the major standing within arm's reach. She glanced at him, noting his gaze focused on her. Warmth flooded her cheeks that was certainly a delayed reaction to all the alcohol she consumed. “I'm fine.” 
Before Gale could comment or refute her statement, Egan slung an arm around his shoulder, tugging him close. “Now why does this sport interest you?”
“Boxing?”
“Mm-mmm.”
Gale fiddled with the toothpick still in his mouth. “Test of manhood.”
“That so?”
“About as true a measure of your will to fight as any, and it's man-to-man.”
“Oh, so you just don't like team sports? How'd you end up commander of a plane leading a squadron in a war, where you don't want to be on the losing side, and still not like team sports?” Bucky nudged Gale's cheek with his fist. 
“I just don't lose sleep over whether the pinstripes beat the polka dots.”
Abby giggled to herself at Gale's response. 
Egan sighed, clearly not as amused at his best friend's humor. “Right. Well, we're all just uniforms anyway. You know that?”
Gale did not reply, his attention focused as the boxing ring solidified. Spectators, made up almost entirely of 100th Bomb Group, stood in a circle exchanging bets or holding onto their pints as they drunkenly cheered Biddick on. 
Cracking his knuckles, Byron stepped forward but instead of looking at his opponent, his gaze landed on Abby. She stilled under his brazen gaze, shocked by the audacity of him. 
“Hey, Curt!” She called out, holding the Brit's gaze. 
“Yeah, Abby?”
“Kick his ass.”
Biddick barked a laugh. “Yes, ma'am!”
If looks could kill, she would have been cremated twice over and that still would not satisfy the RAF pilot. His gaze had turned glacial cold and the corners of his mouth lifted in a sneer. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the company around her and the knowledge that the bastard could not hurt her with so many of the 100th surrounding her. With a shit-eating grin, she continued to hold his gaze until he looked away with a huff and roll of his shoulders. 
“Ya heard the lady, sounds like I've gotta kick your ass!” Biddick taunted, bringing his fists up. 
Byron scoffed. “I'll try not to step on you.” 
Biddick and the RAF pilot began circling each other, sizing one another up while those around threw out jeers of their own. 
“Now, seems like you like to do your fighting at night, Byron.” Biddick taunted. 
The Brit threw a swing that Biddick easily dodged. A few cheers sounded and as the Brit prepared to take another swing, but Biddick made his move. He lashed out with his own well-timed shot, knocking his opponent immediately to the dirty cobblestones.  
“Oof. Must have felt that, right?” Curt gloated, standing above his downed opponent. “Guess who can hit their target at night!”
The other RAF pilots call for space, pushing away spectators and gathering up their unconscious captain.
“How'd I do, dollface?” Biddick asked as he slid over between Egan and Gale, earning pats on the back from those around him. 
“You did good, Biddick.”
He wagged his finger at her. “No, no. You called me ‘Curt’, don't start this again.”
She giggled, despite herself. “Thank you, Curt.”
“As my lady commands.” Curt snagged her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 
She laughed at the comical scene along with those standing around. After he released her hand, Egan lifted the victorious pilot and swung him around to the cheers of the men. 
“Never mess with the Irish!” Curt yelled with his hands up in the air. 
“It's a pity!”
“Oh, what a shame!”
Abby giggled as the merriment wandered down the dark road, with Egan almost dropping Biddick as he stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. She reached over and wrapped her arm around Ken's then leaned her head against his shoulder. By now she could feel the effects of the whiskey further, that loose tipsy feeling now held an strong undercurrent of tiredness. Her eyelids slipped closed for a moment as she sighed. 
“This was fun.” She murmured to her cousin. 
But the drawl that answered was most certainly not that of her cousin. “I'm glad you think so.” 
Her eyes snapped open and she wheeled back, stumbling on the cobblestones. Only the fast hands of Gale reaching out to steady her saved her from the embarrassment of falling onto her backside. 
“I'm so sorry…I thought you were Ken.”
“It's alright. Can you walk?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
He slowly released her forearms, as if worried she would slip to the ground without his touch. Which truthfully was not an irrational notion. Hyper aware of her body and how the ground seemed to shift ever so slightly under her feet, she took a cautious step forward and then another, arms held out for balance.  
“I did it!” 
He chuckled, taking the two steps to stand by her. “That's real good, Abby. Can you make it back to base?”
“Ohhh.” She glanced around. “Where's Ken?”
“I'm not certain. I think he left with the group.”
She sighed, eyes still looking around like Ken would pop out of the shadows. “He was next to me I thought…and we were going to walk back together…now I'm here alone.”
“I'll walk you back.” 
“You don't have too, I'm sure you want to walk with your Bucky and the others.”
He chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think they left me behind as well.”
She looked around their surroundings, truly realizing that the group was no longer in sight. Actually, no one was in sight. “Oh. Where did they go?” They could not have gotten far in this short of time, she figured, mostly likely hidden by the buildings further up the road.
“I would assume back to base.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”
“Shall we?”
She nodded, happy she would not have to make the trek alone. At this point she was unsure if she would even know where to go. Her thoughts were fuzzy like little caterpillars inching along, without direction or reason. But pretty at least. 
After one last look at the dark exterior of the pub behind them, Abby fell into step beside Gale. A companionable silence drifted around them like the breeze. Her mind wandered with each step, admiring the stars to dodging the potholes to eyeing the landscape on either side of the road they walked. Memories of the time at the pub glided through occasionally, bringing a smile to her face. She hoped they could go out again soon. 
While her mind wandered, her body remained alert to the man beside her; whose hand barely caressed her lower back when she misstepped, whose hand tentatively held her forearm when they maneuvered around a pothole, whose body radiated a warmth that was addicting…
Time was an abstract thought, all that mattered was the current moment…and at the current moment, her feet hurt. With each step she took, it was becoming harder and harder to stay steady. The cobblestones kept gripping onto her Mary Janes like vines trying to wrap around her feet and yank her down. The heels pinched and rubbed along her feet, having been unused for so long, what calluses she once had softened. 
“Ugh.” She stopped, unable to take it any longer. Reaching a hand over to grip Gale's arm and steady herself, she started on the buckles. 
“Are you hurt?” 
She barely heard his question as she mumbled under breath about stupid shoes and uneven roads. Finally, with a triumphant grin, she held up both shoes in her free hand. “Ta da! Now my feet are safe!”
He shook his head. “You'll tear your feet up without shoes on this road.”
She waved away his concern. “It's fine. I did it all the time as a child.”
“Abby–”
Giggling, she hugged his arm against her body and gazed up at him. “Please, Gale? Please?” 
He stared down at her. The surrounding darkness shielding some of their features, masking their expressions. After a long moment, he murmured a quiet ‘shit’ followed by a slightly louder, “alright, Abby.”
She giggled, nuzzling into his arm for a brief moment, closing her eyes to allow her brain to stop suddenly spinning. 
“You alright there?” He softly asked. 
“Hmmm…my head hurts.”
“Yeah? Do you need to go to medical?”
She shook her head, face still pressed against his arm. “Just need to sleep.”
“Alright, let's get you back to base.”
They started walking again, Gale leading the way down the dark road. Her arms still contained his arm, like a ship's mast to cling to during a storm, her head sometimes bumping against his shoulder. Her heels dangled from her hand, tapping against her thigh with each step. 
A soothing warmth rolled off of him in waves, skating across her skin and drawing her in. A small rational part of her screamed that her actions were unbecoming and inappropriate, an echo of her mother from far away. Yet that small voice was drowned out by the alcohol blazing through her veins and the chill of the night air, forcing her body to seek warmth where it could. 
Her hazy mind recalled the pub, the angry pilot and the fight outside. The flickering lights of the inside. Blonde hair and blue eyes staring at her from across the table. Those soft blues burning when he stood up to fight the RAF pilot…
“Thank you.”
“Mmm?”
“For…for standing up for me against that bastard.” Abby explained. “He wasn't nice.”
“Did he hurt you?” 
She stumbled, more from the frostiness of his tone than the actual road, but quickly righted herself. “No, but he finally got the message when I stomped on his foot with my heel.”
She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Sluggar.”
“He was an asshole.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“An assy-asshole. A big one.”
He chuckled quietly.  
They walked further down the road with only the moon and starlight to guide their step and the distant sound of their companions up ahead, talking loudly in the otherwise quiet countryside. 
Abby tripped, pitching forward and almost dragging her companion down with her, if he had not wrapped both arms around her. 
“Why's the road moving?” She giggled, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against his chest. “I almost dropped my heels…I like these heels!” 
“Hey, you with me, Abby?” 
She ignored Gale's question as she looked down to the offender beneath her bare feet. “Stop moving! You'll hurt my heels!” 
“Christ…” He sighed. “Hold onto your shoes.”
“Why?”
“I'm gonna carry you.”
She owlishly blinked up at him. “Why?”
“You can't walk.”
“...I can't?”
He snorted while shaking his head, mumbling under his breath but all she caught was something vaguely resembling ‘adorable’, still too caught up in why she could not walk. Which made no sense. Her feet were still on the ground…even if the ground rolled like waves and she was a ship being tossed about.  She had been walking. Why was she not walking now? 
“Climb onto my back.” He commanded, keeping a hold of her hands as he turned to crouch in front of her. 
“I can walk…”
He groaned, tugging on her hands to draw them around his neck. “Darling, you're killin’ me. Climb on.”
“Okay, okay.” She tried to gracefully hug his back, but what grace she possessed disappeared about the same time the road was no longer stationary. A flop more described her accession onto his back. Her mind was vaguely aware that she was in a dress and the inappropriateness of the situation. But it was dark and she was tired…
Once her hands were secure around his neck, heels still dangling from her fingers, he slipped his arms under her legs. With a grunt, he stood. The motion caused Abby to burrow her face against the side of his neck. 
“You alright?” His voice rumbled out of him, soaking into her chest as she was pressed against his back.
“Hmmm…you smell nice. Better than Ken.”
He snorted. “Thank you.”
It was now with her feet exposed to the cool night air she could feel the sting of the air against the bottom of her feet. “My feet hurt again.”
“I figured. You kept stumbling and whimpering. I don't think you realized.”
“Oh. I think…I think I'm a little drunk?”
“Perhaps a little.”
The rocking of Gale's gait was making her stomach roll, so she stuck her forehead against his neck, trying to focus on his warmth and his musky cologne. “I don't know why. I only had a few shots of whiskey.”
“Mmm.”
“You know…I bet you're a good dancer.” She was unsure in the muddied pond of her thoughts where that one came from or why it slipped off her tongue so easily. 
“I don't dance often.”
“Why? That's terrible. I bet you're wonderful.”
He shrugged his shoulders, stride never wavering. “Doesn't appeal to me much, I guess.”
“Well, I'll take you dancing. It'll be fun! Maybe under the stars. They're always so pretty.” 
He hummed after a moment. “Alright.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure.”
“Okay!” She squeezed his neck as she giggled. “Don't go dancing without me! It'll be fun! I mean–I guess unless you find someone really pretty who wants to dance. Then it makes sense. But you should dance. You'd be wonderful.”
“I don't think you need to worry about that, darling.” 
“But there's so many pretty nurses on base…and those radio operators! They're all so pretty…and they like to dance.” She tried to make him understand. It truly was silly he did not dance. 
“Yeah, but I'm not interested in any of them.” The words coated in his raspy drawl floated around her head, something in them trying to catch her notice like little beacons. But their lights went out before her muddled brain could understand. 
“That's terrible for them. A lot of them have a crush on you.”
“Mmm.”
“Don't tell Major Egan. He'll be jealous.”
Gale gave a bark of laughter. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She pressed her forehead back against his neck. His warmth and the repetitive feeling of his breathing against her chest was lulling her to sleep. “I love the stars. No matter where you are, they're always beautiful.” The thought rolled off her tongue unprovoked, even as her eyelids drifted shut. 
“Buck?!”
The loud shout startled her from the inviting blanket of sleep wrapping around her. She blinked for a moment but allowed her eyes to close once again, face still against Gale's neck. 
“Yeah, John. It's me.” Gale called back. 
Two sets of footsteps approached, disrupting the quiet English night. 
“Any chance that's Abby with you?” Kidd asked. 
“Yeah, I've got her.”
“Good.” Kidd stated, falling into step with Gale on his left. “Ken was looking for her. I told him I figured she was walking with you, but apparently not walking.”
“She hurt her feet.” Gale explained softly. 
Egan loudly scoffed from Gale's right side.“Uh huh. That's the excuse you're going with?”
“Bucky–” 
“I'm just saying–”
Kidd interrupted, genuine concern in his voice. “Does she need to go to medical?”
“I'm fine, sir.” Abby sleepily slurred, her words muffled since she refused to move her face from its current position. “Can you tell the other one to stop being a damn loud asshat or I'll kick his ass.”
Gale chuckled, the vibrations going through her chest making her almost purr like a cat. If she snuggled closer to him, hoping to prolong the sensation, no one needed to know. 
“Slugger has a mouth on her!” Egan laughed, poking her arm. 
She grunted at the annoying sensation, hoping the major took the wordless reprimand or she would definitely kick his ass. After a nap. 
“Only when drunk it seems.” Gale answered his best friend.
“I'm not drunk…just a little drunk.” She mumbled. 
“My apologies. Just a little.” Gale softly replied, leaning his head against hers for a brief moment. She sighed at the contact, something loosening in her chest at the sensation although she was too drunk to put it into words. 
“Did you see that swing Curt made! I bet even Dimaggio can't swing like that!” Egan exclaimed. With his volume and enthusiasm, Abby might have noticed his own drunken state if she was sober. “I'm surprised you didn't want to take a swing at him yourself, Slugger.”
“ ‘m not allowed.”
Silence hung heavy over the group for several moments as the men tried to process her muffled response. It was Egan who asked the looming question first. 
“Not allowed? What's that mean?”
She sighed, turning her head to face Egan so he could understand her better. “After last time, Huglin told me he'd kick me off the airbase if I hit anyone else. Said it was unbecoming or something.”
The shocked silence lasted for all of three seconds before Egan exploded like a firecracker. 
“That sonofabitch! I knew I disliked him before but…Jesus Christ! Jack, did you know about this?”
“No.”
“I can't believe–” 
“John, he's gone.” Gale spoke up, trying to soothe his friend's righteous temper. “Nothing to do about it now.” 
“Thank God! I can't believe he's would–”
The tirade of Egan became background noise when Gale turned his head slightly towards her. “Abby.” Slowly she turned her face back towards him. A spark shot through her as his lips skimmed her forehead, while his whisper sunk like a seed planted into fruitful soil. “Next time something like this happens, you give me a nod. I'll take care of him for you.”
“Like tonight? That RAF prick?”
“Yeah. Like tonight…but I'll knock his teeth in instead of Curt doing it.”
She giggled. “I wanna see that.”
The rising and falling of voices up ahead like waves called her attention, guessing it was the group that abandoned them at the pub. She could see they had entered the airbase, although she did not remember her and Gale passing by the gate. Sleep danced around her mind like fireflies, tempting and teasing but she knew she would not be able to catch them yet. 
“I can probably walk now.”
“Are you sure?” Gale questioned without breaking stride. 
She hummed. “I'll be fine. It's not too far from here.”
Gale stopped walking, but instead of setting her down right away, he hesitated. His grip on her thighs twitched, tightening fractionally as if reluctant to let go. With a sharp release of breath, he finally helped her slide down. The warmth and strength of his hands continued to hold her upright as she found her balance back on the hard-packed ground. With her heels in one hand, the other hand ran down her dress, attempting to smooth any wrinkles and to confirm she was in no way indecent. Alcohol was freely skipping through her veins but not enough for her to forget her modesty. Or what was left of it after riding piggyback on Major Gale Cleven…
“Good?” He softly asked, hovering over her like a guardian angel. 
She nodded with faux confidence, standing upright and attempting to brush her hair over her shoulder. Mindful of the lack of space between them, she raised her gaze to meet his, wanting to thank him for helping her. Something he certainly did not have to do. Even though it was dark, she could feel those baby blue eyes earnestly staring down at her. His warm hands still loosely rested just above her elbows, maintaining their connection. 
“Abby?”
Unconsciously, she found herself tipping closer towards him, drawn back into his aura, his presence, that lean, toned body that was safe. It would be so easy to press her head against his chest, to wrap her arms around him and just dive into to the abyss of sleep summoning her. 
“Thank you.” She murmured, closing her eyes and doing just that. Her forehead landed on his breastbone, an initial sting but quickly ignored. Why did he smell so good? 
“You're welcome, darling.” 
His whisper barely floated on the breeze, words she almost missed if she had not felt them in her chest. 
“Mmm…I wanna sleep with you.”
Gale choked. His chest rumbled and sputtered like he was trying desperately to catch his breath, making Abby's head jostle uncomfortably. Something she did not like as she was oh so close to giving into sleep again. 
A sharp bark of laughter sounded nearby but that was irrelevant to Abby at the moment. 
“You're so warm…ugh, I'm so sleepy. Why does alcohol make me sleepy? I don't like it.” 
“Let's get you to bed.” Gale finally said, wrapping an arm around her waist. 
“M'kay…”
Gale led her a few steps, her feet shuffling along. 
“KEN! SHE'S WITH US!” Major Egan shouted loudly. 
Less than a minute later, she could hear her cousin approach, an frantic undertone beneath his words. “Abigail Lemmons! Where'd you go? Shit! Is she hurt?” He directed that last question towards Gale. 
“Go away.” 
“She's fine, just drunk. The road was too rough on her feet.”
They answered at the same time, although her response might have been less words and more of a grunt. 
“Thank heavens.” Ken exhaled in relief, running his hand through his messy curls. “My family would have killed me if something happened to her.”
Ken reached out, attempting to take her hand. “Come on, let's get you back.”
“Nooo…” She swatted his hand away. 
“Abby.”
She swatted at him again, an irrational irritation bubbling up as he disturbed her almost sleep. “Go away, I'm sleeping with Gale.”
She missed the mixture of reactions of those who overheard her declaration, too focused on burrowing closer to the comfy warmth of the man holding her. God, she just needed to sleep! 
“For fuck's sake, Abigail!” Ken half groaned, half swore. 
Suddenly, Simon was there standing beside Ken. “Hey, Abby, I've got you. Let's get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep with the major tomorrow.”
Even as she felt her body being transferred from Gale's lithe form to Simon's muscular body, her mind refused to accept this and fought back with excuses. 
“Nooo…we're going dancin’ tomorrow. He's a good dancer.”
Simon chuckled, hauling her into his broad chest and carrying her bridal style. “I'm sure he is.”
“Wait…wait! Abigail?” Egan stumbled over, throwing his arm around his best friend's shoulders. “That's her real name?” 
“Yeah.”
“Where'd you think ‘Abby’ came from?”
The dark-haired major threw his head back laughing uproariously, “it's perfect!”
“You're drunk.” Gale tried, unsuccessfully, to corral his friend.
“What's perfect?” Ken asked. 
“Abigail! You get it? Abigail!” Egan drunkenly explained with all his sober confidence. “She's meant to have some 'Gale' inside her. Now all Buck has to do is make his move and stick–” 
But Egan did not get to finish explaining his epiphany as his best friend suddenly and viciously slapped a hand over Egan's mouth and pulled him into a headlock, growling something into his ear. 
“Goddamn children.” Kidd sighed from nearby. 
Abby blinked slowly, hearing the words but her fuzzy brain was unable to string it together to form a coherent thought. “I don't get it.”
“Don't worry about it. Let's get you to bed.” Simon chuckled. 
Ken called out, “night, majors!”
Abby glanced over, wanting to say her own goodbyes but with the way that Gale was attempting to suffocate Egan while Kidd watched on with his arms crossed, she guessed they were busy. 
She barely remembered Simon carrying her to her hut, only the night's cold nipping at her bare skin, and the muffled conversation between Ken, Simon and Winks. How she managed to get into bed will always be a mystery to her, somehow she must have been aware enough to fall onto her cot and not just curl up on the floor. Although in the morning she would wake up still in her dress with a hangover and a lot of explaining to do for those intrusive, inquisitive nurses she bunked with. 
All she did know as she drifted off, that night was the first time she had fallen asleep with a smile on her face in a long time. 
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fangirlingfromdownunder · 9 months ago
Text
A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 23
Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 
A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a little heavier (as is the story going forward, but I'll include potential triggers for each chapter as relevant), so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.
Potential Trigger Warnings: none
A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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The next few weeks pass by in a whirlwind. Jensen successfully persuades a New York-based production company to hire Mamma Jo’s to cater for their set. Each order is massive, requiring everyone to work a little later to cover the enhanced workload but it provides a steady income that almost entirely covers the rent, even with the added fuel costs for deliveries and the increased salaries. He asks me to officially take on the management position, this time with a pay rise. The added workload makes it harder to keep up with my studies, but the pay rise allows me to comfortably cover my bills for the apartment and help Anna so it’s worth it.
My contact with Jensen falls back to sporadic texts when I’m on break or on the subway but he constantly reassures me that he understands and is busy himself, while also slipping in warnings to look after myself and not burn myself out.
Before I know it, it’s opening night for Grease. I get to the theatre early for final rehearsals, hair, makeup and wardrobe fittings. My first costume consists of a simple white shirt, flowing green skirt and pumps, completed with a cream cardigan. Being in the ensemble, Alyson and I do each other’s makeup, a simple base with a touch of sparkle. I complete the look by styling my hair into a retro pinup bun. My job is just to fit in with the other ladies in the scene, but there’s no harm in trying to look my best. 
The wardrobe and hair and makeup department give us a once over, spraying obnoxious amounts of setting spray and hairspray over us as they give us the seal of approval to wait in the wings. We find a tiny crack in the curtains and peak through with excitement and trepidation as we watch the seats fill. While it’s not the largest theatre in New York, it’s by far the biggest I’ve ever performed in. Up until tonight my biggest performance was in a tiny production of Macbeth that I did as part of an assessment for a Performance and Skills class last year in the college’s teaching theatre with just a few other students and professors for an audience. The jump from an approximate 30-top audience to upwards of 1,000 has me sweating. I look over my shoulder and notice that Alyson is fairing no better. I reach for her hand and squeeze, and all of a sudden I’m glad I’m not the lead. As the lights dim and the overture starts playing, I feel a surge of adrenaline course through my veins.
The crowd falls silent as the leads, Mary and Jake, take to the stage fully in character laughing and giggling as ocean sounds fill the theatre. Despite my raging nerves, I just enjoy their performance from the wing. As the lighting changes and the crew seamlessly transform the beach into Rydell High I squeeze Alyson’s hand tighter. Once I hear the school lunch bell trill, us and the rest of the enemble enter the stage and perch on the lunch table and pretend to laugh and talk as the pink ladies and Sandy fill the table front and centre. 
The first act passes in a blur of music, dance, and dialogue. Every step, every word, every note is executed with precision, my heart pounding in time with the rhythm of the performance. As the final notes of the first act fade away and everyone clears the stage back to the dressing room for the intermission, I can't help but feel a sense of pride wash over me. Eventhough I know no one was focusing on me or likely even noticed me in the background, it’s such an accomplishment to just be up on that stage. I know from previous experience in the audience  and my classes that every role is essential, even the background actors and ensemble. The show wouldn’t be the same without them. So, I plan to give it my best every time I walk on that stage to help the leads shine and just enjoy every second. Now that I’ve got a real taste, I know there’s no going back.
After the show, as I’m walking out of the big theatre doors along with a couple of other cast and crew members someone tackles me into a hug. It doesn’t take me more than a second to hug back with a giant smile. 
“Stella! You made it!”
“There’s no way I’d miss my best friend’s first show on broadway!” 
I notice Nick and Anna standing off to the side with a massive bouquet of roses and we move out of the walkway. “Thank you all for coming! It means so much to know you were in the crowd.”
“We’ll always be there to cheer you on,” Stella replies happily and then nods at the bouquet. Nick holds out and I take it graciously, breathing in the intoxicatingly beautiful aroma. 
“You didn’t have to do this. Just being here is enough.”
“Uh, we didn’t actually. We’re just the messengers.” She pulls out a card from the side furthest from me and holds it out.
I don’t open it straight away. I know there’s only two options of who would send something so extravagant for my debut, but I already spoke to option one before the show and they apologised for not being able to make it to the debut, but promised that they would fly out during the week. So, knowing exactly who’s name is on that card, I slip it into my bag without opening it. 
Stella doesn’t question me. She knows I am working through everything at my own pace. “I could really go for a burger right about now,” she says to change the subject.
“I definitely worked up an appetite,” I agree.
So, the four of us walk to a nearby burger joint, order and then get a booth in the back. Once we sit down I place the flowers on my lap as Stella and Nick take the seat opposite Anna and me 
“Did he say anything?” I ask Stella.
“He just asked me to pick up the bouquet and get it to you. It was all already paid for and the card was already in it. I said that he had to fight his own battles. He promised he would.” She then quietly adds, “I may have also mentioned something about castrating him if he ever hurts you again…”
“Stella!”
“What? You’ve been hurt too many times before. But I’m here now. And I’m not scared of a fake monster hunter. Plus, us girls need to stick together.” She winks at Anna and she laughs – it’s a beautiful sound that we’re only just getting to hear.
Nick pats Stella’s knee and says, “She’s a force. But you’ve helped us so much. It’s now our turn to return the favor.” He looks at Stella with a knowing smile.
She looks at him and then back at me. “I think you should read the card.”
“You read it?”
“No, but I just think you should read it.”
As I pull it out of my bag the waitress comes over with our drinks and burgers. I take a sip of my soda before opening the card.
Hey Darlin’, You were amazing up there! You truly are a star! I hope this is the first of many times I get to see you shine. - J
I look up at Stella confused and she just says, “Take the back exit.” I look down at my untouched meal. “We’ve got it. Go!”
Still in shock, I grab the bouquet and my bag and sneak out the back door. I look around and see a black Range Rover parked to one side of the alley. The windows are dark so I can’t see in. I cautiously walk up to it and then the back passenger door pops open. “Jensen?” I call out softly, still unsure.
He slides to the edge of the seat and swings his legs out the door. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Me? What are you doing here?”
“I know things between us are still complicated. But I couldn’t miss your debut.” He offers his hand but doesn’t step closer. He waits for me to make the decision.
I hesitantly step forward and take his hand. “This doesn’t-”
“I know. But, I’ve gotta be back in Vancouver by morning. My flight leaves in a couple of hours, so, can we just…”
I nod and let him lead me into the car, out of the cold night air. “Hey Clif,” I say once I get in. 
“I think I’m gonna take a lap. I’ll be back in a bit, Boss. Nice to see you again, Y/N.” He steps out of the car and disappears down the alley. 
“I can’t believe you came. And these,” I hold up the oversized bouquet, “It’s too much.”
“I know you’re not the lead, but it’s a big deal. I was gonna get the flowers regardless, but seeing how happy you were up there. Even in the background, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You have a long career ahead of you and I just hope you’ll let me cheer you on from the sidelines, and maybe one day, front row when you’re the lead.”
“I’ve watched enough performances to know how important the ensemble is. I get to make the lead look good. And if I can do that, then maybe one day someone will be just as passionate about doing the same for me. Up on that stage…It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced and I never wanted the show to end.”
“You keep performing like you did tonight and it may never have to. This is just the beginning for you. I know it.” I notice his eyes flick down to my lips but I tun to look through the front windscreen.
“When did you fly in?”
“Last night. But I didn’t want to throw you off before your big night. And I swear I don’t have a big ego, I was just concerned that if you knew I was here you might get stressed and overthink things. And I just wanted you to go out there and give it your all. Exactly like you did.”
“Thank you.” I let myself relax a little and lean back against the cool leather seat as I look back over at him.
He lets out a breathy chuckle and nods. “Yeah…I may kinda suck at playing it cool. But then again I did coerce your best friend into letting me play at her wedding and then used her again to orchestrate tonight, so…”
“You really should leave poor Stella out of this. You’re taking advantage of her love for Dean.” I shake my head with a smile. “No one’s ever gone to so much trouble for me. My parents didn’t even make it tonight…”
“I’m sure they wanted to-”
“Yeah, they called and they’re coming later in the week. Their reasons were sound. It’s just…”
“You’re not used to being put first? I may’ve said a lot of dumb shit in the past, but of everything I’ve said, I did mean one thing with all my heart…I’m gonna prove that you’re my number one. I don’t expect you to believe it right away. But one day you will. I don’t care how long it takes or how much work I need to put in.”
“Jensen…” I smile at him and then teasingly ask, “How much have you had to drink?”
“Just a glass of wine during the show. I’m sober enough.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for tonight. For coming, for being honest, for everything.”
“Much like your broadway career, this is just the beginning.” He puts his hand on my cheek softly to guide me to meet his eyes. “I know I’ve got a lot of walls to break through and a lot to prove and make up for. And I hope you hold me accountable for all of it. Give me a high bar. I want to be who you deserve, not someone else that you settle for.”
I nod. “Okay…But, what if I don’t know how?”
“I have a feeling you’re learning. You’re starting to realise your worth. But, really, just follow your heart and your gut. You know your fears and what you don’t like.” His eyes flick back to my lips and this time I don’t turn away. Instead I give him a small nod. He leans in and kisses me softly, his lips are soft and warm against mine. I close my eyes, savoring the moment, feeling a rush of emotions swirling inside me. When he pulls back, I can see the sincerity in his gaze, the vulnerability that he's allowing me to see. “I'll be patient, Y/N. I'll wait for you. Just promise me one thing.”
“Yeah?”
“That you won't give up on us before we even have a chance to begin. I know I let you down but-”
I smile, feeling the weight of his words but also the hope that they carry, and I cut him off by pecking his lips softly. “I promise,” I say softly, “But you have to promise to talk to me too. We can’t have a repeat of that night. Especially when it all could have been so easily avoided.”
He nods, “I promise.” He pecks my lips again and then pulls me close to snuggle up in his arms. “We don’t have long and you’ve been so busy. I want to know everything.”
“Jens-”
“No arguments. We don’t have time, just talk. I just want to be close to you and listen to you. Tell me anything.”
As I tell him about the changes at the cafe, my long hours, my upcoming exams and the relentless rehearsal schedule which will now turn into daily shows, he hugs me close. He peppers soft kisses over my head and slowly drifts down to my neck as he offers intermittent hums of agreement or approval. I try not focus on his smile or hot breath against my skin and just keep talking instead.
When I stop talking he pulls away. “Was that okay? Not too much?” I shake my head. “You let me touch you when you’re talking. You’re comfortable, relaxed. Even on those first nights…I love you like that.” He pulls away abruptly when he realises what he said.
I pull him back for a quick peck. “I know what you mean. It’s okay.”
He nods. As he leans in to kiss me again, we’re startled by the front door opening. I pull back abruptly and stare at Clif. “Sorry to interrupt. I gave you as long as I could. We have to get to the airport.”
Jensen looks down at his watch, “Shit, already?”
I gather up the bouquet and my bag that dropped on the floor preparing to get out but Jensen grabs my arm. “We’ll drop you off on the way.” I go to unzip my bag to get my phone but he stops me, “They know. They’ve probably already gone home.” He takes his hand off mine, “But she’s your friend, if you want to check that’s fine.”
“It’s late, Nick would’ve forced her to sleep by now.” I see his slightly worried look at my choice of words and add, “Not in a bad way. She’d stay up all night and then sleep in and be grumpy at work. He does it for her own good. No one could truly make Stella do anything she doesn’t want to do or that she doesn’t know is in her best interests. She’s a force.”
“Yeah…She definitely seems like it,” Jensen says as Clif starts the engine. We both put our seat belts on as he pulls out of the alley. 
“Don’t worry, she won’t actually castrate you…unless you hurt me again…”
“Well, good thing I don’t plan on ever doing that again. But uh, thinking of work…Please tell me you don’t have an early start…”
“I’m used to it. Plus, I’d gladly trade a few hours sleep for the time we had tonight. I truly didn’t expect it. But what about you? It’ll be morning by the time you get back, especially with the time difference.”
“I have a late shoot tomorrow. So, don’t worry about me.” He smirks, “Actually…Maybe you can worry about me a little when I’m out there freezing my ass off in the middle of the night.”
Before long, Clif pulls up in front of my building. I don’t bother correcting them and telling them that I’ve been staying at Stella’s house. I don’t want them to go further out of their way for me, plus it would be nice to spend a night in my own bed. I undo my seatbelt and look over at Jensen with a smile. I put my free hand on the handle, but before I pull it open I turn and kiss his cheek again. “Text me when you get back? You came all the way out here for me, I want to know when you get back safe.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” I nod and jump out quickly before I hesitate any longer and make him miss his flight, or make Clif feel awkward. I stand on the sidewalk and wait until the car disappears into the distant traffic before making my way into the building.
As I step out of the cold night air, I can still feel the lingering warmth of Jensen’s touch on my cheek and his lips on mine. It brings a smile to my face as I kick off my heels and place the bouquet of roses in a vase of water on the kitchen counter. The events of the evening replay in my mind like scenes from a movie, each moment etched into my memory.
My phone buzzes with a text message, and I eagerly pick it up to see a message from Jensen: 
Thank you for an amazing night Sleep well, beautiful
I can’t help but blush at his words, feeling a rush of emotions flooding back.
Settling onto the couch, I let out a contented sigh and close my eyes, allowing myself to relive the evening once more. Despite the uncertainties and challenges ahead, there is a glimmer of hope blooming in my heart. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real and beautiful.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
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doffysbirb · 10 days ago
Text
Dance of Defiance
Synopsis: Newly freed from a dark past, Valerie joins the Donquixote Pirates, as she navigates a treacherous new world. From proving her resolve in a daring heist to facing unexpected dangers, her journery tests her strength and loyalty. Amidst chaos and shadowed alliances, a revelation hints at greater challenges ahead, forging her place among a crew bound by power and defiance. Warnings: Violence, Implied Slavery/Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, Restraint, Physical Assault, Death Please read at your discretion. One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda. Valerie is my OC, created for non-commercial fanwork. 🌹➡ Previous ⋮ Masterlist
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The ship rocked gently on North Blue’s dark waters as Doflamingo carried Valerie aboard, her body limp with exhaustion after the Goldhaven raid. His towering frame guided her through the creaking corridors, the feather coat draped over her shoulders like a shield against the night’s chill. He pushed open the door to his cabin, the dim lantern casting shadows across the opulent room—rich wood panels, a wide bed with crimson sheets, and a desk cluttered with maps. “Rest here,” he murmured, easing her onto the bed. “You’re safe now.” The coat slipped slightly, and he adjusted it, his fingers lingering briefly. Valerie’s voice, soft and weary, broke the silence. “Thank you, Doffy,” she whispered, her gratitude mingling with fatigue as she drifted into uneasy sleep. He turned to the window sill, settling there with a watchful gaze, his presence a silent guardian over her restless dreams.
In the depths of the night, Valerie’s dreams twisted into nightmares. Karina’s sneer loomed, her hand raised to strike, while Tobias’s cold voice echoed, the bomb collar tightening around her throat. She thrashed, a choked gasp escaping as she jolted awake, her hand flying to her neck, fingers trembling as she confirmed the collar’s absence. Her eyes darted around, landing on Doflamingo slumped on the window sill, his head tilted against the frame, breathing steady in sleep. Relief flooded her, a warm contrast to the cold sweat on her brow, and she sank back, his nearness a lifeline from the shadows of her past.
Morning light filtered through the porthole, rousing her from a fitful rest. She glanced at the crimson ballet outfit crumpled beside her, its sequins dulled by dirt, and instead reached for Doflamingo’s spare clothes—a loose black dress shirt that she needs to fold the sleeves and trousers—discarding her old life with a quiet resolve. As she dressed, the door creaked open, and Doflamingo stepped in, his sharp smirk returning. “Awake at last,” he said, his tone teasing. “Come, meet the crew. They’re a rowdy lot, and you’ll know them soon enough.”
He led her to the deck, where the crew bustled with their tasks under the jolly roger’s shadow. Trebol slithered near the mast, coiling ropes with mucus-slick hands, Diamante polished his steel cape by the railing, Pica hauled crates with surprising agility, and Vergo sharpened a blade by the helm. Doflamingo’s voice rose with a commanding lilt, his tone laced with arrogant pride as he addressed the deck. “Behold the crew, Valerie—loyal to me since Mary Geoise cast me out. They’ve sworn their lives to my rise, and now, you’re among them, freed from Tobias’ chains, with Trebol giving me the power of the Ito Ito no Mi.”
Trebol glanced up, his snot dripping as he cackled. “Hey, I gave Doffy his strings, and now you’re here, dancer! Better not slip in my slime!” He turned back to his ropes, muttering about tangles. Ugh, that snot is revolting, Valerie thought, averting her gaze.
Diamante sauntered over, plucking a rose from his cape. “A delicate addition to our stage—let’s hope you shine as bright,” he said, pressing it into Valerie's hand with a flourish before kissing her knuckles. “Diamante at your service,” he added with a smooth grin. Show-off, she mused silently, rolling her eyes at his smooth theatrics, the rose’s scent clashing with the sea air. “I’ll shine my own way, thanks,” she replied coolly, her voice steady. “Oh, a spark of fire already!” Diamante quipped with a sly wink, his tone playful yet challenging. Doflamingo’s smirk twitched, his voice cutting in with a mocking edge, “Enough with the theatrics, Diamante—save the roses for the battlefield.” Diamante backed off with a chuckle, his cape fluttering as he retreated.
“I’m Pica,” Pica squeaked, lumbering forward, his high-pitched voice cutting through the noise. “Can you lift crates too, new dancer?” He resumed hauling, his chirp lingering oddly in her mind. That squeak from such a giant is bizarre, she noted, suppressing a smile, then added aloud, “Maybe not crates, but I’ve lifted myself through worse—give me time.” Pica nodded approvingly at her reply before returning to his crates, his massive frame settling back into the rhythm of his work. Doflamingo’s smirk widened as he glanced at her, his tone teasing in a low voice. “Careful, Valerie—don’t mock Pica’s voice. He’s sensitive about it, and I won’t have discord here.” She met his gaze with a small shrug, replying, “I won’t. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“A survivor, huh? Don’t drag us down,” Vergo said, looking up with a chunk of bread stuck to his cheek, his blade pausing mid-stroke. “I’m Vergo,” he added, his tone steady as he studied her with a piercing gaze, the bread wobbling slightly as he tilted his head. He resumed sharpening, the rhythmic scrape of steel filling the air, his focus returning to the blade.
How does he not feel that bread? Valerie wondered, biting back a laugh at the absurdity, her eyes lingering on the crumbly mess. Then, gathering her resolve, she replied, “I’ve faced darker storms than this crew—trust me, I’ll rise with you.” She paused, her voice softening as she added, “But that bread.. does it come with the job, or is it a personal trophy?”
Vergo’s sharpening slowed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at her again. He reached up, plucking the bread from his cheek, and popped it into his mouth with a casual chew before speaking. “A trophy, perhaps,” he said dryly, swallowing, “earned from today's breakfast. Focus on your own strength, not my crumbs.” He resumed his task, the blade gleaming, though a flicker of amusement lingered in his stoic eyes.
Valerie smirked back, her confidence growing. “Fair enough. I’ll trade my stages for your steel—let’s see who lasts longer.” Her thought shifted: He’s tougher than he looks, bread and all, as she stood a little taller, ready to prove herself.
Trebol’s mucus-slick hands paused on the ropes, his lanky form twisting toward Doflamingo with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “Hey, hey, Doffy! Why drag a dainty dancer into our ranks, huh? She’s no fighter, just a pretty little thing!” His cackle echoed briefly before he slithered toward them, snot dripping as he muttered under his breath.
Doflamingo’s smirk widened, his tone firm. “She’s more than that. Our past ties her to me, forged in Downs’ fire. She’s here to stay—her worth is mine to judge.”
Trebol slithered closer, his mucus-slick form looming near Valerie, his snot dripping dangerously close. “You sure about that, Doffy? She’s too fragile—might melt in our muck!” he sneered, his cackle sharp as he hovered, testing her resolve.
Why does he have to be this close.. Valerie thought, her stomach churning as she leaned back slightly. Then, straightening with a glare at Trebol, she declared, “I’ll prove my worth to all of you, not just Doffy. I endured the Tobias' cruel grip, including Karina’s lash, with a bomb collar strangling my throat—your muck won’t stop me!” As she gestured passionately, her hand brushed Trebol’s dripping snot, and with a reflexive flick, she sent it flying, grimacing. “That’s so disgusting,” she muttered, wiping her hand on her trousers.
Diamante’s cackle erupted, loud and unrestrained, his rose-twirl faltering as he doubled over with amusement. Pica, still hauling crates, let out a high-pitched snort, his massive frame shaking as he muttered, “She’s got spirit—better than slime!” Vergo, pausing his sharpening, raised an eyebrow, he muttered, “Bold words. Let’s see if she backs them.” The deck fell into a brief, tense silence, the crew’s eyes on Valerie, weighing her defiance against Trebol’s challenge.
Trebol’s cackle sharpened, his mucus-slick form twitching as he leaned closer still, his snot dripping with renewed vigor from the crew’s laughter. “Hey, hey, prove it then, dancer!” he sneered, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Words won’t clean my muck—show us, or sink in it!”
Doflamingo’s gaze flickered with approval, though his smirk remained. “Enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “She’s here, and she’ll stand the test. Trebol, back off—your slime’s her first trial.” He stepped closer to Valerie, his presence a shield, and added, “Show them, Valerie. Start with that fire you’ve kept alive.”
Valerie nodded, her jaw set, the snot incident fueling her determination. She scanned the deck, noting the crew’s varied reactions—Trebol’s scowl, Diamante’s lingering grin, Pica’s curious tilt, and Vergo’s steady stare. They’ll see, she thought, I’m not just a dancer anymore. The salty breeze carried her resolve as she prepared to face her new life.
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The Numancia Flamingo anchored off a jagged North Blue coastline, its white sails furled as the first light of dawn streaked the sky with gold. The target was a notorious pirate crew’s stronghold, a fortified outpost carved into a cliffside, rumored to hoard plundered treasure—gems, gold, and rare weapons—guarded by a rowdy band of cutthroats. Valerie stood at the deck’s edge, her black dress shirt and trousers rustling in the breeze. Her heart thundered with a mix of anticipation and nerves—this was her first real heist, days after joining, a chance to silence Trebol’s doubts.
Diamante approached, his steel cape catching the dawn’s gleam as he twirled the dagger with theatrical flair. He stopped before her, presenting the blade—its hilt adorned with crimson roses—with a smirk. “Take this, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth with mock gallantry, “a dancer’s sting to match your steps.” He stepped back, adjusting his cape with a flourish.
Valerie took the dagger, its cool weight grounding her, twirling it with ballet-honed precision. “I’ve danced through worse threats,” she replied, her tone firm, sliding it into her waistband.
Doflamingo’s voice boomed from the helm, his smirk sharp. “Move out—Trebol, scout the perimeter and disable traps. Diamante, Pica, clear the guards and breach the walls. Vergo, secure the vault and handle the locks. Valerie, stay sharp and follow the flow.” His eyes locked onto hers, a challenge flickering behind his red-tinted lenses.
The crew descended the gangplank, the rocky shore crunching underfoot as they approached the stronghold. Trebol slithered ahead, his mucus trail glistening as he muttered, “Hey, hey, this dancer better not slow us down—worthless baggage.” His snot dripped onto a tripwire, disarming it with a sizzle, but his glare at Valerie was unmistakable. He still doubts me, she thought, clenching her jaw.
Diamante and Pica charged the stronghold’s perimeter. Diamante’s cape sliced through a wooden barricade, splinters scattering, while Pica’s massive form smashed a reinforced gate with a resonant thud. Pirates poured from the breach, their cutlasses clashing against Diamante’s steel and Pica’s fists, the air thick with the scent of rum and steel. Valerie stayed near Doflamingo, her eyes wide as she took in the brawling chaos, the shouts of the enemy crew ringing in her ears.
A burly pirate broke through, swinging a cutlass with a roar. Valerie ducked, drawing the dagger and parrying with a spin, her loose black shirt flaring at the sleeves as she redirected the blade. Trebol scoffed from the sidelines, “Look at her flailing—told you she’s no use!” His mucus splattered a second pirate, slowing him, his sneer deepening. I’ll show him, Valerie vowed, striking the first pirate’s thigh, dropping him with a grunt. Vergo moved in, his blade finishing the foe with a clean cut, nodding faintly.
“Not bad for a start,” Vergo said, wiping his blade, his approval grudging.
Doflamingo chuckled, his tone low. “Our ballerina’s finding her rhythm. Shut Trebol up, Valerie—don’t falter now.” His words spurred her, a mix of taunt and encouragement.
The stronghold’s inner chamber loomed ahead, its heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bolts. Vergo knelt, his fingers deftly picking the lock as pirates rallied. Valerie spotted a sharpshooter on a ledge, loading a pistol. She sprinted, her agility carrying her up a stack of crates, and leapt, dagger flashing to slash his wrist. The sharpshooter yelped, dropping his weapon, and she rolled to her feet, breath ragged. That was close, she thought.
Trebol’s cackle cut through. “Luck won’t save her forever!” He flung mucus, binding another pirate, his glare intensifying.
The door swung open, revealing a chamber aglow with plundered treasure—gems, gold coins, and rusted weapons spilling from crates. Vergo secured the haul, while Diamante and Pica held the entrance, their combined force overwhelming the last defenders. Valerie stood amidst the loot, dagger in hand, her chest heaving. I did it, she thought, pride cutting through exhaustion.
Doflamingo approached, his smirk softening. “Not bad, Valerie. Trebol might choke on his words yet.” His tone held approval, a stepping stone in her journey.
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Weeks later, the Donquixote Pirates returned to Spider Miles, the grimy port town where their journey began. The market swarmed with vendors hawking wares, the air thick with the scent of smoked fish and oil. Valerie moved through the crowd, her deep crimson corset top with long sleeves and short black skirt drawing subtle glances, her blonde hair cascading in loose waves as she carried a sack of ingredients—flour, salt, and meat for a promised dinner. Her eyes sparkled with focus, lingering on a pastry stall, the sweet aroma tempting her. A treat after so many heists, she thought, her confidence growing with each success.
Vergo shadowed her, his stoic gaze scanning the throng. His sharp eyes caught lingering stares—too persistent, too predatory—following them through the market’s din. A chill ran down his spine, and he stepped closer, his voice a hushed command. “Valerie, this way.” He steered her toward a quiet alley, its narrow path cluttered with crates and shrouded in shadow, seeking to avoid trouble.
The alley became a snare. Bounty hunters emerged from both ends, their weapons gleaming—nets, clubs, and a crossbow trained on Valerie. “The Porcelain Rose!” one growled, his grin feral. “Word’s out—you’re a goldmine with those Donquixote scum!” Valerie froze, her hand darting to her dagger, her mind reeling. They know me already? she thought, stunned by the rapid spread of her fame.
Vergo reacted, his blade flashing to deflect a net, his voice firm. “Stay behind me!” He shoved her back, engaging the nearest hunter with precise strikes. Valerie drew her dagger, parrying a club with a dancer’s spin, her crimson corset flexing as she countered. The fight intensified—Vergo’s steel clashed with a hunter’s sword, Valerie’s agility dodged a net—but the odds shifted. A sea prism net dropped over Vergo, its weight dragging him down despite his strength. He grunted, struggling against the shimmering threads, his stoic mask fracturing.
Valerie’s guard slipped, her eyes widening at Vergo’s plight. He’s trapped! she thought, her focus faltering. A hidden hunter, concealed in the shadows, loosed a sleeping dart. It pierced her shoulder, and her vision swam as she staggered, the dagger clattering to the ground. “Vergo..” she whispered, collapsing into darkness.
The bounty hunters seized her limp form, dragging her away as Vergo fought the net. Minutes later, the threads gave way, and he staggered to his feet, chest heaving. Spotting Valerie’s dropped dagger glinting in the alley’s dirt, he snatched it up, tucking it into his belt. Doffy must know, he thought, sprinting back to their base.
Vergo burst into the main hall, his coat torn, breath ragged. Doflamingo stood at the center, his smirk vanishing at Vergo’s appearance. “Report,” he snapped, the air crackling with tension.
“Bounty hunters,” Vergo said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Ambushed us in the market. They knew her as the Porcelain Rose—took her with a sleeping dart. I was caught in a sea prism net, but I escaped. They’re gone.”
Doflamingo’s grip tightened on the armrest of his chair, his lenses hiding a blaze of fury. They’ve taken what’s mine, he thought, his mind flashing to Downs. “Where?” he demanded, his voice a frigid edge.
“The alley off the market,” Vergo replied, steady despite exhaustion. “They moved toward the docks.”
Trebol slithered forward, his snot dripping. “Hey, hey, Doffy, maybe we ditch the girl! She’s trouble—drawing hunters like flies!” His cackle was cut short as Doflamingo’s glare pinned him.
“Silence,” Doflamingo hissed, his tone venomous. “She’s mine to protect, not your burden to cast aside. We hunt—now.” He turned sharply, leading the crew toward the docks, his rage a palpable force.
The docks of Spider Miles stretched before them, a chaotic sprawl of creaking piers and bobbing ships, the air heavy with tar and seawater. A trembling merchant, his threadbare coat flapping, shuffled along the edge, his eyes darting nervously as he tried to slip away. Diamante’s steel cape flashed as he lunged, grabbing the man by the collar with a menacing grin. “Not so fast,” he drawled, his voice low and threatening, the rose in his hand replaced by a glinting blade at the merchant’s throat.
Vergo stepped beside Diamante, his blade unsheathed, its edge hovering near the merchant’s side. “Speak,” he said, his tone cold, “did you see a girl taken to a ship?” His presence loomed, reinforcing Diamante’s threat.
The merchant’s knees buckled, his voice quivering. “Y-yes! I—I heard them! Bounty hunters, they said a noble paid big—some lord from the west, wants the Porcelain Rose. Took her to a black-sailed brig, that way!” He pointed a shaky finger toward a distant vessel, its dark hull barely visible through the mist.
Doflamingo’s eyes narrowed, his fury igniting anew. Another noble? he thought, his mind seething with memories of Tobias. “Greed again,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “They’ll pay for this—double for daring to touch her.” He signaled the crew, Trebol’s scowl deepening as they prepared to pursue, the hunt for Valerie now a vendetta against noble greed.
The black-sailed brig carrying Valerie anchored on a desolate island off Spider Miles, its silhouette barely discernible against the midnight sky, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and seaweed. The Numancia Flamingo sliced through the dark waters, its crew poised for action under Doflamingo’s steely command. The island loomed ahead, a jagged outcrop dotted with crumbling stone structures, the faint glow of lanterns hinting at the bounty hunters’ hideout.
Doflamingo led the charge, his Ito Ito no Mi strings shimmering in the moonlight as he leapt onto the shore, the crew fanning out behind him. “Find her,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl, his red-tinted lenses glinting with fury. Trebol slithered ahead, his mucus dissolving a locked door, while Diamante’s cape sliced through vines blocking a path. Pica’s massive form smashed a stone wall, his silence broken only by the crash, and Vergo moved with precision, scouting the perimeter.
The hideout was a maze of narrow corridors and dimly lit rooms, the sound of their raid echoing off the walls. Guards scrambled to meet them, their swords clashing futilely as Diamante whirled through the chaos, his steel cape slicing through flesh and bone with lethal grace, blood spraying across the stone floor. Pica’s massive form barreled forward, his fists pulverizing a group of defenders into the walls, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the rock, their bodies crumpling in silence. Trebol slithered among the fallen, his mucus dissolving armor and skin alike, leaving a trail of melted carnage as he cackled to himself, the air thick with the stench of decay. “Where is she?” Doflamingo demanded, his strings wrapping around a guard’s throat, lifting him off the ground. The man choked, his eyes wide with fear, but shook his head, refusing to speak.
Vergo approached Doflamingo, his coat spattered with blood, his expression grim. “The guards won’t tell us where she was,” he reported, his voice steady despite the carnage around them. “They’ve held their tongues through it all.”
Doflamingo’s patience snapped, his strings tightening. “Fools,” he growled, flinging the guard aside, unconscious. “Tear this place apart—every room, every shadow. She’s here.” His rage fueled the crew’s relentless search, the clash of steel and splintering wood filling the night as they pressed deeper, determined to uncover Valerie’s location.
Doflamingo moved alone through the labyrinth corridors, his strings slicing through another guard with ruthless precision, blood staining the stone floor. His breath was heavy, his mind a tempest of fury and fear. Where are you, Valerie? he thought, the memory of her rescue fueling his pace. Another guard lunged, sword raised, but Doflamingo’s strings coiled around the man’s neck, snapping it with a sickening crack. He kicked the body aside, his rage unyielding.
A panicked shout pierced the air from the next room, sharp and desperate. Doflamingo’s head snapped toward the sound, his instincts flaring. With a forceful kick, he shattered the iron door, the wood splintering as it flew open. His eyes widened at the sight before him—Valerie, her deep crimson corset torn at the shoulder, her short black skirt dusted with grime, her blonde hair a wild cascade around her face, and a streak of blood on her cheek from killing guards during her escape. Her crimson eyes blazed with defiance as she held a stolen pistol, its barrel pressed against the temple of a richly dressed noble cowering before her. The noble, a portly man with a velvet coat and trembling hands, whimpered, his face pale with terror.
“Valerie,” Doflamingo breathed, his voice a mix of relief and rage, stepping into the room. The air crackled with tension as he took in the scene—guards’ bodies strewn about, a testament to her struggle, and the noble’s plea for mercy.
The noble’s voice quivered, “P-please, I’ll pay you—let me go!” His hands shook, a ring glinting on his finger, a symbol of his greed.
Valerie’s grip tightened, her wrists straining as she glared at him. “You bought me like a trinket,” she spat, her voice low and fierce, “just like Tobias.” Her mind raced, I won’t be a prize again, the memory of her collar fueling her resolve.
Doflamingo’s strings twitched, ready to strike, but he held back, his eyes locked on Valerie. “Lower the gun,” he said, his tone commanding yet soft, “I’ll handle this filth. You’re safe now.” His presence filled the room, a promise of retribution hanging in the air.
The noble’s whimpering grew louder, his velvet coat stained with sweat as he pressed himself against the wall, his bejeweled fingers clawing at the stone. “I—I didn’t mean to!” he stammered, his eyes darting between Doflamingo and Valerie, seeking an escape that wouldn’t come.
Valerie’s hand trembled slightly, the pistol’s weight unfamiliar in her grip, but her gaze remained unyielding. He’s just another cage, she thought, her anger mixing with a flicker of triumph at holding her captor at bay. The room fell silent save for the noble’s ragged breaths, the distant echoes of the raid—clashing steel and splintering wood—growing closer, a reminder of the chaos outside.
Doflamingo stepped forward, his strings coiling like serpents around the noble’s wrists, yanking him away from the wall with a yelp. “You dared to buy her?” he growled, his voice a venomous hiss, his free hand gesturing for Valerie to step back. “Your greed ends here.” His strings tightened, lifting the noble off the ground, the man’s pleas turning to choked gasps as Doflamingo’s rage surged.
Valerie lowered the pistol, her breath uneven. He’s here, she thought, relief washing over her, though her eyes never left the noble. She edged toward Doflamingo, the gun dangling at her side, her defiance giving way to trust in his promise.
The noble’s ring clattered to the floor as his hands flailed, his velvet coat tearing under the strain of the strings. “Mercy!” he croaked, but Doflamingo’s grin widened, cold and merciless. “Mercy is for those who don’t touch my people,” he said, his strings snapping taut, silencing the noble’s cries with a final, decisive pull. The body slumped, and Doflamingo turned to Valerie, his expression softening for a fleeting moment. Gently, he reached out, his fingers brushing the blood from her cheek with a tender touch, wiping away the mark of her struggle as his eyes met hers.
“You held your own,” he said, his voice low, almost proud, as he reached for her. “Let’s get you out of here.” His fingers lingered briefly on her torn sleeve, a silent vow to shield her once more, the raid’s chaos fading as their reunion solidified.
The room grew still, the noble’s lifeless form a stark reminder of Doflamingo’s wrath. Valerie’s grip on the pistol loosened, the weapon slipping from her fingers to clatter against the stone floor. Her eyes met his, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude flickering within them. I’m safe, she thought, the weight of her captivity lifting as his presence enveloped her.
Doflamingo’s strings retracted, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer. “You’ve got fire, Valerie,” he murmured, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “But next time, leave the killing to me.” His hand lingered near her arm, a protective gesture, as the distant sounds of the raid—Trebol’s cackle, Pica’s crashes—drew nearer, signaling the crew’s approach.
Valerie nodded faintly, her strength waning but her spirit unbroken. “I had to,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “for myself.” Her mind flashed to the bounty hunter's cruel hands during her capture, fueling her resolve to never be helpless again.
A sudden crash echoed from the corridor, followed by Diamante’s voice calling, “Doffy! We’ve cleared the east wing!” The crew’s footsteps grew louder, their search converging on the room. Before Doflamingo could respond, Valerie’s voice cut through, steady despite her fatigue. “Wait—I heard something from him. The noble bragged about a hidden alliance—nobles pooling gold to strengthen their ports against pirate raids. He mentioned a name.. the ‘Iron Concord.’”
Doflamingo’s eyes narrowed, his hand pausing on her arm as he processed her words. An alliance for defense? he thought, his mind racing with the strategic implications. “Iron Concord,” he repeated, his tone darkening with intrigue rather than immediate threat. He glanced toward the corridor, the crew’s arrival imminent, his mind already turning to how this could shift their plans.
Valerie steadied herself against the wall, her breath evening out. I’ve given him more than just survival, she thought, a flicker of pride mingling with her relief. The room’s tension shifted, the revelation hanging heavy as the crew burst in—Diamante’s cape swirling, his blade still dripping; Trebol’s mucus glistening on his hands, his scowl deepening at the sight of the dead noble; Pica’s massive frame filling the doorway, his silence a stark contrast to the chaos; and Vergo’s blade drawn, his expression unreadable as he assessed the scene.
Diamante stepped forward, wiping his blade on his cape. “Looks like you beat us to it, Doffy,” he said with a wry grin, his eyes flicking to Valerie. “She’s got spirit—almost stole your thunder.”
Trebol slithered closer, his snot dripping as he glared at Valerie. “Hey, what’s this about an alliance? More trouble from her, I bet!” His tone was accusatory, but Doflamingo’s sharp look silenced him.
“Enough,” Doflamingo snapped, his voice firm. “She’s brought us a lead. The Iron Concord—nobles fortifying their ports. We’ll use this.” He turned to Valerie, his smirk returning. “You’ve earned your keep, Valerie. Let’s get you home and plan our next move.”
Valerie managed a weak smile, her strength fading but her pride intact. They see me now, she thought, the weight of the crew’s gaze a new kind of chain she was willing to bear.
Days later, the Numancia Flamingo cut through the misty waters toward the hidden port of the Iron Concord, a secluded harbor nestled between jagged cliffs, its docks bristling with armed mercenaries and reinforced with steel barricades. The air was heavy with the tang of salt and molten metal, the faint clink of hammers echoing from warehouses stocked with rare metals—iron, copper, and silver—destined to fortify the nobles’ ports. Valerie stood at the bow, her deep crimson corset mended but still bearing faint tear marks, her short black skirt fluttering, her blonde hair tied back with a strip of cloth. Her eyes scanned the defenses, her reclaimed dagger gripped tightly, a symbol of her resolve.
Doflamingo’s voice rang out, his smirk sharp as he surveyed the target. “This is their stronghold—let’s take it apart. Trebol, soften their defenses. Diamante, Pica, breach the gates. Vergo, secure the metals. Valerie, show your strength—fight by my side.” His tone carried a challenge, his red-tinted lenses glinting with anticipation.
The crew sprang into action. Trebol slithered forward, his mucus dissolving a steel barricade with a hiss, his cackle cutting through the mercenaries’ shouts. Diamante’s cape sliced through a guard’s spear, while Pica’s massive fists shattered a gate, sending shards of metal flying. Vergo moved with precision, disarming a mercenary and securing a crate of silver, his blade flashing in the dim light.
Valerie stayed close to Doflamingo, her heart pounding as a group of mercenaries charged, machetes raised. She leapt into a spin, her ballet agility guiding her dagger to slash one across the chest, then danced toward Diamante, drawing two more mercenaries’ attention with a feint. “Now, Diamante!” she called, her voice steady. Diamante’s cape whirled, slicing through the distracted foes as Valerie ducked, her move clearing his path. Trebol, watching from the sidelines, sneered, “She’s stumbling again—worthless as ever!” His mucus splattered another foe, but his eyes narrowed on Valerie, expecting her to falter.
Undeterred, Valerie spotted a mercenary aiming at Pica from a crate stack. She sprinted, using her agility to vault up, kicking the crate to topple it and the shooter onto Trebol’s mucus path. “Trebol, finish him!” she shouted. Trebol’s mucus engulfed the falling mercenary, dissolving him with a satisfied cackle that faltered as he saw her coordination. She’s aiding us, he thought, his sneer wavering.
Doflamingo’s strings lashed out, clearing another threat. “Well played,” he said, his voice low, glancing at Valerie with approval. The raid intensified—mercenaries fell to the crew’s onslaught, their crates of metals toppling as the Donquixotes claimed the port.
Trebol slithered closer, his scowl softening as he watched Valerie’s seamless support and combat. “Hey, hey.. she’s got potential now,” he muttered, his tone grudging but tinged with respect. “Aids the crew and fights—might just be one of us.” His snot dripped less aggressively, a subtle sign of his acceptance.
Valerie caught his words, her crimson eyes meeting his. He sees my potential, she thought, a surge of pride cutting through her exhaustion. She nodded faintly at Trebol, acknowledging his change, then turned to Doflamingo. “I told you I’d prove it,” she said, her voice steady despite the battle’s toll.
Doflamingo’s smirk widened, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder. “You have, Valerie. Trebol’s convinced—now let’s finish this and take their metals.” The crew rallied, their laughter and shouts blending with the clash of steel, the Iron Concord’s port falling under the Donquixote banner as Valerie’s potential was cemented.
divider by: @uzmacchiato
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po3tbbygirl · 5 months ago
Text
La La Land 🎞️
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CHAPTER 1 (Remus Lupin x fem!oc)
content warnings: industry pressure, burnout, self-doubt, mental exhaustion, career struggles, substance use (drinking and hella smoking), anxiety, unhealthy habits. The weather was dreadful.
a/n: just a lady with micro bangs
"I don't know, Marlenne," the brown-haired woman sighed, lighting her second cigarette of the day with shaky fingers. She flicked the lighter closed, its metallic click sharp in the silence of the room. "The entire crew is going mad! The production company is breathing down my neck about the new script, and no actor wants to work with me. No wonder, though—I can barely pay ten pounds an hour!"
"Blair, I'm so sorry things are going south..."
Blair exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring at the crumpled coffee cup on her desk. It was still half-full, but she hadn’t touched it since the morning. She appreciated Marlenne's attempts to comfort her, but after so many reassuring words, a part of her wondered if she was truly cut out for this industry.
"Marlenne," she sighed again, her voice quieter now, "I love you, but can we continue this another time? I have class in half an hour, and my car broke down this morning."
"...You're taking the tube?”
Blair didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she set her phone down on the table with an audible thunk, her delicate wrist brushing the edge of the chair. Twisting her hair into a messy bun, she left her bangs to frame her gaunt face, the angles of her cheekbones more pronounced than she remembered.
"Yikes," Marlenne muttered on the other end before the line went silent.
[◉"]
Blair stared blankly at the page in front of her, her textbook open to a discussion on color theory.
"…Directors and cinematographers use color palettes intentionally, employing techniques like color grading to enhance visuals. For example, vibrant hues might represent fantasy or optimism, while desaturated colors evoke realism or bleakness…"
She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, her bracelet sliding loosely down her wrist. The paper felt impossible, and her stomach churned slightly—not with hunger, but from the coffee she’d been sipping since morning. Tossing her pen aside, she stepped onto her small balcony, cigarette already in hand. The chill of the evening air seeped through her thin shirt, brushing against her skin like a reminder of how much the temperature had dropped.
Suddenly, her apartment door slammed open.
"Hey! We're leaving in ten—what the fuck?!"
Blair turned her head lazily to look at Marlenne, who stood wide-eyed in the doorway. "What?" she muttered, blowing out another puff of smoke.
Marlenne waved the air in front of her face dramatically, coughing for effect. "How many of those have you had today, Blair? Jesus. The balcony’s practically a chimney."
Blair rolled her eyes, tapping the ash off her cigarette. "Second one," she said flatly.
Marlenne raised a skeptical brow. "Second one since I got here, maybe."
Blair ignored the comment, blowing another stream of smoke into the cool air.
"What do you mean, 'what'?" Marlenne mocked her tone with exaggerated indignation. "I told you I’d take you to meet some people!"
Blair’s posture stiffened. "What?! No, Marlenne! I can't! I need to finish this assignment, get Minnie’s project done, and get my shit together before the prod company meeting—"
Before Blair could protest further, they were both tearing through her closet, pulling out clothes at a frantic pace. Blair found herself frowning at a pair of jeans Marlenne tossed aside—ones that used to fit better than they did now. Eventually, they settled on a backless top paired with dark-wash jeans. Marlenne handed her favorite Mary Janes with a smirk.
"For luck," Marlenne said with a wink.
Blair muttered something inaudible but allowed herself to be swept into the bathroom. Marlenne expertly fixed her disheveled hair, applying quick but flawless makeup.
"Who even are these people?" Blair asked, watching her friend in the mirror.
Marlenne froze mid-swipe with her mascara wand, giving her a blank stare. "Did you even listen to me earlier?"
Blair blinked and offered a sheepish smile. "No..."
Marlenne rolled her eyes. "You’ll thank me later."
[◉"]
"So... what's this nutter plan of yours again?"
"You know the guy I told you about from my childhood?" Blair glanced sideways at Marlenne, her expression curious.
"Jace?"
Marlenne rolled her eyes dramatically, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "James. It's James, not Jace, okay? Anyway, I saw him recently in a coffee shop, of all places. You know how I am, right? I can’t keep my mouth shut for more than five minutes, and of course, he’s the same way. We started talking, and I couldn’t stop asking about what he's been up to. And it turns out, he’s been working with some people who would actually be really honoured to work with you."
"Yes, honored. They saw your Dreamer thing—"
"The Dreamers? No one saw that!" Blair laughed, incredulous.
"Hey! Four thousand views on YouTube is not ‘no one,’ alright?" Marlenne shot back, half-laughing herself as they rounded a corner and neared the entrance to Seb's place. "You have no idea how many people in this industry would kill for that kind of exposure. Four thousand’s a decent start."
Blair shifted her weight, still unsure, but Marlenne didn’t seem to notice as she pressed on. "Anyway, Lily and Sirius—remember them from the old neighborhood? My other childhood friends—are both desperate to get into the industry. They’d do anything to break in. I’m telling you, they're perfect for this. And listen, I know how much you value your creative freedom, but there’s this other guy, Remus. He’s an amazing writer, seriously.” 
Blair rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "And James?"
"Well, James, yeah. He said he can help with... whatever you need, really. He’s got connections, knows a few people. He can open doors for you, if you give him the chance."
Blair stopped for a moment, looking hesitant. She didn’t like the sound of it—something felt off, but Marlenne’s enthusiasm was contagious.
"Look," Marlenne continued, her voice a little softer, trying to reassure her, "he’s just a rich kid who doesn’t want to live off his dad’s money, alright? He wants to prove he can do something on his own. He can help finance some of your stuff. You need someone with a little money to throw around if you’re serious about getting into the industry, and he’s a good guy, Blair. Just... trust me on this."
Blair stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowing, before letting out a sigh. She didn’t like depending on anyone, especially not someone she barely knew anymore. But Marlenne had a way of making things sound so simple, even when they weren’t.
"Alright," Blair muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her, "I’ll think about it."
"Good!" Marlenne grinned, proud of her persuasive skills. "And trust me, you won’t regret it."
[◉"]
“And all of that is going to be… a musical?”
Remus was stunned, to say the least. His eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to understand what had just come out of Blair’s mouth.
Blair didn’t notice his shock at first. She was busy chatting with the bartender, her usual easy smile on her face as he served her another drink.The rest of the group at the table was in full celebration mode, laughing and talking excitedly about their new project. As Blair had explained what she wanted the movie to be about, they had all eagerly jumped at the chance to work on it, their enthusiasm palpable. But Remus seemed a bit... taken aback.
“Yes… a musical," Blair said, finally turning her attention back to Remus. She tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes, "Marlenne said Sirius has some decent writing skills, and if we cut some expenses, we can get someone else to work with him. Make the project work, you know?"
Remus nodded slowly, still processing the idea. "What are they called, then?"
Blair’s lips curled into a slight, almost secretive smile. "Huh?"
“Your characters… what are they called?”
Blair looked around the dimly lit pub, her gaze lingering for a moment before it found the bartender, who was adjusting bottles behind the counter. She smiled at him, a brief flicker of familiarity in her eyes, then turned back to Remus. "Oh, um… they’re Mia and,” she hesitated, before adding, “Sebastian."
Remus couldn’t help but let out a short, surprised laugh. Blair's grin only widened, clearly enjoying his reaction.
"Really?" he asked, a little amused. "Sebastian? As in..."
Blair shrugged casually, almost nonchalantly. "Yep, as in my favorite bartender. I thought it had a nice ring to it." Her slender fingers wrapped around her drink with ease, a small movement, but one that caught his attention. Her posture, too, leaned just slightly, as if too comfortable in her own skin.
Remus chuckled again, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he spoke, charmed but still processing. "I see. So, Mia and Sebastian... sounds like a star-crossed love story, huh?"
Blair let the question linger, her lips curving into something playful but unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe it’s not what you think at all." She gave him a look that made it hard for him to tell whether she was teasing or just keeping him on edge. She leaned back a bit, the edge of her shirt falling loose at the sides, and Remus couldn’t help but notice how it subtly hugged the lines of her frame.
He gave a little smile, though a part of him felt slightly intrigued by her quiet confidence. "You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?"
Blair didn’t immediately respond, and instead, she took a slow sip from her glass, her eyes meeting his with a calm that only deepened his curiosity. "Maybe I just like to keep things interesting."
There was a long pause. Remus opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could get another word out, Blair was already moving away, slipping through the crowd without another glance.
He stared after her, unsure whether he should follow.
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