#but I get headaches because of eye strain without them

[nagahissteria]

Tfw you’ve had habits or yours that are actively harmful to your mental health brought to light but those things are safety mechanisms you’ve consciously or unconsciously adopted to hide the fact you aren’t like everybody else and you’re just now processing how much it hurts.

[midnightjewel]

Glasses Are Hot, Babe

Did you really think he wouldn’t notice you squinting..?

A/N: As a glasses girlie who is deemed legally blind who refused to wear her glasses for a long time because I thought I looked ugly and gave myself astigmatism, this will provide comfort to me and those who are in the same boat

Characters Included: Denki, Shinsou, and Bakugo

****Suggestive themes (18+ only please!!) DNI with this fic if you’re a minor, I have plenty of sfw stories on my blog****

Denki

It was a casual Friday night in the dorms. The stress of the week was nowhere to be found in the chill environment of the common room that night.

You and your friends, the Bakusquad, as you liked to call yourselves, were unwinding from the hectic week as hero students.

It was a bit of a ways into y’all’s first year as hero course students but you and Denki had only recently come clean about the feelings you were harboring for each other a few weeks ago, meaning that you two were still in that awkward phase of your relationship.

Of course, you two were good friends before dating, it was just gonna take some getting used to. Holding hands, kissing, and what not. You weren’t complaining though. You bagged the hottest boy you’d ever laid eyes on and he was absolutely smitten for you which only made things ten times better.

You and the squad (minus Bakugo who had turned in hours ago) were watching vine and fail compilations in the common room. You and Denki were sharing his large Pikachu blanket, snuggled up together. It was just the squad in the living room, minus the few late night stragglers who were in the kitchen getting snacks every so often.

While the squad was having the time of their lives laughing up storms, you were developing quite the headache. Why? Because you’d been squinting and straining your eyes for the last hour and a half! Normally you had fancy blue light glasses to help with screens.

You sharply inhaled as the squad erupted into laughter at what was apparently some idiot had fallen off some children’s playground equipment. The loud environment only adding fuel to the fire of your headache.

Your inhale didn’t go unnoticed by your electric boyfriend. “You okay? Are you tired?” He questioned and you shook your head to say no.

“Just a headache from the tv” you casually say hoping he’d just drop it. Truth is, you’ve always been embarrassed to wear your glasses around others. You absolutely despised the way you looked and overall just thought you looked better without them.

“Yeah, you’ve been squinting” he hummed as you looked up at him from your spot on his shoulder “Can you see?” He inquired, you sat up and avoided eye contact

“No” you hang your head in shame “I can’t”

“You should think about getting glasses then” he laughs and you just glance at him. “I have glasses” you state and his eyes widen in response to what you said

“So why aren’t you wearing them? I’ve never seen you with glasses” he looked at you curiously “I don’t know” you shrug and look away from him “I think they’re ugly” you state and he looks at you with wide eyes, mouth agape.

“Show me”

And that’s how you ended up in your room, shirts off and you on top of your boyfriend in a heated makeout session “mph- wait Denki” you sit up and climb off of him

“Let’s not go to far” you giggle and he nods in agreement “Sorry babe, it’s just…” he sighs “Those glasses are hot, babe”

Shinsou

You’d never been one to wear your glasses, rather suffering in silence. You absolutely hated the way you looked with your glasses, or any glasses for that matter. No matter which ones you tried on at your eye doctor, you just felt ugly.

During the summer, transitioning from your first to second year at UA high school, you had gotten word that Hitoshi Shinsou was going to be joining class 1-A.

You were ecstatic, your stomach had butterflies every time you thought of you and him being in the same class. Oh god, he was so cute.

By luck, you ended up sitting right next to him in class. Long story short over the course of the first few weeks you two had grown incredibly close and your closeness had developed into a relationship that was going two months strong at this point in time.

And that brings us to today, in President Mic’s English lesson. Usually you were unable to even see the words on the pages in front of you, just following along with the reading of your teacher or classmates.

You’d shockingly never been volunteered to read aloud and you would absolutely never voluntarily read. However, much to your dismay, it wasn’t on a volunteer basis today. It was whoever was called on and your heart was practically beating out of your chest, waiting for the class to be over so that hopefully you could slip past this situation.

You glanced to the clock, only ten minutes left in class. You just might be able to get by without having to humiliate yourself.

“(Name), please read the next passage for us” President Mic spoke and you froze on the spot. You hesitantly looked down at the page in front of you. It was nearly impossible to make out what was on the page. All of the words fused together in your blurred vision.

“Uhm” you looked panicked as you tried to squint to make out any of the words on the page. This didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend who sat beside you.

The silence in the room was so loud and ringing in your ears as you were internally panicking. You were snapped out of your racing mind by a voice, a gruff one. It came from a few seats in front of you.

“Idiot, can you not read or something..?!”

It was Bakugo. It caused some stifled giggles around the room. You felt your body tense up in complete embarrassment as tears formed in your waterline. Hitoshi was furious!

“Hey, leave her alone!” the lavender haired boy spoke from beside you in the same melancholy tone that he always spoke with, but you could sense a hint of anger laced in there. He didn’t dare to make the situation more embarrassing for you by telling the blonde off in the way he truthfully wanted to

Thankfully the bell rang, saving you from the deafening awkward silence of the room. As the students pack up to go to lunch you slowly close your book and take your time putting it in your bag.

As most of the students had cleared out your teacher spoke up “(Name), can I speak with you when everyone leaves?” He inquired and you just nod in response

You stand up as you and Hitoshi were the only ones left in the room. “I’ll wait outside the door” he glances at you and you respond with a simple hum as you approached your teachers desk

“Are you okay? I apologize for Bakugo’s comment. I’ll have Aizawa speak to him” He states with genuine concern for your well-being. It was just the type of caring person he was.

“Yeah I’m fine” you shrug your shoulders not caring about eye contact, it’s not like you could completely see anyways. “Sorry I just got nervous” you make up an excuse

“I won’t ask you to read if you don’t want to anymore okay?” He says as if making a silent agreement between the two of you

“Mhm” you nod

“Alright, well I shouldn’t keep you for long. Your knight in shining armor is waiting for you” he winks causing you to smile “go enjoy your lunch and have a good day”

“Thanks, you too” you smile and walk out of the classroom to see your taller boyfriend waiting for you. He’s quick to embrace you, your face stuffed in his chest as you sniffled with tears filling your eyes once more.

“It’s okay pretty girl” he rubs your back as you quietly sob from the embarrassment you’d endured just a few moments ago

“I just…. I couldn’t see the words” you wipe your tears from your cheeks, looking up at his expression of confusion. “I can’t read without my glasses” you further explain causing some reassurance but still a genuine amount of confusion from your boyfriend. He had never seen you wear glasses before. In fact, he didn’t even know you needed glasses!

“Well why don’t you wear them, doll?” He furrows his eyebrows as you two intertwine hands and walk towards the cafeteria

“Because they look ugly on me” you shamefully admit and he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could something make you, of all people ugly?! There was nothing in the world that could dull your beauty in his eyes.

“I want to see these glasses later” he squeezed your hand three times to which you responded with four squeezes silently saying “I love you too”

“Wow” his eyes widened “just… wow” he smiles at your embarrassed expression

“They’re horrible” you shake your head as you look in the mirror that sat on your vanity.

“No, they’re gorgeous” he reassures, causing the apples of your cheeks to burn from his complements.

Bakugo

3 years ago you were given the dreaded news that you’d need glasses in order to see properly. In all honesty, you hadn’t noticed before that your vision wasn’t normal. You had just assumed that everyone saw the world slightly burry. From the moment you tried them on you knew that they just didn’t work for you. You absolutely hated yourself in glasses.

Now at age 15 and in your first year at UA high school in the prestigious hero course your vision had only gotten worse throughout the years of refusing to wear the glasses you were given.

You knew from the first day of school that it was important to get a seat in the front for notes. But unfortunately the only available front row seat on your first day was right next to the resident hot head, Katsuki Bakugo. Who you had to admit was pretty cute….

After just a few months of getting to know him (against his will) you two had grown closer. You just refused to stop talking to him. And while he found it annoying at first, he just eventually accepted the fact that you weren’t going to shut up and he absolutely refused to give up his seat.

Today was a dreaded note taking day. You truthfully hated Thursday’s. The day right before Friday and note taking day for class 1-A.

“Just copy these and be quiet” Aizawa said as he put the many bullet points and paragraphs up on the projector so that the class could copy them. “Iida, turn the lights off and keep them in order” he groggily spoke as he zipped his infamous yellow sleeping bag and laid down behind his desk.

You proceeded reach into your bag and pulled out your (f/c) notebook along with a pencil. Looking up to the board was almost predictable at this point, you knew you would never be able to make out what was written.

As the lights were shut off, you can admit that it was only slightly better. But alas, you still couldn’t make out what the hell was even being discussed in these notes.

After squinting and struggling for what seemed like forever (3 minutes) your neighbor noticed and scoffed amongst the quiet chatter that was littered throughout the classroom.

“Are you going to write something or just squint like a dumbass?” He glanced at you. “I wasn’t squinting” your cheeks heat up at the sight of him. “Sure you weren’t” he grumbled and returned back to his own notes.

After struggling to pin point what was written, you just decided to start writing what you thought was the notes. It sounded like nonsense when you read it in your mind but you were too embarrassed to ask Bakugo for help, wondering if he would become suspicious and accuse you of needing glasses.

The thought of him seeing you in what you thought was the worst thing ever made a pang of embarrassment shoot through your chest. You exhaled at the thought of him calling you names.

Four eyes..

Fucking nerd..

You wouldn’t be able to handle your crush saying those things about you. It would definitely bruise your ego terribly.

For the next 30 minutes you wrote what you assumed was on the board from what you could attempt to see. Luckily you had finished just seconds before the bell rang, signaling that the day was over and you all could head back to your dorms.

As you went to close your notebook, Bakugo walked over to your desk, glancing down at your notes. “Unbelievable” he slightly laughed and walked away while shaking his head

“What’s his problem?” You say to Mina as she witnessed that whole thing. “I’ll never know” she shook her head, picking her bag up and waiting for you to do the same before walking out with you.

Once you two made your way to your shared dorm room floor you parted ways for a bit like you always did. You both used this time to relax and get caught up on homework before meeting back up in either one of your rooms to talk and catch up on gossip.

As you changed out of your school uniform and put on some comfortable clothes, you took your necessary supplies for homework out of your bag and put it on your desk.

Before you sat down in your rolling chair there was a slightly aggressive knock on your door. You deeply sigh and walk to open your door.

“What’s u-“ before you could finish the phrase a black spiral notebook was shoved at you and Bakugo practically let himself into your room.

“Sure come right in” you roll your eyes and laugh which caused him to scoff at the sight of your notebook on your desk

“We’re you seriously about to study with those dumb fucking notes?!” He glares at you and you simply don’t know how to answer that. “Uhm yes?” Was all you could manage to say

“I know they’re in here somewhere” he crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at you “What are you talking about?” You mimics his actions by crossing your arms over your chest

“I know you need glasses” he states and your eyes widen slightly “You fucking idiot!” He snaps “Straining your eyes like that it only gonna make it worse” he spots the glasses on your dresser and grabs them, proceeding to practically shove them on your face

“Katsuki stop, they’re hideous on me” you avoid eye contact and take them off your face “They’re hot” he looks at you with a no nonsense expression making you almost die on the spot

“What?” You whisper in disbelief

“You heard me” he gruffly states “Now put them back on and I’ll show you how sexy they are” he says moving closer to you

“That is…” he pauses “If you want to or whatever” he speaks his need for consent before continuing

“Yes! I want to!” You speak very eagerly causing him to laugh and lock your door

[httpdwaekki]

bright | h.h.

summary: you have a light sensitivity and forget your sunglasses but hyunjin is kind enough to give you his.

wc: 800

a/n: i wrote this in hopes to reach more of stayblr, the lovely @astraystayyh and many other wonderful writers (including myself) are writing requests for anyone that is willing to donate to her fundraiser to help people in gaza! all you have to do is donate and send proof to one of the writers along with your request! (please do make sure you read writers rules for requests first! and be aware they have a right to say no to the request.) remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

it wasn’t a secret that you had trouble with any kind of light, the sun, lamps, phone screens, etc.

sometimes you were okay but other times any type of light could cause a migraine unlike anything else. because of this you always kept a pair of sunglasses on you just in case.

well apparently not always, today you had rushed out the door to meet hyunjin, the shaded lens forgotten on your counter.

you were sat outside at a small cafe, waiting for hyunjin to return. both of you wanting to enjoy the last of the spring before the summer heat. you were oblivious to the missing object, opting to go without them for a bit, but that didn’t last long. soon after your eyes felt strained, a familiar dull ache presenting itself behind your left eye. 

you look in through your bag, searching for the darker lens that weren’t there. you sigh, the ache still coming in waves, growing stronger with each one. luckily there was an umbrella so you decide to ignore it and enjoy your time with your boyfriend.

you place your bag back on your chair, as the pretty brunette approaches your table, drinks and food in hand. his signature versace glasses slipping down his nose, dopey grin present on his face as he places the tray on your table.

you return the grin, scrunching your nose as he flicks the glasses atop his head. he sets your drink and your food in front of you before sitting in the chair across from you. you both enjoy your drink and pastries, catching up and enjoying each others company.

the sun decided to shift, causing the sun to shine directly on you, the dull ache becoming sharper. you squint your eyes, attempting to hide the wince in pain with it. you place your hand above your eyes, giving yourself a bit of shade, focusing on hyunjin’s story.

“so he came to stay at our dorms for a bit to “escape the loud rage of felix because he sucks at league and it’s not changing anytime soon.” his words not mine.” he explains, as you giggle at the absurdity of his story. “ so seungmin’s solution was to go to the dorm that housed the loudest member in the whole group?” you asked, softly chuckling.

“that’s what i said!” you smile at his outburst, switching hands as your arm got tired. hyunjin tilts his head at the action. “angel?” you hum, looking at him, eyes squinted. “why don’t you put on your sunglasses?” he asks, pointing towards your bag.

“oh i forgot to grab them when i left, it’s okay though.” you give him a reassuring smile before leaning forward into the shade, taking a bite of your croissant.

he knew your eyes and most likely your head was hurting you, and you were trying to put on a brave face. he grabbed the shaded lens currently holding back his soft locks, leaning forward, sliding the lens carefully onto your face.

you jump in surprise, letting out a squeak before relaxing. you send him a small pout as he sits back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “what’d you do that for?” you ask, pushing the glasses up your nose.

“because, i know your eyes are probably stinging and if you don’t have a headache now, you’re definitely on your way to one.” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “what about your eyes?” you asked, frown still present.

“don’t worry about mine, do you want to sit over here in the shade?” he asks, moving as if he’s gonna get up. you shake your head, moving to stop him. “no no, i’m okay, you stay.”

he scoots his chair over slightly, still in the shade, “come on, move your chair.” he waves you over. you roll your eyes before getting up, moving your chair towards the dimmer area, sitting down.

“i was fine over there.” you glare at him over the black shades.

he rolls his eyes before leaning over slightly, wrapping his arms around you. “will you just let me take care of you please?” he asks, placing a quick kiss to the back of your head. “plus i know you were 2 minutes away from a headache.” giving you a knowing look.

now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “yeah yeah.” you concede, admitting defeat. “thank you, my love.” you say, turning to him, placing a kiss to his cheek. “anything for my muse.” he smiles, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before letting you go.

the rest of the day was spent walking around, enjoying the weather and a quick trip to the versace store to buy you your own matching pair of sunglasses.

do not repost

[inmyheaddd]

✦ in the back of my mind - jameson hawthorne x reader

warnings -> em*ly is mentioned for like .2 seconds, little bit angst + arguing, happy ending i promise!! a/n -> jameson my baby ☹️ wc -> 1.2k masterlist

you slammed the door hard with a thud behind you, not really knowing where you were headed now, but just knowing you needed to be anywhere else but that godforsaken house. the almost screaming-match you had with jameson earlier had your ears almost ringing, and with a pounding headache that worsened every step.

without your permission, your mind repeated every moment on a loop. 

“jameson, just stop!” you care more about winning and your games than you do about me.”

“don’t say that,” he pleaded, taking a step towards you as you stepped back. “you know that’s not true.”

“well it feels like it’s true!” 

“this is who i am!” he gestured to himself with his hands. “you knew that from the very start, don’t be mad because you couldn’t “fix me.””

you scoffed, tears flooding your eyes momentarily but you forced them back. you had to. 

“seriously? that’s what you think this is about? this isn’t about me “fixing you,” it’s about the fact that i’m always going to be second to whatever game you’re playing!”

“it’s not a game, it’s—”

“what? ‘it’s your life’?” you predicted. he said the same thing every single time. “it’s a part of you? it’s something i wouldn’t understand?” you cut him off, scoffing and shaking your head as you crossed your arms. 

“you’re right, jameson, i don’t understand. i thought that— that maybe, maybe you’d —“ you cut yourself off with a frustrated sigh, pinching the in between of your eyebrows. you couldn’t even get the words out.

you shook your head, “god, i can’t do this anymore.” you muttered, more to yourself than to jameson. 

you remember the way worry flashed through jamesons eyes as you said those last words, before you turned on your heels.

and now you were here. 

the wind whipped through your hair as you sat on the cliff side, hugging your knees to your chest. 

you could barely hear anything over the roaring waves below, but maybe that’s what you needed; the noise, the chaos outside to drown out the one in your head.

there was only one voice who could’ve broken through. jamesons. 

“running away already?” you closed your eyes at the way voice cut through the wind, his usual biting sarcasm making you clench your fists tighter.

“go away, jameson,” you muttered, staring out at the dark horizon. you couldn’t even look at him.

“not happening.” his tone somewhat softened as he stepped closer. “you shouldn’t be out here.” he stood a foot or so away from you now, and you felt his gaze on you like a physical thing. 

your head whipped around to look at him, your frustration bubbling up and flashing through your eyes. “don’t tell me what i should or shouldn’t do. why do you suddenly care anyway?” 

he frowned, opening his mouth to probably throw out some retort, but then he suddenly stopped. 

his green eyes, that looked more black now, flicked to the cliffs behind you, and something shifted in his expression. he took a single staggering step back, his confidence that he always had gone in an instant.

he called out your name, but it sounded strained. “get away from the edge,” his was voice tight, like he fought to get the words out.

you blinked, suddenly taken aback. “what? jameson—”

“get away from the edge, goddamnit!” he never raised his voice like this, and his voice almost cracked. that was when you saw it—the fear. not the teasing, not the games, but real, raw fear in his eyes.

you quickly got up and stepped towards him, the waves crashing even harder against the shore now making it almost impossible to hear yourself. “jameson, what’s going on?”

he didn’t answer. his breathing quickened, his fists clenched, and his eyes fixed on the drop below, and you realized—he wasn’t seeing you anymore. 

he was somewhere else. emily. it was all over his face, in the way he stood. 

you should’ve known. you shouldn’t have come here.

you swallowed thickly, not knowing how to go about this. that girl had damaged him on a whole different level, he had just started to heal, and you single-handedly pushed it all back. 

“jameson,” you said cautiously, taking a tentative step towards him. “i’m—“ you shook your head, “i’m not her. everything’s okay, we’re okay.” 

he flinched, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair. “i— i can’t—” his voice broken, and his eyes were glossy.

“you need to get away from the edge,“ he repeated, pointing to the dive below. 

“jameson,” you held his quivering hands in yours, shaking him slightly to get him to look at you. “i’m not on the edge, i’m here, with you.” 

his eyes locked on yours, shaking his head, he said, “step back, it’s not funny anymore.” 

the fear was palpable in his voice, and it made your eyes sting. he sounded so small, your heart broke into a million pieces. is this what it was like with her?

“jameson, stop!” you begged, your voice being the one cracking now, “you’re scaring me.” you shook your head, pleading for him to just see you. “i’m not emily.” 

your eyes were welling up at the sight of jameson like this, so scared, so un-jameson, and it came crashing down on you just how bad emily effected him. 

the sound of her name seemed to snap him out of it, because now when he looked at you it felt like he actually saw you. 

your name fell off his lips in a single breath, before his eyes flickered all over you, like he was making sure it really was you.

he then pulled you into the tightest hug, like he was holding onto you for dear life. a hand came to the base of your neck, as his head nestled in your neck. the wind howled around you, but you didn’t let go. you don’t think anything could’ve made you let go in this situation.

his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, and your arms were around his neck. you felt like crying with the weight of the situation, and you know he did too. 

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled into your neck, voice shaky. “for everything i said, for everything i didn’t do, for now, i just—” you pulled back from the hug, and your hands immediately found his once again. 

“i’m sorry i don’t show you how much i care more. the last time i did, i…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath in. 

he didn’t have to finish the sentence for you to understand. the last time he cared, she died, and he nearly did too. 

“jameson,” your hands tightened around his as you shook your head, wind blowing in your hair. “you don’t have to say anything, i get it.” 

“no, that’s the thing, i do.” you saw him swallow, adam’s apple bobbing before he spoke once again. “you don’t know how much i care for you, how much you matter to me. you’re number one in every thing. nothing else matters when i’m with you, you know that?” 

you were way past the point of holding back tears now, and by the looks of it, jameson was on the verge of them as well. 

“you’re my first thought in the morning, last thought before i sleep, and you infiltrate my dreams. i don’t deserve you — i know that, but i want you anyway. i’m selfish.” he took another deep shuddering breath in, eyes flicking between yours, “i’m so selfishly in love with you that it scares me.” 

that was the first time he had ever said those words to you. in love with you.

love.

but they weren’t just words, they were everything. 

it was what you two had been dancing around for the past months in your relationship, it was him taking off his armor. 

your eyes searched his, looking for any sign that he was lying even though you knew you wouldn’t find any. your body was on auto pilot, the only thing you could do was kiss him. 

the kiss felt like you were really connected with him, intertwined. it was the furthest thing from lust it could’ve been. it felt like you were finally on the same page.

“i love you, jameson. i love all of you. i always will.” you whispered against his lips when you pulled back for a breath of air, before he pressed his lips needily to yours once again. 

when you pulled back this time, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment. 

you fell into a comfortable silence, but you could tell something was on his mind as his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. they were trained on the ground beneath you like he was deep in thought. 

you didn’t say anything, you wanted for him to feel comfortable enough to say it himself.

and then he did. 

“i don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted into the space between you, before his emerald eyes finally flicked up to yours. “i don’t know how to love right.” his voice was unbelievably low as he murmured.

he loved you so right, he was everything you could’ve ever wanted. you loved him for him. 

you didn’t say that though. instead, you brought a hand to his cheek, before weaving it through his hair as you looked intently into his heavy eyes. “then let me show you how.” 

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @notshortbutsweet

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican

[yurinaa-world]

If I may request Sunday, Gallagher and Welt: how'd they'd help a gn reader (platonic or romatic is your call) who is physically disabled/has chronic pains? Ur writing's awsomee :)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Sunday, Gallagher & Welt Yang x Gender-neutral reader

𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who has chronic pains

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: fluff, spelling mistakes

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

Take a day off. But you have to go to work. Take a day off. If you wound up sick, what on earth would he do with you? Do you want to hear his health lectures? A lover of the head of the oak family shouldn’t be getting any type of sickness or pain.

He’ll dictate everything you do until you feel better. Take pills, lay properly in bed so the pain doesn’t get worse, and drink a lot of water so your body is hydrated properly. He’ll have the servants take care of you until he comes early to see you himself.

Even if you say that the pain got duller, it still didn’t help with his worry. He pushes you back on the bed even if you try to “fight” back with him, you end up stuck there. And he’ll make sure of it. Bring a chair beside your bed just to watch the condition.

After the doctor tells you what you need to do, he’ll just do it for you and you’ll just go to bed and rest your eyes if you can’t sleep, at least then you’re saving energy.

10/10 you're getting better quickly

𝒢𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶𝑔𝒽𝑒𝓇 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝒪𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓇 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

He can see it, the pain in his neck is more obvious than ever before. Wincing in pain when you try to move your neck and complaints coming from under your breath. He just takes you back home.

You can’t refuse either, every time you move your neck you feel like the air is kicked out of you. That just proves his point, you can't tell him otherwise. lay your pretty self in bed instead and just rest.

You lay there in bed or couch, groaning at the headache making your brain go mush along with such stiffness in your shoulders making you so uncomfortable.

He’ll help you out, making your shoulders less stiff, his hand gently massaging your neck—very gently, just to make it painless—he’ll take you to the doctor early in the morning.

Even after getting better and going back to work, he’ll make sure you don’t physically strain yourself again. Picking things up for you and helping you with anything you need.

10/10 he looks like he's good at massages 

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈"

He can see your face contour in utter pain whenever you lean down to pick something or how you’re trying to discreetly stretch your back without trying to make it obvious that you’re in such pain.

 He can tell. Everyone can tell. You walk around and stop to stretch your back like a grandparent who still refuses to use a cane because they don’t need it and it’s just holding them back.

After denying help for so long, it bites you back when you end up even more injured after losing a fight with some monsters. You’re just embarrassed and in pain, everything is just so humiliating.

He was not mad at you, more like worried—how could he ever be mad at you?— Honestly just stay in bed, you can’t just keep on running around, you might just injure your back even more, He’ll go get you something that’ll help lessen the pain.

10/10 he knows from experience

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[howi99]

Project ARC remake 19

Jaune: *looking at himself in a mirror* So... I'm an android? *Touching himself in the face* Weird, I don't really FEEL different.

Glynda: *preparing tea for the both of them* Well, they recreated your entire nervous system. You have organs, although they are more so for comfort than use. Even your brain is mechanical.

Jaune: So... No human part?

Glynda: *stopping for a second before sighing* Your soul is human. That's what matters, yes?

Jaune: ... *Shrug* I guess you're right. *Looking at his "muscle" i'd hope to be ripped, but i guess it was too much to ask?

Glynda: *chuckle* Your body can become "stronger" with training. *Bringing the tea* It's a "feature", a limiter that you can remove slowly by exercising.

Jaune: *taking the cup of tea* Thanks. *Drinking a bit then posing it delicately on the table* But why a limiter?

Glynda: *smiling* If you could use your full strength without learning how to control it, you'd destroy everything. *Chuckle* You'd be worse than me when i discovered my semblance!

Jaune: *Laughing* Oh yeah, i remember that! Your semblance threw the tv remote at Ozpin because he was nagging you! We thought ghosts were real for a week after that!

Glynda: *giggling* Yeah, that was so funny!

Jaune: *Laughing, then the headache begins again* Outch!

Glynda: *worried* Are you ok?

Jaune: *strained smile* Y-yeah, just the same headache as when i was in the hospital. *Drinking more tea, his pain going numb* It's weird too, because every time I get them, it feels like someone is planting nails in my head.

Glynda: *dropping her cup of tea on the ground* W-what...?

Jaune: *sigh, cleaning the mess* Big sis, you should really be more careful. Now the carpet is soaked...

Glynda: *Trying to stay calm* Jaune, when you feel your headache, w-where does it hurt?

Jaune: *perplexe* Well... My left eye, my hears and the back of my- BIG SIS!?

Glynda: *looking awful*

Jaune: *Panicking* I'll call Ozpin! *Gets up* J-just wait here and-

Glynda: *hugging him as if he was going to disappear, her tears flowing through her closed eyes*

Jaune: ... Sis?

Glynda: *crying* I *sniff* i just wanted to be with my friend as soon as possible! *Sniff* I-i should have been with you! I should have waited for Ozpin to arrive, i should-

Jaune: *hugging back his big sister* Shhhh, it's okay... I'm here big sis, i'm not going anywhere.

Glynda: *continues to cry for a good part of the night*

___________________________________________

20 yo Glynda: *opening the door to her apartment* Jaune, i'm back from my mission!

No answer

Glynda: *frown* Jaune? That's not nice to ignore your sister!

She hears something falling to the ground, in the direction of his room

Glynda: *sigh, going to the direction of his room* If you are angry that i left without saying bye, i- *step in something warm and viscous, the smell of iron strong in the air* What the- *looking at the ground, see the red puddle on the ground* !

She opened the door...

[lovelizards]

"Now, Meres, can you tell me what it is you've done wrong?"

The weight of the slender man's legs as they crossed at the ankles and rested on Meres' shoulder was nothing compared to the intense pressure he felt under his master's cold gaze.

How long had it been since he'd been punished?

The moments where he found himself on his knees begging for forgiveness were few and far between in the last few years.

Since he was broken in, Meres had always been a good dog.

No matter what the order was, no matter how fraught his sleep was with the nightmares of things he'd been forced to do, he had done them without questioning.

"Meres." The slender man spat his name like an insult.

"F - forgive me, my lord, I -"

"I asked what you did wrong. I'm waiting for your answer."

"Ah, forgive me, I - I -" Meres hesitated, because the answer wasn't exactly as clear as he thought it was. Should he just apologise for everything all at once? Surely the punishment would be easier if he just got it all out and admitted his mistakes.

The slender man sighed, nudging his head with the side of a shoe.

"You've never been the brightest dog, but must I really repeat myself a third time? Don't you know you shouldn't do things you'll have to ask forgiveness for in the first place?"

"Y - yes, of course, my lord...I - I have been hesitant in following your orders. And - and I've been too familiar with your possessions. And - "

The slender man interrupted him with a kick to the face.

It was the shock of pain rather than the force of it that knocked him, unbalanced, onto his back. Hot blood streamed from his nose and he coughed on it.

With a heavy sigh, the slender man stood up, and put pressure against one of his legs with the flat of his shoe, straining the muscle. Meres grimaced against the pain, but dare not utter a sound.

"Usually I wouldn't care about a neutered dog playing with some wild bird, but it seems like that filthy thing is a bad influence on you."

"A - a bad -?" Meres coughed, "No, she - Iska isn't -"

"Don't you know how cunning a mage is, Meres?" The slender man's tone softened, "they will say and do anything for their own benefit. Did you suppose breaking the tether I have on you would win her over? That the two of you might run off to a happily ever after?"

Meres didn't dare meet the man's eyes.

It was true that he'd been trying to fight against the enchantment.

Iska had said only the weak-willed could be controlled. She...had believed in him, that he could fight it. The arcane mind control that sometimes blinded him and caused him to lose hours, days at a time in a haze -

He had thought if he could break it, maybe...maybe they could...together...

But the slender man knew, he always knew. There was no escaping him.

"Forgive me, my lord...it - it wasn't because of her, I - I get headaches...that's the only reason..."

Meres did his best, but the fear made his voice break. It felt impossible to craft any kind of lie in front of his master.

"You poor, sad beast..." the slender man sighed, "I can see that mage has truly gotten her talons into you."

"N - no, my lord, it isn't like that - I - I only - aagh!"

The slender man gripped Meres' face tightly, his palm flat against Meres' eyes and fingers pressing painfully against his temples.

"Listen to me well, Meres. Are you listening?" The slender man tightened his grasp and caused a shooting pain to rocket through Meres' head.

"Agh - y - yes, I - I'm listening my lord -"

"There is nothing for you in the world except serving me. What would you be without me? I gave you what pittance of magic you were able to absorb. I gave you a purpose. You were nothing when I found you, and you'll be nothing again if you ever were to leave."

The slender man's words rang and echoed strangely in his head, humming almost like a song, tolling low like a bell.

Meres clenched his teeth against it, but with his eyes forced closed there was nothing he could do to distract himself from it.

"That mage's very blood flows pure with mana, she is a mage the likes of which you could never begin to imagine. Even when I break her, she will still be more than a pathetic mutt like you."

The slender man was right. Meres was nothing. Not strong enough to defend himself. Not strong enough to break the mind control. Only as good as his strength. Nothing...nothing...

"A powerful mage..." Meres mumbled, feeling a strange numbness in his fingers, "Iska is..."

Iska...Iska...the name echoed again and again in his mind.

Somewhere, swimming in the fog, like a weak flickering light against a darkness, he found her face. The soft of her lips, the brush of her fingers, her sharp eyes and her voice like a melody when it called his name.

"Poor Meres," the slender man said gently, "so strong of body, yet so weak of mind..."

"Yes...I - I am weak. Forgive me, my lord...I never meant to..."

The slender man slowly pulled his hand away, but Meres kept his eyes closed. He wanted to keep the image of Iska in his mind for as long as he could.

The only light he had ever known in this cold, dark place.

"Retire to your room. I am busy now, your punishment will come later."

"Yes, my lord..."

Meres stood, his legs aching. He finally opened his eyes, wincing against the pale white light of day filtering in through the curtains.

He could feel the beat of his own heart, not racing, but drumming a steady march. Maybe...when he told Iska how he'd been fighting against the enchantment...

Maybe she would reach out to him, touch his face gently.

And if they could...somehow...leave this place...

Even if he became nothing, as long as he was by her side...

Then maybe some day he could see her smile at him.

And that would be enough.

『 Previous / Next 』

[the-indigo-symphony]

Gonna be the change I want to see in the world today. Time to talk about astigmatism.

So people usually know astigmatism from that one "astigmatism versus normal vision" post about artificial lights (like car headlights or street lamps) having a lot of extra glare if you have astigmatism – something which makes it hard to actually see the object causing that light, especially at night. Which is true! But that's not all astigmatism is.

Astigmatism is a visual condition (problem with your eyesight) in which your eye isn't as round as it should be, and as a result, light isn't reflected into your eyes the right way. This makes your vision blurry – and unlike farsightedness or nearsightedness, it's blurry at all distances! This also results in seeing a lot more "glare" or "haze" from artificial lights, which is what inspired those comparison pictures I mentioned earlier. This causes a lot of problems at night, when there's no natural light to help out your eyes, and you have to rely on artificial light to get around or just... do things in general.

Can you guess what other common situation also involves a lot of artificial light, which means it may be harder to navigate if you have astigmatism?

That's right! Using any type of screen also means staring directly at a lot of artificial light, and let me tell you, ouch! The strain that puts on your eyes when you have astigmatism is not fun! Using a screen when you have astigmatism is a lot more difficult, and I've gotten plenty of headaches from doing so. This is what led me to seek help, since it was causing me to struggle in classes I was otherwise keeping up with just fine. If you struggle with seeing/reading/understanding things when they're on a screen, but everything seems fine when you look away from the screen, you may wish to consider asking an eye doctor about astigmatism.

A more well-known sign about astigmatism is the "overlay" we see all the time. The best way I can describe it – and the way I described it at my eye doctor appointment – was that it's like everything you see has been duplicated, shifted over a little, and made half transparent. (There's a great video by Antonio the Optometrist on YouTube with examples!) This was my second big sign that I had astigmatism, and let me tell you, seeing the world without that overlay is wild! It took me some getting used to. Especially when it came to suddenly being aware that I now had much better perception of where the edges of things were.

"But wait," you might be saying. "Does that mean astigmatism can be treated?" Yes! You can get glasses specifically to help with astigmatism – and if you already have glasses, you can get the adjustment for astigmatism added into your next pair! Other than that, it can help to strain your eyes less – use more natural light, turn down the brightness on your screens, and use physical media over digital media more often. Also, maybe don't drive at night as much, assuming you do. Just as a practical habit.

Astigmatism is more than just "street lights have a starry glare to them", and I know of plenty of people who didn't think they had astigmatism because they chalked up that glare to just the natural reflection of light from their glasses, not knowing there were more signs they could have been on the lookout for. So, I hope this helps somebody out there – even if it's just knowing more about what astigmatism is!

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This devotion of yours is misplaced (but this love, perhaps, is not)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.4k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: reader is like vaguely injured, timmy is so in love and sooo crazy abt it, they sorta both are, idk this one's kinda intense guys there's a lot of love in it kinda felt like I was intruding when I wrote it

a/n: I'm so sorry but we're fast-forwarding to established relationship but I promise I'll get back to the pining of the past I just have the intense need to jump around timelines like a rabbit

There's a bulb in the light fixture above your bathroom sink that flickers, the yellow light hazing in and out while the others shine bright. You sit on the counter, leaning your back against your mirror as you cup a hand to your ribs protectively, watching Tim with hooded, lazy eyes. There's a set to his jaw, the muscles clenching as he moves around, pulling your first-aid kit out from under your sink.

You think back to the day he realized you didn't have one, his eyes wide as he spluttered out something about you needing one because what if you get hurt? You'd shot back that you'd always managed without one. He'd accused you of suffering for the sake of it - forsaking softness for the show of it. 

That had cut a bit too deep. He didn't apologize, but you didn't ask him to. The next morning, there was a first-aid kit sitting on your bathroom counter.

Tim's hands ghosting over your sides pulls you from the memory as you suck in a sharp breath. He winces apologetically and hooks a forefinger under your chin, tilting your head to wipe a disinfectant wipe over the cut on your cheek.

"You need to relax," you huff quietly. He shoots you a look.

"I don't like seeing you hurt."

"Then go somewhere else," you shoot back. You feel something that reminds you of a concussion you once had hazing through your mind - maybe if you hadn't, you'd have noticed the way he pulls back from you. You would've kept your mouth shut.

"You know that's not what I mean." There's a strain in Tim's voice that he only gets when he's trying to be good to you - when you're not letting him.

"I never know what you mean," you respond, and there's a tiredness in your voice that shouldn't be there. Tim's shoulders drop, his stance shifting as he looks at you. He's trying, you realize, to let himself be read. But acts of love like that are so often impossible for things like you and him.

"I would rather…" he begins slowly, eyes flitting around while he searches for the words. "I would rather, if you're hurting, that you do it right here where I can help you. I don't want you to do it alone."

"This is part of the job - and I did it alone for a long time," you point out. He fixes you with a frustrated stare.

"But you don't have to now. I'm here now," he insists.

"Are you?" Tim huffs through his nose, fixing a butterfly strip over the cut on your cheek.

"If you'll let me," he says. There's a gentleness there that you're not sure you deserve.

"I don't know if I can." A warble cuts through your voice in a way that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Tim smoothes his hands up your thighs, parting your legs so that he can stand closer to you between them. His thumbs dig into your muscles gently, rubbing circles into your skin.

"Explain that to me," he prompts. You sigh and tilt your head back to lean it against the mirror, eyeing him through your lashes.

"I don't think I'm any good at being helped," you say simply before leaning forward enough to cup his cheek in your hand, smoothing the furrow between his brows out with your thumb. "And I'm not sure you're any good at helping. You're going to give yourself a headache."

"It's worth it," Tim says, but his response is too quick, a jumbled rush of breath leaving his lungs. You fix him with a knowing, warning sort of look as his devotion to you rings through you and thumps against your heart. 

"Careful," you warn, but the hand you use to grip the back of his neck and bring him closer to you betrays you. "You can't lose yourself in this, Red. You can't love me enough that it makes you whole." His fingers tense on your thighs, pressing in, but he lets you pull him closer.

"No calling me that when I'm not wearing the mask," he murmurs, a shoddy sort of diversion. A smile twitches on your lips.

"But you are red," you say, smoothing your thumbs over the blushing apples of his cheeks. "Right here. And there's no one here to hear me… no one but you." Tim gives you a pained sort of look, his shoulders bunching in embarrassment, but you throw him a lazy smile and lean forward to place a quick kiss to his lips. He doesn't miss your wince when you do.

"Let me see your side," he asks gently.

"Nothing's broken," you respond quickly. He shoots you a look and reaches anyway, pulling your shirt up to reveal mottled purple and blue bruising over your ribs. A gentle hand is placed over it as he murmurs for you to breathe deeply. You try to, but the softness of it all is making you dizzy, making your chest ache for an entirely different reason.

"I don't think anything's broken," Tim assures as he pulls your shirt back down, his hands then finding their home on your waist.

"I told you that," you remind him dryly. There's a stubborn set to his jaw.

"I wanted to check."

"You need to have faith in me."

"Do you have faith in me?" He doesn't say it like an accusation, but you pull back like it is. He looks at you hard, the light flickering over his face and the furrow of his brows. It's a determination that you should be used to by now - one that's born of a desperate devotion to you, a need to get on his knees and pray.

You think he might do it now, just for a second, as he tenses to pull away from you. But you make a panicked, needy sort of sound as you reach for him and it's enough to bring him back to you, some kind of innate pull he has that draws him to your aid. His hands cup your face delicately and he smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks as you close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe.

"I'm not a… I'm not a faithful kind of person, Red. There's a devotion in you that's misplaced." You try to say it gently, the words pulling at your vocal cords as you speak, everything coming out painfully. Tim leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"You don't get to choose who I worship," he offers. Your shoulders tense slightly.

"Do you worship me? Or do you love me?" You ask. He doesn't pull away, keeping his eyes closed as his forehead rests against yours.

"What's the difference?"

"There's a gap there, Tim. The difference between devotion and worship. It's - it's love that separates the two," you explain, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I love you." He says it like it's easy.

"Are you sure?" He pulls away at the question, thumbing over your cheeks until you open your eyes to look at him. He's still close enough that you can feel his breath on yours.

"There is a part of you that knows how to be loved," he says - like it's simple. "I'm going to stay here until you find it."

"And then?"

"And then I'll stay to love you." Your hands reach for him at his words, bunching the front of his shirt in your fingers.

"What if that never happens?" You ask, looking anywhere but him, anywhere but straight into the love shining in his eyes.

"Then I'll pray to you," a kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth. "Like I always have."

"I'm not an idol to obsess over," you protest weakly. More kisses are pressed up your cheek, over your eyelids once they flutter closed, and down the bridge of your nose.

"No," Tim acknowledges easily. "You're someone to be loved. But you haven't figured out how to do that yet, and I… I haven't figured out how to do this yet, either." Your hands move from his shirt to tangle in his hair as you pull him impossibly closer.

"Maybe we'll never learn," your voice is hushed as his lips hover over yours. "Maybe we'll be these things forever."

"Then we'll be them together," is Tim's immediate answer, his lips brushing against your own. "And maybe that's all we need."

[cenorii]

Drunken theory about EYES

Let's get away from game conventions and the fact that Capcom could have trivially forgotten or left something out. I wrote this theory under temperature, so there is a certain level of absurdity present, especially since I dreamed it and that was the reason for writing it. I warned you!

Until there is an official explanation, this article is up to date.

What is this theory about? It's about both Wesker's eyes and PG67A/W. It's about why his eyes change color and what it depends on.

So, let's talk about PG67A/W first. It is not officially known when exactly this serum was created, but I believe it is definitely after 2003. That's when Wesker merged with Tricell, because the syringe has their brand label on it. He needs PG67A/W to «stabilize the force». But what is this «stabilization» really? We don't really know what happens to Wesker without the serum. The game says that he loses strength without it and so he needs the serum to stabilize his body, but I have a different opinion, which I'll tell you in a moment.

Between 1998 and 2003, Wesker is unable to use PG67A/W because it has not yet been invented. However, the powers he gained from the virus have not left him during these 5 years, he is far beyond a normal human. While fighting Sergei and his Ivans in 2003 (Umbrella Chronicles) he displayed his standard set of abilities. The only thing he lacked was speed, the same speed in re5.

We conclude that he only needs PG67A/W to have speed. It was speed and reaction that he «lost» when Chris and Sheva injected him with an overdose of PG67A/W in re5. However, the strength remained the same, thanks to it, he punched the rocket with Uroboros with his arm.

In fact, if you give him an extra dose of PG67A/W, he doesn't lose any of his abilities, including his speed. Wesker's body is only overloaded, which causes a severe headache as his body tries to cope with the strain. His powers then increase even more, causing them to become difficult to control. When Chris injected him with an extra dose again, his strength became not just difficult, but impossible to control, and he gave up speed altogether, because it was trivially useless.

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

Now that we've dealt with how the serum works, let's talk about the abnormality of his eyes. Wesker's eye color is closely related to his ability status. I'll go into detail in a moment.

To make it easier to understand what I'm talking about, we need to trace the entire history of the change. In the fandom, it is commonly believed that his eyes were originally blue, and after the virus injection, they became permanently red-orange. But what if I told you that they change color all the time?

Re1 it's simple - blue. This is the very beginning of the story, so this color is taken as the standard color.

Then the Umbrella Chronicles plot happens, where his eyes changed color for the first time (in the timeline of the story).

The red glow is something similar to re5, however it momentarily goes out, returning his eyes to a blue color, but why? It's really unclear why they're still blue here if the game was released in 2007, long after Code Veronica (2000), in which his eyes were redesigned long ago.

Is the old color persisting not because of Capcoms inattention, but because of canonical processes in his body? The eyes can't instantly change their appearance and need time to fully mutate? We'll come back to that.

Ibid, in Umbrella Chronicles, his eyes are no longer blue in the official material.

Wesker then appears in Code Veronica and there his eyes have the familiar orange look for the first time (according to the games release chronology), like on official Umbrella Chronicles materials.

Given that the events here take place in 1998, like re1, one can really assume that Wesker needed some time to mutate fully.

In 2002, Wesker appears in Operation Javier (Darkside Chronicles, 2009), his eyes blue again.

In 2003, one of the storylines of Umbrella Chronicles and Prelude to the Fall, his eyes came back to design from Code Veronica.

In 2005, when re4 released his eyes are blue again. I could say that this was allowed by accident, when Wesker's model, from the re1 remake, Capcom simply forgot to change the eye color. But that theory is ruined by one small fact... the remake.

In the re4 remake, his eyes aren't orange either (actually they are orange, but human).

They're not blue, of course, but different from Code Veronica, suggesting that his eyes probably do lose their inhuman appearance over time, slowly turning into normal eyes. In Code Veronica, they're orange because Wesker is at the peak of his powers, but over time he weakens, his eyes change, and he needs PG67A/W to get things back to the way they were, only with bonuses like reaction and speed.

And by the way, in the concepts for re5 there's a shot where Wesker's eyes regain their blue color. If even at the stage of game development Capcom thought about this feature, when the developers already had several games where his eye color varied, then it can be considered a canonical feature. We take into account not only this concept, which was not included in the game, but also the eye from the remake of re4, which does not look like Code Veronica or re5 at all.

In standard form, after taking PG67A/W and\or at the peak of his powers, Wesker's eyes look like this. Essentially identical to Code Veronica, it just looks better due to the graphics.

My conclusion: the color of his eyes directly shows the state of strength. Weakened body - first the pupil changes, becoming round again, and then the color already changes, gradually «dimming» in approaching the original (blue) color. After taking the serum - red or orange color with a narrow pupil. The blue color could mean complete weakness, but judging by re4r, he doesn't drive himself to that extreme state, so it's unlikely Capcom will ever show such a thing again. The only time his mutated eyes have been blue canonically is Umbrella Chronicles, but there it's due (presumably) to the mutation not being completed yet, and also in Darkside Chronicles.

Yes, I actually had a dream that I was writing this theory, but I had to do some brainstorming to turn it into something readable, as well as gather material. Don't take it too seriously.

[milfjuulpod]

Seeing You

request: yes

r losses their glasses (or maybe someone takes them) during first period. you kinda need them to see and without them you struggle (can’t find way around school, headache from straining eyes etc) mel goes into her usual protective mel mode

A/N: hellooo back again, sorry i haven’t written in a while and if melissa is OOC i apologize for that as well 😭 trying to get back in the swing of things. thank u sm anon for sending this in! mwah

The morning was off to a good start. Coffee was delicious, you arrived with enough time to prepare for the students, a decent Monday morning. With the ring of the bell, you walked to your door and greeted each and every student that came in. Across the hall, you saw Melissa. She looked up at you at the same time, and the two of you shared a smile. Melissa had a special place in your heart, and you had made a place in hers. 

       Once everyone had filed in, you returned to your classroom. “Good morning my angels, are we excited to start the day?” You asked the group. In response there was a mix of ‘yes’s’ and cheers from the kids, you always tried to get them excited at the beginning of the day. Better to be off to a good start, you always thought. Grabbing a stack of papers from your desk, you went to pass them out. “My shoe is untied!” One of your students shouted from the other side. “Well why don’t I help you tie it? I’ll show you, it’s easy.” You bent down and showed your student how to tie a knot, and then undid it for him to try on his own. When he succeeded, you gave him a high five and went to stand back up. Unfortunately, you hit your head on the desk, causing your glasses to fall off and give you a painful headache. Thanks to the swinging feet of many, many kids, your glasses were nowhere to be found. 

       Shit. You couldn’t see all too well without them, and the spare pair you kept at work was actually at Melissa’s house from a few nights before. With the lack of direction, your classroom began to get rowdy and it was time to prioritize. Get through this period, and then look for them. That turned into second period, and third, and then it was lunch time. When the bell rang, you led your students to the cafeteria, holding hands with the line leader. Definitely for their sake, not because you couldn’t see and had no idea where you were going. All of the kids shuffled in, excited to get some food in their bellies, and you were left alone to find your way back. Taking a few steps, you squinted and looked around for anything that might help. 

      “Hon?” A familiar, sweet voice was heard from behind you. Whipping around, all you could see was black clothes and red hair, enough to know it was Melissa. “You get lost or somethin?” She asked, taking your hand in hers. “Actually, yeah. I lost my glasses this morning and to be quite honest, I have no idea where I’m standing right now,” You joked with your girlfriend, but she felt you squeeze her hand tighter. “Well c’mon sweetheart, let’s go find them.” Melissa led you back to your classroom, never letting go of your hand. It made you nervous, being at school and showing affection. Only a select few at Abbott were aware of the blooming relationship, but that seemed to be the last thing on the redhead’s mind as she swung your hands together and rubbed her thumb across your skin. 

       Back to your room, Melissa let you unlock the door, and immediately started looking for them. “Where did you lose them?” She asked, scanning the room. “I was helping a student at that desk,” you pointed to where you hit your head earlier. Remembering the incident reminded you of the throbbing pain, and you rubbed the back of your head trying to soothe it. Of course, Melissa noticed. She noticed everything you did. Instead of looking, the other teacher walked over to you and lightly pushed on your shoulder to get you to sit at your own desk. She took your chin in her hand and gently stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Baby did you hit your head? Or are you squinting too much?” She asked quietly. “What gave it away?” You asked shyly, embarrassed at how quickly this snowballed. 

      “You winced when the bell rang, you rubbed your head when you talked about the desk, it’s not rocket science hon,” She teased. Before you could answer, she opened up one of your desk drawers and pulled out some pain reliever for you. You silently wondered how she knew you kept it there. She passed you her drink as well, and motioned for you to take it. “Good, you have to take care of yourself, even when you’re at work.” Melissa reminded you. She went back to the desk you had pointed to, and began searching. 

       “I don’t know what happened, they fell off and then they disappeared like the floor ate them.” You told her. You squinted to try and see what she was doing, but Melissa quickly told you to knock it off before you made the headache worse. After a few minutes, she returned to your side. “I think I know what happened,” Melissa said, and set down a pair of broken glasses in front of you, complete with a shoe print on the lenses. She leaned down to kiss your forehead and started stroking your hair. 

      “I’ll run home and get your extra pair for you, and have Jacob grab the kids. Can I trust you to stay here and not blindly injure yourself again?” She teased. When you nodded, she gave you another kiss and left to get your things. The peaceful silence didn’t last long, after a few minutes your door was open again and your students, as well as Jacob, came running in. “Here they are! Sorry we’re a bit late, I had to get Melissa’s kids too.” He said, skipping up to your desk. “Thank you, I owe ya one,” you said to him. 

       “I think you owe Melissa one. You’re lucky she’s so kind and attentive to you. I’ve only known her for a few years but I've never seen her so happy with someone before,” Jacob said honestly. His words sank in, he knew. As if he could read your mind, he started talking again. “I won’t say anything, but I doubt it’ll be a secret for long. Schemmenti is only this soft for you,” With that Jacob left, leaving you with pink cheeks at the realization of just how sweet and caring Melissa was with you. Every time you entered the room, her tough exterior melted away, and only for you. 

      You settled your students back into their seats, having them come meet you at your desk if they needed anything. Before long, your door was open again, and there she was. Melissa waved to your students as she was greeted with tiny “Hello Ms. Schemmenti!’s” 

       Coming to you, she set your extra pair of glasses down in front of you and leaned against the edge of your desk. “Here honey, is your head feeling better?” She asked. Although you couldn’t see, you knew her face was full of concern. “Yeah, a lot better.” You put your glasses back on and let your vision adjust for a moment. “Thank you, Mel. For helping and taking care of me.” You gently wrapped your pinky around hers, but she wanted more, and held your hand behind the desk up against her leg. “I’ll always take care of you,” Melissa smiled. You sat there for a moment, taking in all of her beauty. It was a simple thing really, but you felt so special today because of her. 

      “What? I got somethin’ on my face?” She asked. You giggled at her and shook your head. “No, no. I just haven’t seen you today and I missed it.” You answered and flicked your glasses for emphasis. When the two of you heard little voices whispering you were reminded that you were at work, and the tooth-rotting romance would have to wait until you were back home. 

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

.

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

.

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar. 

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat. 

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see. 

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them. 

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision. 

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real. 

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself. 

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you. 

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.” 

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented. 

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?” 

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it? 

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly. 

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes. 

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”  

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.  

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.” 

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim. 

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body. 

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?” 

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him. 

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture. 

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed. 

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.” 

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.” 

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.” 

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?” 

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.” 

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it. 

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.” 

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity. 

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?” 

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.” 

“How’d you lose it?” 

“I didn’t… lose it.” 

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.” 

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-” 

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him. 

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains. 

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder. 

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears. 

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully. 

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again. 

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said. 

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity. 

“Why?” he finally asked. 

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?” 

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.” 

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not. 

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.” 

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…” 

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees. 

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete. 

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck. 

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him. 

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?” 

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support. 

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion. 

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash. 

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-” 

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain. 

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.  

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else. 

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.” 

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.” 

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?” 

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it. 

“Of course, captain.”  

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”  

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?” 

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men. 

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both. 

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad. 

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it. 

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow. 

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful. 

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s. 

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.” 

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did. 

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.” 

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say. 

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.” 

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.” 

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.” 

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.” 

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?” 

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you. 

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?” 

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway. 

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.” 

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?” 

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked. 

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.” 

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”   

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around. 

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.  

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen. 

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing. 

Twine, needles, thread. 

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling. 

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil- 

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort. 

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind. 

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates. 

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?” 

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.” 

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.” 

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath. 

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover. 

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.  

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine. 

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this. 

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense. 

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here. 

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?” 

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.” 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy. 

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin. 

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.” 

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?  

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.” 

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him. 

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.” 

“Then how did he find this place?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same. 

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought. 

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?” 

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while. 

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.” 

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over. 

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?” 

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said. 

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.  

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”   

“What?” 

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.” 

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.  

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth. 

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.” 

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real? 

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.” 

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping. 

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”  

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!” 

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain. 

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still. 

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head. 

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” 

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really. 

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process. 

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away. 

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood. 

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.” 

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?” 

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor. 

And after that came the chaos. 

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else. 

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?” 

A gloved hand waved in front of your face. 

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly. 

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm. 

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.” 

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.” 

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.” 

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?” 

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.” 

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said. 

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.” 

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.” 

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm. 

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?” 

“I-” 

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.” 

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.   

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot. 

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill. 

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.” 

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him. 

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you. 

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked. 

He nodded, urging you on. 

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.  

“What if I get drunk?” you asked. 

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. ���I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another. 

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle. 

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat. 

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.   

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink. 

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.” 

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you. 

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.  

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?” 

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.” 

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it. 

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.  

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ” 

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes. 

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.” 

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.” 

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.” 

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible. 

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”  

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.” 

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too. 

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were. 

“Beg me again.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.” 

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?” 

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?” 

You frowned. 

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue. 

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage. 

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them. 

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”  

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.” 

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue, 

Once filled her vagina with glue, 

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in, 

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth. 

And then there was nothing left. 

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place. 

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off. 

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop. 

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” 

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist. 

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped. 

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?” 

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur. 

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.” 

“No! You started it!” 

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?” 

“I don’t!” you insisted. 

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands. 

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then. 

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.” 

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.” 

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin. 

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness. 

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”  

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?” 

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.” 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad. 

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.   

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed. 

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation. 

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.” 

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.  

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.” 

“’m fine,” you told him. 

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

[peacheises]

Lyney and Lynette's death lines cut me deep.... I needed to make this to make me feel better....

TW: Serious injuries not described graphically however, Reader gets emotionally traumatized, the twins almost died but they survive, Reader cries a whole shit load, blood is mentioned a lot, Traveller is Lumine, Lyney x Reader content, Reader is implied to be female and uses she/her pronouns.

I made this at 1 am any errors are because I made this instead of sleeping.

It had all happened so quickly... one moment you and your closest friends were collecting seashells and the next a concentrated horned crocodile bursts out of the waves tackling Lynette to the ground in a bloody spray of crimson. You and Lyney tried to fight it off but not for seeing the attack none of you had weapons. You thought this beach was safe.... If the traveller hadn't showed up with her party you are sure that you and the magicians would had been done for...

You had never noticed how pristinely white the walls of the infirmary were until now. However, that's probably because you were usually never there unless you yourself were injured. So you suppose you just never noticed. The smell of the place was also quite strong, it was unmistakable and always brought you mixed feelings. Feelings of anxiety for needing to be near those smells at all, but, also some hope.

That's what you needed right now.

You sat inbetween the beds of your blonde friends who had been so graciously placed in the same room together by the staff. You had already, for the most part, recovered from most of your minor wounds leaving just your more serious ones to heal. Left with a cracked rib and a broken arm you were 100% set for full recovery. You weren't sure if the same was to be said about Lyney and Lynette though....

Both had received major injuries to their heads and neither had woken up yet. It had been 3 days since that evening. You hadn't left their room since you came in, nurses failing to bend your stubborn iron resolve and just bringing you food. You didn't want to leave them alone. The inner pessimist in you and your anxieties kept you locked there. What if they didn't wake up? What if they passed on leaving you behind? You at least wished to be with them if that were to happen.

You looked down upon Lyney's bandaged face. His make-up had long since been removed and his hair was a curly mess. Same could be said about Lynette's hair but to a lesser extent. Both had bandages wired around their heads and purple blotches that left a sour taste in your mouth. Seeing your two closest friends in this state made your stomach ache horridly.

Gently, you took Lyney's hand into yours. A frown was spread across your delicate features as you ran your thumb across the blonde's exposed knuckles gently. They were so soft. It's a shame he always hides them underneath his gloves.

(("Lyney, Lynette. Please wake up soon. I'm not sure what I w-would do without you guys..."))

Your lip began to quiver again. You had already long since shed many tears over your friends' current states but you felt as if your tear ducts were overloaded tea cups on the brink of shattering.

(("I l-love you guys so much- please d-don't leave me."))

You kept your voice as quiet as you could, not wanting to disturb other patients in the neighbouring rooms who could possibly be sleeping. However, you couldn't control your voice cracking every other word and the pitchiness of it.

Leaning your head of (H/C) hair onto Lyney's bed beside him, you once again began to cry. You didn't want to soak his sheets with your tears however so you made sure to cry into the arm that wasn't holding the magician's soft hand.

(("You shouldn't cry chérie, we wouldn't want you to get a headache now would we?"))

A familiar voice spoke a name only one person who walked the lands of Teyvat would refer to you as. Sitting up abruptly, you lock eyes with soft lilac ones and a gentle smile. Lyney had woken up. His voice was strained and it sounded as if he struggled to speak though.

(("Lyn..ey?"))

You felt your eyes begin to water again as more crystalline, salty tears began to drip down your rosey cheeks once more. Your breathing became uneven as your crying made it hard to.

(("Lyney- Lyney pl-please never do that again l-lets never go b-back there again Lyney I c-can't live with- without you or L-Lynette please-"))

You choked out between strained breaths and sobs. Lyney gently brought one of his delicate hands up to one if your tear-stained cheeks, carefully caressing it. You quickly leaned into like a feline would, accepting any form of reminder that he was alive and recovering, albeit slowly.

(("Mon précieux, it'll be alright."))

His lavender eyes held nothing but a loving reassurance in them, backing his words. Nothing else was spoken between the two of you for a long time aside from your sobs and the occasional 'Lyney' between them. This lasted for a while, a long while. You had wound up crying yourself to sleep on Lyney's lap as he gently stroked your head.

This is when Lynette began to stir.

(("L-Lyney?? (Y/N)? What happened?"))

Her voice was thankfully still mostly in tact it appears. Lyney spoke softly, answering her question,

(("Horned crocodile attack. I presume we've been out for several days but it's hard to tell. If (Y/N)'s reaction is anything to go off of, however, I would assume it's at least been 2-3 days."))

Lynette looked towards your sleeping figure, relief of your safety washing over her. Your tear stained face and multiple bandages were a little worrying but you were alive and healing regardless.

(("Is she alright?"))

The girl asked her brother who nodded in response,

(("She'll be overjoyed when she learns that you have awaken as well dear sister."))

[machapelady]

Bake me a Bun

Soap/Retired!Soap x f!reader Fluff with a slight suggestive line, daydreaming, get this man a baby. Mild stalking(?) I do not know if I should be continuing this ^^ (There will be eventual smut if I keep writing this, also might end up adding some TW because we all know what happens when you tell stories about wounded soldiers) Divider credits go to @vibeswithrenai , lovely work, I recommend checking them out ^^

Johnny is at his roots, a family man. Scottish mead flows through his veins, so does the sweet pie his grandma used to bake.

Before retiring, Soap liked to spend some of his 'vacations' with the whole MacTavish family. Lunch here, brunch there, and kids that flap their pa's kilt just before dinner. He would play chase with the wee lads, loved by his nephews and known as 'Big Uncle'. Often carrying two rascals at a time, or letting losing against them on a hand to hand battle, he was a truly warm and homecoming man.

"John, when ya givin' me sum' wee bairns?" His nan would often ask.

To what his answer would be, between gritted teeth "No bon, no bun, nan. Army giv' no time f'tha"

And so then, he was shot.

Retirement didn't treat him that badly, just gave him a rather permanent headache and a scar on his temple.

Doctors told him to stay put, to enjoy his free time on the hospital' open gardens, the oxygen would do him good they said. But Soap was not a man that would be sitting there, staying still after years of battlefield, movement and stress.

Yet, after trying to get away a couple of times and finally sat down by Price, he took the orders and stayed put like a good kid.

He owed Simon one. The man had managed to push him a fraction away from the bullet trajectory, earning himself a sprained ankle. He would often visit Johnny when free, although for a brief time, dropping telltales of what the squad had been up to. Gaz was the one to stick around most, nagging him about finally being out of the hellhole that being a SAS operator was. They would watch their football together, until nurses told him that they needed to do a check-up.

On a rare sunny day, the whole squad visited him. Price had brought a letter from Alejandro, wishing him the best recovery, and to visit whenever he felt like. The wind almost blew the paper away, sitting in a bench under a tree.

"Bet ya miss us son" John muttered, a tired smile on his face. Soap groaned, rolling his eyes, "honestly, I think I prefer t'share some sweat with yall, rather than this hell of a cell" Even Simon laughed at that.

" 's no sunshine 'round. Bloody white walls fucking strain my eyes every single damn day" He would keep complaining. "I don't miss ya nagging tho" Ghost quipped teasingly.

And so they laughed, walking around looking like a group of old childhood friends that threw shit at each other, being Gaz the one with the most pointy comments "I can't fathom sleep without ya snoring Soap"

Something bumped against Price, earning their stop and a tiny, quiet "sorry" from a tiny, young voice. It was a young lad, no more than six summers at his back. He looked rather scared; faced by an old man, a wounded soldier, a guy with only his eyes visible and a piercing gaze under a cap.

Price squatted "No need to be, lad. Where's ya mum?" The kid shook his head and pointed to a woman, not far away from their position, that was surrounded by kids. She seemed stressed, looking around with wide eyes until she spotted the young boy.

"Oh Matt! Don't go running away like that you little rascal!" She rushed to the kid, and made eye contact with the Captain. "I'm so sorry sir, can't really keep all the kids still sometimes"

"Visit trip?" Price tilted his head slightly, to what she nodded. "We like to show the young ones to respect the injured" Her smile was almost as warm as the sun that day. "They gotta learn more than numbers and letters in school after all"

She took the kid away after apologizing once again, urging the little one to go back with the whole group, that she graciously guided around the hospital garden.

A second pair of blues followed her around as she went by, earning a chuckle from Kyle "Looks like he has a reason to stay here now"

"Hells Bells" The only thing he could say.

For what he could see from his room's window, it was a whole week of field trips for different classes.

To his eyes, she paraded around with the kids, with a sweet smile and warm eyes, showing the little humans things around, be it the entrances, the pond, or making small talk with some old lady that was condemned to stay her last days in that white prison. Like he felt, incarcerated for his health, until the doctors decided his wound and other past poorly healed injuries would not hinder him from having a "normal" life from now on.

For you, you were trying to show the kids some hospitality, to be respectful and appreciate the healthcare and what it could do for the people. For them to listen to the old tales of those veterans in life, or to enjoy the breeze and the grass after walking around for a long time.

Johnny was mesmerized. Completely lost in those warm expressions you always had dancing on your face, or in how you guided the children with caressing palms. Maybe it was the ring of your voice, that now rose above the constant tingle of his newly acquired wound, or the manners that you carried around. He felt strangely isolated in the room, a constant need to go outside and enjoy the grass, of course he wasn't trying to get a chance to talk with you.

Right?

So there he was, again in a bench. And that day he decided to hang his dog tags around his neck. "What a show-off" Simon groaned before saying goodbye couple of hours ago. "Don't come sulking if you scare her away you mutt", and a pat on the back.

It was the same boy as the other day, the one that approached him mesmerized by the shining plates on his neck. Matt sat on the floor, inquiring about what did Johnny do for a living. 'What is that? What do you do? Oh that's so cool!' he would chirp here and there.

Johnny couldn't really say no to the wee thing in front of him, puffing his chest and sharing some of his less-bloodied trips. The puff was taken down by a sudden nervousness when he saw you approaching again.

"Matt how many times do I have to tell you not to go astray from the group" She came already scolding the boy. "Oh, you are from the other day, right sir?"

Ah, she remembered him.

"Just doin' me time in here for a bit" Johnny answered with a boyish smile. "Can't blame the wean, he was all giddy 'n' interested"

"And what might that interest be?" You squatted a bit, poking Matt's cheek. "Miss. L/n this is Soap!" Oh, he got your last name now, maybe Laswell was willing to do some digging as a reward for his honorary actions right? Did he just call you Miss? That in his mind was a Jackpot. "And what does...Mr. Soap do?" She looked at him from bellow, her eyes flickering to his dog tags for a second. "I just tell old tales of sweaty men trying to save the world"

You weren't able to peel Matt from his spot, resigned, decided to indulge in some old stories, bringing the whole group so they could all listen to a veteran's yapping.

"So my mate, you see, big scary man with a mask" He would say, "took'em all down real fast i'm telling ya"

His eyes would often flick from kid to kid, landing on your face. To his delight, you were also caught in his stories, attentive eyes and full focused on how his mouth moved.

"And I was all alone! Havin' to scramble what I could! Bad men trynna catch me but I'm telling yall, nobody cannae stop the Soap" The boasting was impressive. How proud Johnny was of his doings, how he managed to tell his story in Las Almas without mentioning the cartel, or the corruption. "Even took a bloody bullet!" He pointed to his fresh scar, still healing. And that's when he saw your eyes turn somber, rather cold. "Alright kids, Mr. Soap here has lot's of stories, but surely that means he's very tired right? Let's go visit more places around!" After insisting a bit, you peeled the children away from his circle and quickly whispered to him with a disappointed gaze "I do have no doubt on what you did to protect people, but please, showing wounds and violence to children is not appropriate"

When you turned away, he sulked. He had fucked up. Ghost was right, he showed off too much and fucked up big time. He wanted to chase after you, to grab your wrist and apologize. To promise not to use those marks again if it meant seeing your bonnie face.

Yet knowing it would only make it worse, he silently went away, locking himself in the white room and not letting the nurses come in.

"Fucked up" He told Price. "Bonnie thing didn't like when I told the bairns about the bullet"

He earned a sigh, and a folder on his lap. "Didn't Simon tell you to slow down? I'm glad you still got some energy in you, son." Soap cursed under his breath, taking the folder and giving it a quick read. "You know me Sir"

Your whole legal name was there. Education, birthplace, family. Everything. Just a normal civilian, with a normal job. A teacher, the daughter of a warm family.

The folder didn't explain your charming eyes, or the small smiles you would make when a child showed you something. The information didn't do you any beauty, and he was pissed.

He had to hear it from you. Your own name, then his. Then again his name between some whispers or whimpers even. Not long after, Price took him for a walk, trying to pull him away from the constant frown that adorned his forehead.

It was Friday, he could tell you were a bit more energetic than the past day. Guessed it was the last visit you had to bring to the hospital, the last time he would probably see you if he was the one to respect boundaries. But what boundaries if he already had your address and identification number.

"You thinkin' about her still?" Price inquired, sipping on some cheap tea from the cafeteria. "Can't shake it cap. I just cannae. I gotta go tell her I'm sorry or sumthin'" He crossed his arms on his chest, right leg nervously bouncing under the table. "You seen how she look' with the bairns?" That earned a chuckle from the older man.

And bless the heavens he thought, when you entered the room with the group of children, dividing them in groups around multiple tables and asking the barista to make around thirteen milkshakes. You stayed on the counter, counting each quid to later report it to the school.

Price stood up, gave Johnny a pat on the shoulder. "Second try won't hurt you more than the first" He walked away, leaving Soap to shed his personal coat, turning into the homeboy Johnny once more.

"Hey"

You sighed, looking at him. "Sorry 'bout the other day. Got carried away" he mumbled "thought wee things would like something more...thrilling"

"Still not the best thing to say"

"I ken"

"They kept repeating your stories after that." His eyes flickered "Even started calling the other patients by 'sir' or 'ma'am'" Finally you met his eyes, hiding a shudder under your skin feeling like he was seeing right past your soul with those blue gems. This of course didn't pass by him.

"Ya enjoyed 'em?"

"Perhaps"

He leaned in a bit, not yet getting into your space, but enough to give you a tiny whiff of his soft scent. Was it citrusy? Warmth was on it, a little bit fruity but not overwhelming. You could swear there was a tinge of all-in-one shampoo too.

"Okay, yes. I liked your stories." Finally surrendering to his observing gaze, you relaxed on the counter a bit, the barista slowly pulling out the milkshakes. "Still, too bloody for some group of children"

"Hm. You know, even me ol' boss scolded me" The most heavenly chuckle swarmed his ears. "The man with the hat?" Johnny flashed a smirk, eyebrows gathering in the middle giving you an apologizing look and offering you his hand "Johnny's the name"

Johnny helped you bring the milkshakes to the tables, and again started telling his stories. This time with your consenting look, avoiding violence or blood on them.

There was a tiny difference now. His eyes weren't the only ones fluttering between the children and you. Lost in him, in his pearls, sometimes having to scramble your brains to understand his accent and phrasing. Unable to keep eye contact for long, covering your flush by turning your attention to the kids.

You couldn't really lie, he was charming. A warm smile and soft, piercing eyes. A voice that was like silk, but sometimes rugged, unable to ignore how his hands, rather calloused, accompanied the movements of his voice. The dog tags that he still wore, now tucked under his shirt, chain making waves over his collarbone, adorned by a thick and strong neck.

He seemed less proud, and more invested into the stories now. It wasn't about boasting anymore, but a constant fight to keep the kids hooked, and subsequently you too. He bathed proudly on how your cheeks would rose up a bit, or how you fidgeted with the soft fabric sometimes tracing the figures of the funny and childish patterns you wore. He wanted to up the tone, to impress you more like a bird trying to court his counterpart.

But he was a trained man that rarely made mistakes, a quick learner on top of that, not hitting the same rock twice.

Time passed, milkshakes were empty and some kids couldn't keep their eyes fully open. With a rather tired voice, a little raspy from the constant storytelling he chuckled at the wobbly tiny heads in front of him.

"Tired them all" You softly smiled, exhaustion also apparent on your face.

"Do I pass the test, Miss. L/n? Stories good enough?" He leaned slightly against you, a friendly shoulder bump earning another holy chuckle from your lips. "I give you an 8, missed some staging".

"Oh lass, I cannae be doin' backflips and shi- stuff" He corrected himself and tapped to his temple, the scar now healing better "Quite rude to be askin' tha' from a poor wounded soldier"

With a smile, you dismissed him and woke up some of the kids, telling them it was already time to go back home. Some of them whined, wanting to listen to more stories, trying to make you promise for it, something that Johnny eagerly supported, teasing you a bit. Others were completely fried, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Before leaving the cafeteria, you turned around and thanked him. "Johnny, right? Mine is Y/n" Oh but that he already knew, although it didn't bother him hearing it from your mouth.

What he didn't know was that you would visit him next Monday, taking with you some homemade buns you had made, showing gratitude for his help the past week.

Maybe he didn't fuck up that much, and maybe he could win you over by winning over the kids.

And he was good with children.

[persefolli]

Hi can I request a Tonowari and Jake fic where their female Metkayina mate is smaller than them and that makes them more protective of her and one day she comes home exhausted and very sore from hunting and all her muscles hurt and lies face down straight away barely acknowledging them as she is very tired. They come over to her and start kissing her back and neck softly and massage her body to get rid of the knots in her muscles, she sighs in relief feeling very relaxed and can’t keep her eyes open, she falls asleep purring and they laugh softly calling her kitten and saying how cute she is and kissing her face softly and cuddling up with her on both sides falling asleep themselves as she is warm and soft and they find it very comforting? Thanks 😊

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥-𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞…𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬???, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

You hummed peacefully as you swirled and threw the fishing net into the water. You'd been at it for a few hours now, but the sun was beaming and the fish were scarce. Dipping into the water for a quick moment, you emerged to see a Metkayina male standing right in front of you. Gasping you stumbled back and dropped the net, looking at the man offended.

“Sorry! They need your help in the forest. ” He pointed behind you where a group of Metkayina stood holding crates and weapons.

“Why me?”

The male shrugged. “I dunno, they said you know the best way to catch large animals.”

You groaned and raveled your net up, walking over to the group and following them to the forest on the island. Months ago you had traveled to the rainforest and killed a Thanator. Ever since, you had the notoriety and fame from taking down and bringing home the creature. 

You’d taken a break from hunting, opting to fish for a little while before returning to the hunting scene. The fact that they had called you back to the forest so soon irritated you just a little, but as the lover of Tonowari and Jake, you couldn’t decline. 

During the expedition you had divided the group into two, the tracking team and the killing team. You curated a quick plan that would allow the lot of them to locate and kill the animal. You had to give them pointers, physical pointers because they were such horrible hunters they were way in over their head. 

Having pulled a muscle in your last hunting experience, your shoulder blades tensed as you positioned yourself to aim the bow to show them. This continued all day until you left the group, believing that they would be able to find the creature on their own.

You walked back home, sleepy and sore from the day's festivities. The lights in your home were already on, and you groaned, knowing the bright light was bound to give you a headache.

Walking in the pod, you dropped your bow and arrow near the entrance and shielded your eyes with your arm.

“Sweetheart. You’re back late.” Tonowari greeted.

“Yeah, long day.” You walked right past the Metkayina male and went to your shared bedroom, laying down and closing your eyes.

In the distance you heard shuffling, then stillness. A simple knock on the doorway, and you knew they had followed you. “Come in.” You said silently.

You heard their footsteps come closer, before feeling their warmth next to you. “Was today that bad?” Jake asked.

“My arms still aren't up to par. Think I fucked up my back.”

You felt a warm hand trail up your spine, until it pressed slightly towards the left side, where the strain was. 

“Fuck!’ You grunted at the sensation. “Push harder.”

Jake did as you said, and pressed his palm into your back. Harder, and harder, until the three of you heard a pop. 

“That's right,” You exhaled out feeling the relief.

“You like that, don't you kitten?” Jake cooed, placing a kiss on your cheek. You smiled and nodded into the mat, without opening your eyes. 

Tonowari scooted down to the edge of the mat, where he began kneading the back of your thighs and calves, relieving them of the tensity that had built up inside. Jake's hands attacked your upper body, squeezing and molding your arms and upper back to a relaxed state, a feeling you had not experienced in weeks. 

You began purring and fell into a world where your body was back to normal and you were able to run and hop the way you wanted. Where you could be as flexible and mobile as you wanted to. 

Their moving hands turned into slow pecks on the back and legs, kissing random spots of your back. Their soft plush lips made you smile, knowing that their only motive right now was to comfort you. You purred yourself to sleep, causing the two men to pause on their affection, and move to comfortably tuck you into the bed. Soon after, they laid right next to you, having been just as sleepy as you were. 

[khaosrealms]

using syzoth x princess!reader's magnificent request; could you write a scenario where reader ends up arguing with her sisters, who were worried about her getting closer to the zaterran? — they are just wanting the best for their little sister.

LACERTA’S CROWN JEWEL. / SYZOTH X PRINCESS! READER.

a/n: now how did you know that i just absolutely adore family dynamics? of course i’ll write a scenario for this! it would be my pleasure 💙

“I forbid it.” Those are the first words that leave Mileena’s lips when you tell her of your newfound companion. Of Syzoth, the Zaterran you’d begun to make quick friends with. And, the same as many, many centuries of petty arguments and squabbles, you cannot say you are surprised. The only thing you can say you are, with certainty, is annoyed. Annoyed that you could already feel a headache stirring at your temples for what was to come. Annoyed that this was, without doubt, another lesson of Mileena’s you remember quite well from when you were younger.

“You— forbid it?” “I forbid it.” “And for what reason is that?” You can see the trepidation in Mileena’s features. Risen to Empress, she restrains better than she had before; but you know your sister, and you know Kitana, stood beside you, can see the very same thing. Musing with her hands, the same she often would her own fans. You three are alone here, no other company but the walls, but Mileena falls to a hush. Clutching your wrist; speaking beneath her chin. “He is a Zaterran, sister. Do you know what things the court would say if they were to discover who you make company of?” The court? The court which now fell beneath Mileena’s rule? The court that she, with a flick of her palm, could bend to her every will?

You despised the days in which fighting felt like the only way you could get through to your sister. Her problem. She started it first.

“And what will your court say? When they find their Empress has been infected with Tarkat?” “Excuse me?” The expression on Kitana’s face is all you need to know you’ve pushed the discussion down a route of no return. Her scrunched features hidden behind her hand; shielding her eyes from the sight of you both bickering. So you continue. If arguing is the only way forth— then that’s your choice. One step forward is all you need to cross the distance between you and Mileena, in all her seething, withheld rage. “Or are you perhaps the only one worth defending amongst your court? Mother knows you’ve thought only of yourself!”

“Myself? Only of myself?” The royal fabric on your chest strains against your sister’s nails as she grabs hold. Forcing you to remain in place. Forced to look up at her. “The only reason why you have not endured the savagery of the court is because I protect you! All your dismissed suitors, all those soldiers of Shao— did you think you alone suppressed those whispers?!” Even Kitana’s intervention is not enough to halt Mileena’s barrage. The hand on her wrist nothing more but an assurance that she should continue; spitting her words in your face. “It was mine and mother’s burden, always. Tending to your whispers! Tending to your desires!” “Mileena, please, it’s enough.” “No Kitana, it is not enough! You indulge her, same as I have!” How easy it was for your elder sister to get a rise out of you. The bitter sting that forms tears at the corners of your eyes; gritting your teeth to push them down. But she continues. Mileena continues, because at the very sight of her, you can tell she’s scared. Just as scared as you. “A daughter of Sindel making close company of a Zaterran will ruin you, sister. Ridding yourself of what little favor you hold in the court— do you want that?” “Mileena.” The sound of Mileena’s bracers creaking beneath Kitana’s palm is warning enough. When you are pulled away, it’s Kitana’s hand that urges you to stay firm; set on the small of your back.

“We worry about you, sister.” Kitana’s even words melted out from between her lips. Coated in earnest worry, there, even in the crease of her brow. And though you almost bite back, retaliating against her kindness— you blink past your tears, clearing your throat. She’s a mirror; the words she speaks are a reflection of Mileena’s own. Only easier to swallow, sweeter. As needed as the bitterness of your Empress’ sister. “We know his intentions are well, but the court will make their assumptions of a Zaterran. Harsher ones, when a princess is involved.”

“His name is Syzoth.” You feel Mileena’s eyes flicker to your face. Watch as you direct your words to Kitana, who absorbs your words as they leave you. “And he helped in the battle against Shang Tsung. He was there— saving the people of Outworld. Fighting alongside us.” When you turn and lock eyes with Mileena, you know then that she is listening. “If the court you rule is one that won’t defend one of its own protectors, then I want no place in such a court with you.”

For a moment, there is silence.

Filled only by the wind and inhaled breathes your sisters and yourself take. Kitana surveying your reactions, Mileena scanning your eyes, and your own, staring right back at her’s. The first to break the quiet— softening her eyes at your refusal to let go. “You know I can’t lose you too.” And it breaks Mileena’s heart, as it does your own. “Do you believe he has a place here, in my court?”

“Of course I do.” With utter certainty. So much so, it almost embarrasses you how quickly it escapes; a gesture not so easily ignored by Kitana. That peculiar smile of her’s filling her lips— the same one she gifts Mileena when she speaks to Tanya. You ignore it, as best you can. “A Zaterran might just be what you need, in your new era, Empress Mileena.” She would never just used to it, no matter how much Kitana and you said it, but it’s enough to make Mileena smile. Clearing the air of its sharpness and melting it down into exhaustion. Mileena’s gentle hand fitting into your own, gifting it a small squeeze. “Syzoth is a good man, I promise, sister.” You squeeze back and Mileena’s exhaustion warms to acceptance.

“Only as your confidant, I hope?” “Surely, it couldn’t possibly be anything more, could it, Sister?” Elder Gods, maybe you should died during the battle. Spare you from your sisters and their smirks as your cheeks redden under their questioning. Impossible to hide, as they corner you with their frames. Kitana poking at your side, Mileena tugging at your cheek as you squirmed. “A hug from a Princess of Outworld could surely be considered more, could it not, Sister?” “A Zaterran winning the affection of Sindel’s daughter— what gasping rumor to be heard in the court!” “You two keep talking and you’ll be joining mother and father in the afterlife!”