#but then we would never have had baroque

[kinslayersadvocate]

If Christianity rebukes witchcraft (tecnically, it does, but that is only my opinion), then Christianity does very much rebukes all religions. Seriously, religions are nothing but institutionalized witchcraft. Praying circles and consecrated oils and priests transforming normal food into sacred matter before our eyes... If witchcraft wasn't so demonized, people would understand that the difference between christians abd witches is not in what they do but in who they believe — or not.

That saying, the difference from a christian witch to a catholic to a baptist is just what kind of rituals they believe are the best, but baptist usamericans on youtube aren't ready for that discussion.

[undressrehearsal]

a bite of luxury

part 1

summary: you decide to look for a sugar mommy and stumble across this strange girl that seems to have more to hide

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie (yep, we got it all) alcohol, reader is poor lmao, reader uses she/her and is referred to as a girl once or twice, no smut in this one sorry gotta establish the world first

word count: ~8k

a/n: it's been so long since i posted a fic lol working full time and trying to finish my book is killing my schedule BUT i hope y'all like this this was my fiancee's idea and i'm running with it i got a LOT of plans for this one - plans i think y'all are gonna love

also the drawing in the cover is made by @nramv seriously go check out their work they're so talented!!

if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

part 2

You hadn’t been searching for a sugar mommy. 

Truthfully, when your best friend had sent you the link, you had dismissed it immediately. She had been joking about it for months, talking about how much easier it would be if you just found a nice older woman to take care of you. You hadn’t even opened the link - you only rolled your eyes, replied with a middle finger emoji, and left it at that. 

And yet things kept piling up. The stack of bills on your kitchen counter was growing to a concerning height, a mountain of unanswered responsibilities that was getting harder to ignore. Your landlord kept calling you - you no longer answered, just watched the phone ring until it finally stopped and ignored the increasingly angrier voicemails. Your apartment was an absolute disaster; you could never be bothered to clean it, because by the time you got home from working both of your jobs, you only had enough energy to eat a bowl of leftovers and promptly pass out in bed. 

The link kept popping up in your mind, each bill in your mailbox a gentle reminder. You found yourself scrolling all the way up the text chain to find it again during sleepless nights. So many times you would only stare at it, your thumb hovering over the blue letters, before you closed the chat and threw your phone down. 

It was stupid, of course. But as time went on, the idea of letting yourself get buried alive under a mountain of debt - of getting evicted from your apartment and having to crash on your friend’s couch - seemed all the more stupid. 

So, late on a Thursday night, after you had had another anxiety attack staring down at your bank account, you went back up the text chain, and you clicked the link. 

www.seeking.com

It didn't take long for the messages to start coming in. You should have been flattered, honestly - you had at least a handful of people in your messages practically begging you for the honor of paying your fucking rent - but you really just felt like you were playing a part that you hadn't even read the script for. You had curated your profile with all the things that made you appear more cultured than you actually were: going to museums and pondering over Baroque art and reading poetry over a pretentious cup of coffee. Sure, these were all things you had done - you had photo proof, after all - but somehow you didn't recognize yourself. It felt like you were looking at pictures of a stranger living a life you wanted but couldn't reach. 

Most people were fine - charming, even. You got maybe one or two that felt like they would lure you into their sex dungeon to murder you, but that was expected with any dating site. You even went on a few dates, scrounging up the nicest dress you owned and getting pampered at a five-star restaurant or going for a ride on an older woman’s personal yacht. One person even took you for a helicopter ride, which was fun but she was a little too handsy on the first date to warrant a second. 

One name kept popping up though, a name that was becoming far too familiar in your notifications. 

ellie: meet me at 8 <3 

When she first messaged you, you had thought she was like you: somebody searching for a partner to pay their bills. Her pictures didn't exactly scream sugar mommy material. Her first picture was just a normal selfie taken outside; she wore a worn out leather jacket, her short hair tangled from the wind and green eyes squinting in the sunlight. She had stupid pictures of mushrooms and candid shots of her browsing a science museum, looking far too excited in front of a t-rex skeleton. Hell, in most of her pictures she looked like she was wearing clothes she had found at a thrift store.

You had thought she was like you, until she sent you a picture inside her fucking Rolls-Royce. 

“Fuck,” you audibly cursed into the quiet of your room. You had been talking for a few days, and she had begun to do that - sending you small selfies throughout the day. In the last one, she had taken a picture in front of the mirror at the gym, flicking off the camera, her lean muscles glistening with sweat. Before that, it had been a blurry picture of her dog, Riley - a huge German Shephard - splayed on her back at a park, leaves stuck in her fur. 

So, yeah, when you found out Ellie was not only rich, but rich enough to casually have a Royce, you were more than a little surprised. 

The selfie was cute, you couldn’t deny that. Her hair was wind-swept, catching in those long ass eyelashes. Ellie’s nose was scrunched up, freckles popping against her cheeks, holding up a peace sign. 

She was fucking adorable and you already knew it. But seeing her worn out leather jacket and messy hair against black and white leather seats that looked like they, alone, cost more than your entire apartment complex combined - it was a little jarring. 

And when she asked you out on a date soon after - after finding out she wasn’t Iike you but rather searching for someone like you - how could you say no? 

Ellie offered to pick you up - like a gentleman, she had said - but frankly, you weren’t quite convinced yet that she wasn’t some blood-thirsty pervert trying to lure you into her dungeon, so you politely declined. Instead, in your nicest dress and heels you hardly wore because they pinched your toes, you called an Uber. 

You had never been to this side of town. You had plugged in the address Ellie gave you - had double and triple checked it while your awkwardly chatty Uber driver tried asking you about what you do for a living - but the streets here were so unfamiliar you may as well have been in another city. You looked at the foreign buildings rising up around you, large windows giving you a glimpse of the life inside them. People were sitting outside in the chilly air, laughing over wine and dinner. Looking at them - with perfectly sculpted hair and clothes you would have to spend several entire paychecks on - you felt like a cheap impersonator dressed up in a costume. 

The Uber pulled up in front of a hotel, and your heart stopped. Surely, this wasn’t where Ellie had sent you - leading you to some fucking hotel room when you hadn’t even met yet? 

You turned to the driver, your home address at the edge of your tongue, when the car door opened. 

You had practically been leaning against the door to peer out the window, and nearly lost your balance when it was suddenly gone without warning. You looked up, ready to yell at whatever pretentious prick in Prada was trying to fuck with you - but your voice died in your throat. 

Ellie was shorter than you thought she'd be, honestly. In all her pictures, she had this commanding energy, like she would tower over you in person. 

Which, to be fair, she was. She had her arm propped on the doorframe above your head, leaning over so she could meet your eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face, a few stray strands falling over her forehead, and she was looking at you with an intensity that hadn't quite translated through her pictures.

Ellie smiled - that adorably crooked smile you had seen in all her selfies - and said, “Hi.” 

And the only word you were able to get your mouth to form was, “Fuck.” 

Ellie blinked at you for a moment - long enough that you could feel the flush creeping up your neck and were ready to walk home if you had to - before she finally laughed. That wasn’t like what you had expected either; she had this deep, rough laugh, almost like she was trying to hold it in. 

She looked up at you through her lashes - you tried to ignore the way your heart inexplicably skipped - and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment?” Her voice tilted up at the end like it was a question. Ellie ducked her head down further, looking past you to meet the driver’s eyes, and pulled cash from her back pocket. With her most charming smile, she handed it to the driver and said, “Thanks for getting her here safe.” 

You didn’t see how much money she gave him, but after she took your hand and guided you out of the car, you turned back just in time to see his grin before he sped off. 

“Thanks for coming out.” You looked back at Ellie and found yourself speechless once again. (You, thankfully, were able to hold in the expletive this time.) The worn out jacket that had featured in just about all of her pictures was missing, replaced instead by a pristine, white satin shirt, the top few buttons undone to expose a sliver of collarbone and a gold chain beneath. Despite the chill in the air, she had a classy black jacket hanging from her arm as though it were an accessory. Ellie smiled and looked down, licking her lips before saying, “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

You tried to smile at her but found that your eyes kept flitting behind her, looking at the looming monstrosity of the hotel. It was a nice hotel - the kind that had a huge fountain right in front of it and a chandelier in the lobby that sparkled through the window - but it was a hotel nonetheless. Despite the set in your jaw, traitorous tears stung the corners of your eyes; you wanted to kick yourself for actually thinking that Ellie might be different. 

Ellie followed your gaze over her shoulder, her smile dropping, before she quickly turned back to you with panic in her eyes. She stumbled over her words as though her tongue weren’t cooperating: “Shit, I’m sorry, this looks really bad doesn't it?” She grimaced and squeezed your hand she was still holding, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head with the other. “Fuck, this isn’t the first impression I wanted. I could promise it's not what it looks like, but maybe it'd be better if I just showed you?”

You honestly did think about telling her to fuck off. She was a complete fucking stranger that you only really knew from a dating app, and she was trying to lure you into a hotel in a part of town you were unfamiliar with - really, only an idiot would follow her. 

But she was looking at you with wide green eyes, the lights around you shining back like stars. While searching for the constellations, you found yourself saying, “Okay.” You blinked, pulled from a trance, and added, “But you should know, I do have a taser in my bag.” 

That pulled a shocked laugh from Ellie’s lips. She gently tugged on your hand, pulling you towards the door, and said, “Smart girl.” 

You knew that the hotel was outside of your price range because a perfectly groomed doorman opened the door for you, waving you inside with a gloved hand. You didn’t take much time to process the interior - the chandelier was just as grand as it had seemed from outside and elaborate columns rose to the ceiling - because Elllie was pulling you towards the elevators. It was like she wanted to ignore the fact that she had brought you to a hotel at all. You couldn’t decide if that was reassuring. 

In the empty elevator, you gently drew your hand back and leaned against the wall opposite her. You tried to ignore looking at the way her pinstripe slacks hugged the curves of her thighs, the fabric straining when she propped one booted foot on the wall behind her. 

“So,” you started in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence, “if you’re not leading me into a seedy hotel room on the first date, then what are we doing?” 

“Okay, one,” Ellie said, chuckling, “this is anything but a seedy hotel. And two, what kind of a date would it be if I ruined the surprise?” 

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” you countered. 

Ellie grinned. “I think you’ll like this one.” 

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie held her hand out to you as though it were a question. You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand back in hers and letting her lead you out into open air. 

You nearly choked on a gasp. 

The bar itself was beautiful - fairy lights stretched above your head, twinkling like stars and casting the rooftop in a warm glow. Wooden tables and plush couches were spread artfully around the space, far enough apart to provide the patrons scattered about with some privacy. 

The bar was beautiful - but the view was fucking breathtaking. 

The city stretched out beyond the railings, open in a way you had never seen before. The skyline rose around you, each building shining like its own little galaxy amidst a sea of stars. The city lights blocked out the actual stars - a fact that never failed to piss you off - but you could see the crescent of the moon rising over the city, casting a quiet glow like a veil. 

You looked back at Ellie, and whatever your face held made her grin. She leaned in just enough so that her murmur was for your ears only: “So, was I right?” 

You blinked, momentarily distracted by her proximity - she smelled intoxicating, spicy and warm with a hint of tobacco beneath - before you finally said, “What?” 

Ellie snorted, breaking whatever spell she had put you under. “The surprise,” she said, leaning away enough for your head to clear. “Was I right?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, pursing your lips as though you had to think about it. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the skyline stretched before you. 

You finally said, “That depends on how good the drinks are.” 

When Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her nose scrunching. It was a full, rich sound, hanging in the air above your head like helium. It made something in your chest tighten, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

She squeezed your hand, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “The old-fashioned's to die for.” 

You pursed your lips again to hide your smile.

Ellie didn’t bother checking in with the host, simply shot her a smile and a wave as you walked by - you tried to bite back a giggle when you saw the host’s face turn red, her eyes tracking Ellie as she led you to a table right along the edge of the railing. She pulled the chair out for you - “Such a gentleman,” you laughed - before taking the seat opposite you.

As she waved over a waiter, you took a moment to lean your head over the railing. It was made entirely of glass, giving you a clear view of the city below. You could hear the distant sound of traffic, cars racing below you like shiny beetles, but it was like it was coming from a different world altogether. Everything seemed impossibly, wonderfully small from up here. 

You looked up at the sound of your name to find a groomed waiter wearing a fucking waistcoat standing before you. Ellie was looking at you with laughter in her eyes, her lips twitching. 

“Shit, sorry,” you said, immediately flinching at your own curse. You suddenly couldn’t remember the proper etiquette in a fancy bar, feeling out of place and underdressed even in your nicest outfit. You looked between Ellie and the waiter, wracking your brain for any kind of drink that wasn’t a trashy cocktail you’d find at a dive bar. 

Seeing you floundering, Ellie gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Do you like wine?” 

Relief washed over you as you nodded. Turning back to the waiter, Ellie ordered something that you couldn’t even hope to pronounce, charm lifting the corner of her mouth. She spoke to the waiter with the steady ease of familiarity, laughing at some inside joke; you briefly wondered just how often Ellie came to this bar. Surely, a nice place like this - at the very precipice of the world, looking down at the stars - wouldn’t be a regular stop on anyone’s schedule, but Ellie and the staff spoke like old friends. 

When the waiter left, tussling Ellie’s hair playfully, she turned back to you and the awkwardness of a first date finally set in. Sure, you had been texting Ellie every day for a week now, but you still hardly knew the girl. You knew she liked mushrooms and hiking. You knew that most of her clothes were from the thrift store even though she could afford any designer brand she wanted. You knew her favorite video game was Dishonored. But nothing you knew was enough for a relationship. 

But you weren't exactly looking for love, were you? 

After a moment of silence, Ellie cleared her throat, looking out over the city. “It's nice out here.” 

You snorted before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth; it didn't cover the laughter in your eyes. You said, “You're really talking to me about the weather?”

Ellie opened her mouth, an indignant sparkle to her eye, before shutting it again. It was like she was malfunctioning, opening and closing her mouth yet no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, looking at you as though you were something new and interesting, before finally chuckling, looking away. “Yeah, I-I guess I am.” When she looked back up at you, her eyes were surprisingly sheepish. “Not making a great first impression, am I?”

You couldn't stop the smile that crept up to your eyes. You leaned closer, propping your chin in your hand, and said, “I think you're doing okay so far.” 

Ellie laughed that wondrous laugh again, her nose scrunching up, and the cord in your shoulders loosened. 

“Okay,” she sighed, her eyes still alight with residual laughter. “Okay, damn. Tell me about yourself.” 

“Well now this just sounds like a job interview.” 

Ellie threw her hands up in mock frustration, trying to stifle her own grin. “Okay, fuck, knock me down again! You're obviously an expert, so show me how it's done.” 

She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking at you expectantly, and it was the perfect moment for your drinks to arrive. Ellie did, in fact, order an old-fashioned. The waiter set two wine glasses on the table, producing a bottle seemingly from thin air. He held it out, explaining to you in rehearsed prose the year, acidity, and complexity in words that passed straight through you. You nodded along even as you didn't process a single word he said. 

When he left, you turned back to Ellie and said, “How did you find this place?” 

Ellie took a sip of her drink. The lights of the city danced in the amber glass. “Just an old haunt of mine, I guess.” 

You took a sip of the wine, taking the distraction. It was warm on your tongue, tasting of wood and fruit and something spicy just underneath. The wine you usually drank was the stuff you could find in your nearest grocery store, often tasting concerningly like bug spray and bought with whatever tips you had managed to scrape together from work. It was usually shared with a friend on your kitchen floor, the walls and thoughts spinning over your head. 

You much preferred wine like this: The taste of warmth and fire on your tongue, the cool air brushing your shoulders at the edge of the sky, and a beautiful person sitting across from you.

When Ellie lowered her glass, you could see amber droplets of whiskey clinging to her lips before her tongue darted out to catch them. You tore your eyes away, but her smile said that she had caught you staring. A chill ran up your spine that you were sure was just from the cold. 

Seeing you shiver, Ellie wordless reached behind her where she had tossed her jacket over the back of her chair. Standing, she rounded the table only for a moment, only long enough to place the coat over your shoulders. Her hands lingered there for a second too long before she retreated, sliding back into her seat as though she had never moved. 

“So, why are you here?” she finally said. 

You pulled the jacket around your shoulders, distracted by the smell of it. The same smell that must be her perfume clung to it, spiced and warm like an open fire, but something else clung to the fabric too. It was strangely metallic, sharp and intoxicating, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was shockingly warm against your skin. 

“I’m here,” you said, raising a brow and ignoring her real question, “because you sent me this address and told me to meet you here at eight wearing my nicest dress.” 

The corner of Ellie’s lips quirked, a grin she was trying to hide. She clasped her hands, leaning across the table so you could smell the whiskey on her breath. “And you agreed to meet a stranger at a seedy hotel,” she murmured, mocking your remark from earlier. Her grin revealed itself when your cheeks flushed. “But why are you here - what are you seeking?” 

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think? It’s pretty obvious why I’m on the app.” You cocked your head, leaning across the table, feeling a strange thrill when her eyes flashed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity, and you couldn’t remember when you had become so easily starstruck. “The real question, Ellie, is why are you?“ 

Ellie’s eyes darkened, and you weren’t sure if you just imagined her eyes flicking down to your lips. She looked back up at you through her lashes, her voice rough when she said, “That’s a third date kind of question.” 

Your eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure you’ll get a third date?” 

Ellie tilted her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips, and said, “Call it a hunch.” 

The waiter came to check on you, appearing at your shoulder like a ghost. You hastily retreated, leaning back in your chair as though the electricity in the air had shocked you, and took a sip of wine that was more than a little overzealous. You tried to choke it down as Ellie waved the waiter away with that heartstopping crooked smile. What happened to you? Since when were you so easily charmed by freckles, green eyes, and smart-ass comments? You couldn't remember the last time you had been so infatuated during a normal date, let alone one with these kinds of strings attached. 

“So you don't want to be in an interview,” Ellie said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I guess all my typical getting to know you conversations are out of the question.” 

“I didn't say that,” you countered, your throat still burning from your accidental wine waterboarding. “But come on - what girl are you going to impress by asking her questions like ‘Tell me about yourself,’ or ‘Why are you here?’ or ‘Why are you more qualified for this position?’”

“Okay, okay, goddamn,” she said, laughing. Grabbing the wine bottle, she looked at you for permission before pouring you another glass.

You brought the glass up to your lips, taking a sip to hide your smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely from the wine and nothing else. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“I hardly know you.” On one hand, that felt entirely untrue - but especially after this recent discovery, you really knew nothing about this girl. “Tell me about you.” 

Ellie laughed that same rough laugh and your heart jumped. “Oh, so you're allowed to be the interviewer.” 

You nodded, twirling the glass between your fingers and looking at her expectantly. 

After a moment, Ellie rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but you could see the humor in her eyes. She downed the last of her old-fashioned and, like a good sport, said, “What do you want to know?”

Turns out, there was a lot to know - more than a simple dating app would tell you. Ellie had an older sister, Sarah, who lived in Dallas. Her dog was named after her childhood best friend. Her jacket wasn't thrifted after all, but had been her dad's. Speaking of which, she used to go hunting with him every season (“I haven't been in years, though,” she said, her eyes distant). On the weekends, she'd go to antique stores to look for art and trinkets to fill her house - her favorite antiques were from the 17th century. She hated horror movies and was a sucker for a good romance. 

In return, you caved and answered her pressing questions. You told her about your best friend - Ellie laughed when you told her that your friend had sent you the link to the app in the first place. You told her about your favorite show that you binge-watched whenever you felt like you were spiraling. You did not tell her about your apartment that was probably the size of her closet or the fact that you'd have to watch your budget after taking the Uber tonight, not to mention the extra $30 Uber to get home later. You did tell her about your family, and a strange, unexplained sadness crept into the creases around her mouth. You did tell her about your job, but didn't mention the second one you worked to afford groceries. You told her you were hoping for a real, human connection, yet didn't mention that you couldn’t imagine finding it in a fucking sugar mommy. 

All too soon, the wine bottle was empty and your chest was comfortingly warm. The lights strung across the bar danced above your head like fuzzy stars, and Ellie's smile was the brightest amongst them. Her glass was still empty, her wine glass dry, and yet her eyes told you she was intoxicated by something far stronger. 

“Sorry,” you said, giggling despite yourself. “I didn't mean to drink it all.” 

“Don't worry about it, darling,” she said, her voice silky smooth, reminding you of melted chocolate sliding down your throat. She tilted her glass, letting the remnants of melting ice clink against the side. “I wanted to make sure I could drive home okay.” 

The waiter arrived then, pulling the bill from his pocket and handing it to Ellie. You couldn't read the number upside down, not through the haze of the wine, but the number of digits made your stomach clench. Ellie dropped a black card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter. 

“How much do you want me to Venmo you?” you asked when she turned back to you. You clenched your hands in the hem of your dress, already calculating the extra shift you'd have to pick up to afford it. 

Ellie tilted her head, her brows furrowed. “Nothing,” she said, as though it were obvious. 

“That wasn't exactly a cheap bottle, Ellie,” you laughed. “Let me give you something.” 

Ellie hummed, propping her chin in her hand and looking at you with those same intense eyes; it sent a dangerous shiver down your spine. “I like when you say my name.”

You blinked at her. “Excuse me.” 

“I want to hear it again. That's how you can repay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie, I-” 

“Okay, now we're even,” she interrupted, smiling that crooked grin that you had started to crave. The waiter returned with her card and Ellie produced cash from her pocket, handing it to the waiter directly. He thanked her profusely before making his exit, grinning. When Ellie looked at you again, you were still watching her expectantly, dumbfounded. She finally rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what kind of date would I be if I made you pay?”

“You're not making me, I'm offering.” 

“And I'm saying no.” Ellie stood, straightening her shirt; when she tugged at it, the collar fell a bit, exposing sharp collarbones beneath. 

Rounding the table, she offered a hand to you, pulling you gently to your feet. You pulled her jacket tighter around yourself, knowing you needed to give it back yet unwilling to part with it just yet. 

Taking your arm, Ellie leaned in close enough that your breath caught in your throat and said, “I know why I found you on Seeking, okay? So, if it's alright with you, let me spoil you. Even if that just means one bottle of wine.” 

You laughed, but it sounded breathy even to your own ringing ears. “One very expensive bottle of wine.”

Ellie shrugged, a sparkle in her eye. “It's a small price to pay for your company.”

You were silent in the elevator, but you held on to her arm as though afraid to let go. You couldn't figure out why, but something in you urgently wanted nothing more than to be close to her. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt such a pull from somebody. 

Back on the street, the lights of the city seemed so much brighter than they had before. Ellie released your arm, turning to face you, and there was a strange pinch between her brows that you couldn't translate. 

“Do you want me to call you an Uber, or do you want me to take you home?” she asked, and your brain short-circuited. When you could do nothing but stammer, tripping over your own tongue, Ellie laughed. There was no mockery behind it, only quiet, bright amusement. “I meant I can drive you to your apartment so you don't have to drunkenly sit in an awkward Uber that smells sickeningly sweet and the driver tries to make mind-numbing small talk.” 

Your sigh of relief came out more like a laugh. 

Ellie tilted her head and stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to graze your fingers, and that sigh was sucked right back into your lungs. Being so close to her made your head spin. Her breath fanned against your cheeks, smelling of warm whiskey, when she said, “Unless you want to come to my place?”

It had the uncertain tilt of a question, and Ellie wouldn't quite meet your eyes. 

“We don't have to do anything,” she continued in a rush. She scratched anxiously at the back of her head, a nervous laugh slipping between her lips. “We can just sit and talk more. Or watch a movie - my dad had this huge collection. I'm not gonna - You know, I'm not going to do anything you don't want.” She finally interrupted herself with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Fuck, sorry, I wanted it to sound more suave than this.” 

And you would be a fucking idiot to go home with this impossible stranger. You had been taught better - never get into a stranger's car, and for the love of God, never let them take you to a second location. You could let her take you back to your apartment at least - you were admittedly incredibly tipsy and didn't particularly want to endure another ride with an annoyingly talkative Uber driver. You could go home, back to your claustrophobic, quiet apartment, and maybe - maybe - text  Ellie about setting up a second date. 

You were not stupid enough to go home with somebody on the first date. 

Except clearly you were, because you took the hand that was still grazing your fingers and looked up at Ellie - the contours of her face were shockingly etched with insecurity. And your dumb mouth said, of its own volition, “Okay.”

You had expected something flashy, like what a wealthy person would own in a movie - like a penthouse overlooking the city with too-white walls and electric guitars hanging, unused, on the walls. Maybe she had walls completely made of windows so it felt like you were on a pedestal overlooking the world. 

You hadn't expected a house that was older than your great-grandparents. 

When Ellie pulled into the driveway, you were sure she was just pulling in someplace to turn around, that she had missed her turn somewhere. But she put her stupidly-expensive car into park and killed the engine, shooting you an awkward glance. 

“Sorry,” she said, chuckling. “I know it’s not much.” 

You could only look at her incredulously, speechless, before looking back up at the house before you. You couldn’t even call it a house really - estate would be more fitting. Maybe mansion. Fuck, her house was the size of your apartment complex. It towered over you, three stories of intricate woodwork, warm brown beams wrapping around the structure like an elaborate skeleton. With beautiful eaves winding around the roof and an entire turret reaching for the moon, it looked like something that had stepped right out of some 1800s southern gothic novel. 

Ellie cleared her throat, startling you from a trance. You looked back at her and, for some reason, couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

”Shit, sorry,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just - I’ve just never seen anything like it.” When Ellie’s eyes clouded over with uncertainty, you added softly, “It’s beautiful. Besides, Ellie,” you added, laughing again, “‘not much’ doesn’t really suit you.” 

Ellie opened and closed her mouth and yet no words came out. She was looking at you again as though you were something interesting - something new and exciting. Nobody had ever looked at you that way before, and the way your heart clenched at the sight was more than a little dangerous. 

Ellie finally smiled, huffing out a laugh - your heart was pretty satisfied with how often you were able to make her laugh - and said, “Do you still want to come inside?” 

And, surprisingly, you said, “Yeah, I do.” 

As Ellie got out, rounding the car to open your door for you, you discreetly checked that the taser was still in your bag. Sure, you had agreed to go home with a practical stranger, but you couldn't be too careful. 

The porch steps creaked as she led you to the door - double doors (of course), with stained glass and twisting vines carved into the wood. When Ellie opened them, it felt like you were transported to a different time on an entirely different world. 

The grand staircase caught your eye first - how could it not? Warm wooden steps covered in a blood red runner, a white banister winding up, those same vines that seemed to be the house’s signature carved into it. You could see a large, stained-glass window at the landing before it curved to disappear to the second floor. Moonlight splintered through the window in broken relief. 

As though in a trance, you wandered further into the house, walking to the fireplace situated right beneath the stairs. The wood stacked neatly inside was cold, untouched by a flame. There was a large mirror set atop the mantle, its gold frame a work of art alone. In the reflection, you could see the flush to your cheeks, and tried to convince yourself it was only from the cold. You still wore Ellie’s jacket, and you pulled it tight around your shoulders, as though it were a shield. 

You watched Ellie’s reflection as she walked slowly towards you, a small smile gracing her lips. She came close enough to touch - close enough that you could feel her cool breath against the back of your neck - and yet she didn’t put a hand on you. 

“There’s a lot more to see than the foyer,” she murmured, the words brushing your skin. “If you still want.” 

And you couldn’t stop your own smile as you turned back to her, your heart skipping at her proximity. “Show me.” 

She took your hand, her fingers shockingly cold, and led you into what must have been her living room - sitting room? Despite the fact that the house felt more like a museum - like you would get scolded for touching anything - the room was surprisingly cozy. A large, plush sectional was situated in front of another fireplace- this one also unblemished. Blankets and quilts were thrown over the couch and the accompanying chairs, leaving this time capsule looking strangely welcoming. 

“Okay, I have to ask,” you said, turning back to Ellie. She was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction with soft eyes, and you lost your train of thought. You opened your mouth but no sound came out; you weren’t sure if that was more or less embarrassing than the several curses you had said earlier in the night. 

Ellie hummed, raising her hand as though she wanted to touch you. She stopped only inches away from your cheek and dropped her hand, saying, “I’m an open book.” 

You had to turn away to collect your thoughts, wandering across the room if just to catch your breath. The opposite wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. You ran your fingers along the spines of vintage classics, an array of science books, and comics, enjoying the irony of seeing Savage Starlight in the middle of all this history. You picked up a copy to keep your hands busy. 

“How, um,” you started, stumbling over your words, “how did you end up here?” 

Ellie hummed again, and you heard her footsteps following you. “Here as in this town, this country, this world? You gotta be a little more specific.” 

You sighed, giving in and turning to look at her. She kept a careful distance, standing a few feet away from you with her hands in her pockets. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Ellie chuckled, but her eyes had grown distant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few more steps closer to you, looking at the comic book in your hands. On the app, she hadn’t struck you as the type to get easily bashful, and yet she had proven you wrong a few times already. 

“My family lived here,” she finally said, quiet as a secret. You watched her carefully, jumping at the opportunity to stare at her without those intense eyes looking back at you. Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as though she was in pain, her green eyes shining. “It was just… passed down, I guess? It’s kind of always been here ever since I can remember. I’m not entirely sure when it became mine.” 

You tucked the comic book back into its spot between The Iliad and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You said absently, “How old is this place anyway?”

”It was built in 1816,” she said automatically, as though it were memorized. 

“It’s an awfully big house for just one person.” You looked up at her through your lashes as she stepped closer - close enough that you could smell that same metallic warmth that seemed to cling to her. 

“It is,” Ellie murmured, smiling. She reached out again, and this time she allowed herself to touch you. Her cold fingers brushed against your cheek before she gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at her properly. Her green eyes were downright intimidating. “But I keep good company.” 

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t convince yourself to look away. “Is that what you say to all the girls?” 

Ellie hummed, bracing her other hand on the bookshelf behind your head, and murmured, “No, I don’t.” She pressed in closer, her gaze dropping to your mouth, and you felt like your heart was going to leap from your throat. Ellie huffed out a laugh as though she could hear it pounding against your chest. When her thumb brushed your bottom lip, your lips parted on instinct. She didn’t look away, transfixed on the point where her skin touched your mouth, and you almost didn’t hear her when she said, “Can I?” 

And you had never been the kind of person to kiss on the first date, but she was looking at you with eyes hooded with want, her breath fanning against your cheeks. When she licked her lips, you couldn’t stop your eyes from following the motion. Her lips glistened, parted and plump, looking so impossibly soft. Somehow, past your haze, you heard yourself say, “Yes.” 

Ellie took her time in kissing you. She pressed you back gently, your shoulders pressing into the bookshelf behind you, and touched her nose to yours. She took a deep breath, breathing you in. Her hand was soft against your cheek, tilting your jaw up, and you hardly had to move to finally kiss her. 

Ellie tasted just like she smelled - spicy and metallic, the old-fashioned still hanging on her tongue. Despite the cold of her hand on your cheek, her mouth was impossibly warm, her breath slipping between your lips; it was intoxicating in a way that the wine couldn’t compare to. Her mouth moved against yours, soft and slow as a dance. 

Your hands reached out as though of their own accord, circling her waist and gripping at the slippery silk of her shirt. She pressed in close, crowding you against the bookshelf; you could feel her chest pressing against you, her hips on yours, the line of her body against yours making your head spin. And when Ellie’s tongue pressed against your lips, a gentle request for access, you felt like you’d faint altogether. 

Her tongue slipped between your teeth and you couldn’t stop the breathy sound it pulled from your throat. You could feel that infuriating smile against your lips and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. You balled her ridiculously expensive shirt in your hands and pulled her impossibly closer, nipping at her bottom lip, and you wanted to swallow her gasp. 

Ellie pulled away, chuckling, but she didn’t go far. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, her lips trailing down to your jaw, and she could probably feel your pulse jump beneath her tongue. You could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Do you do this often?” 

Her teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear, and it took you a few moments before you could respond. “Do what?” Despite yourself - despite the way your fingers gripped her shirt, your head swimming and an unexplainable want burning in your veins - you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on a date with somebody I met on an app for sugar babies and go back to their ridiculously old mansion on the first date and-“ 

You cut yourself off. You weren’t sure exactly what was happening, and you were afraid that voicing it would break whatever spell you were under - whatever spell made this impossible woman’s touch feel like lightning. 

But Ellie only laughed, biting at the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Yeah, that.” 

You shivered against her touch. “No, I’ve never really done this.” 

“Guess I’m just lucky.” 

Ellie kissed you again, only briefly, before she finally pulled away. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with those same constellations; her face wasn’t even flushed, making you feel embarrassed about your burning cheeks. You were panting, intoxicated from the night and wine and Ellie. Her absence felt like an ache, your body craving the feeling of her lips, her teeth, her hands. You were close to tugging her back in, your hands still gripping her shirt, but she gently untangled herself from you with a laugh. 

“I want to keep going.” She paused, and then emphasized, “I really want to keep going. But you drank an entire bottle of wine, and I’d be kind of a shitty host if I didn’t offer you something to drink at least. Or are you hungry?” 

You were hungry, but it was the kind of hunger that food wouldn’t satiate. Still, you let your hands drop back to your sides, feeling your senses return to you now that they weren’t so tuned into Ellie - how she smelled, tasted, felt. When you laughed, it sounded breathy even to your own ears. “Some water would be nice.” 

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Stay here.” She kissed you again, lingering for a few moments longer than needed, before she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculously old mansion. 

With nothing else to keep yourself entertained, you did a slow lap around the room, eyeing the ironic blend of elegant antiques and silly trinkets that were so obviously Ellie. A cracked ivory trinket box sat on a shelf, intricate flowers engraved into the lid, set right next to a small figurine of an astronaut. Beautiful paintings lined the walls, signatures dating back to 1830 in elaborate script at the bottom, but there were also a few posters littered here and there - bands and video games. 

You walked over to the mantle, your fingers grazing over the marble top. The logs inside were untouched, and you briefly wondered if she’d light a fire soon to chase out the chill of autumn. A small jar filled with guitar picks sat at the corner, and you wondered if she really did have an electric guitar collection hidden around here somewhere. Your foot kicked an empty dog bowl, and yet Riley was nowhere to be found. Maybe Ellie took her to daycare when she knew she’d bring a girl home. You nearly laughed at the idea. 

Atop the mantle, hidden behind pictures of what must have been friends or family - hiking or traveling or laughing in somebody’s backyard - there was another picture frame. It must have fallen, face down so that the picture inside was covered. You reached out, careful to not disturb any of the other frames, and picked it up. You were just going to fix it, set it up next to the others, but something in the image caught your eye. You plucked it from its home, bringing it closer, holding it up to the light to get a better look. For a long time, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. Your heart hammered against your chest, your ears ringing, as though your body had figured it out before your brain did. 

It was an old photograph, grainy and sepia, faded and frayed around the edges with age. It was the house, looking just like it did today - the huge windows shining in the sunlight, the intricate eaves and wrap-around porch perfectly polished and new. A family stood on the lawn in front of the house, looking awkward and stiff. Back then, cameras took several minutes to actually capture a photo, so people tended to look a little awkward from trying to hold the same expression for so long. But that’s not what had caught your eye. 

It was a small family - a weary looking dad and his two daughters, looking just a few years younger than you. 

She looked a little different. Her hair was longer, falling in waves around her shoulders. She was definitely a few years younger, and she wore a sweet, full-length gown instead of a worn leather jacket. 

You checked the date in the bottom corner at least five times, but there was no mistaking it. The person in the photo was undeniably Ellie, standing in front of this house in 1816. 

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peejayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound

[short-honey-badger]

Miss Twilight 2

Crocodile plans, and you put your own plans into action.

Part 1 -> HERE Part 3 -> HERE Part 4 -> HERE Finale -> HERE

Before the day is over, Crocodile has called in the members of the guild who used to be part of Baroque Works. Daz is the first to get there, followed by Galdino and Zala. It's a small group, but the three of them had proven themselves loyal to Crocodile more than once in the past, and he was sure that they would know who you were. Maybe even where you were.

Before the door can shut after Zala, a booted foot catches the door, and Mihawk comes sauntering in, a bored look on his face as he settles in the same seat as earlier. Crocodile glowers at the other man but just gets a shrug for a response, so he huffs and speaks.

“I'm under the assumption that the three of you remember Miss Twilight.”

Zala grins from where she leans comfortably in her chair, “How could I not remember my dearest drinking buddy? Have you found her, Sir?”

Crocodile frowns. He hadn't known that Doublefinger had been so close with you, and it annoys him that he'd never noticed. He shoves the feeling away however, and shakes his head, lounging back in his chair and plucking his cigar from between his teeth to ash it before inhaling a lung full of smoke and blowing it out toward the ceiling, “No. But I want her found and brought back into the fold. She would be invaluable to the Guild.”

He ignores the knowing look that Mihawk shoots him from under that ridiculous hat.

“She went dark after Alabasta, but she was loyal like the rest of you, so I'm inclined to believe that someone has happened for her not to be here already,” Crocodile continues and he watches Daz nod along.

“She wouldn't have been caught unless she wanted to be seen. Or she made a mistake,” Daz puts in, and Zala scoffs and crosses her arms.

“Our Twilight? Caught? Don't make me laugh.”

But the moment Zala said the words out loud, an unsettling silence fell over the room. While they knew that you were excellent at staying unnoticed and unobtrusive, they also knew that none of them were perfect, their evidence being everything that happened with the Strawhats and the events afterward.

“Well then, what are we going to do if she's been caught? How do we find her?” Galdino whines from where he sits leaned forward, leg jiggling with poorly concealed nerves, “The navy won't have anything to do with us now that you're no longer a Warlord.”

Before Crocodile can speak up, the other ex-warlord in the room makes himself known.

“Yes, but that does not mean we do not have any connections. I'm sure that I could pull a few strings. Several high-ranking members owe me a favor or three,” Mihawk drawls and crosses one leg over the other, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on top of Crocodile's desk.

“I'm sure I could wriggle some information out of our resident marines, too. I might not be as good as our Twilight but I'm not too shabby,” Zala offers and when Crocodile inclines his head, she stands from her chair and flicks her fingers in a lazy salute before she leaves the room.

Crocodile had forgotten about the captured navy vessel that the pirates under Buggy had brought in yesterday. The guild always needed resources, and navy ships could always be repainted and refitted.

“Daz, go with her,” Crocodile orders, and his first mate dips his head and then follows his partner out the door. He rounds on Mr. 3, purple eyes narrowed before he flicks his hook toward the tent city, “Go find the clown and make sure he doesn't get himself killed or something.”

Galdino gladly skedaddled from the office. He knew that he wouldn't be much help in finding you, but he appreciated being in the loop, even if being boxed in by two ex-warlords made his teeth rattle.

Crocodile shook his head at Mr. 3's quick departure, hand raising up to rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. The more he'd thought about it, the more it became apparent to him that you must have slipped up somewhere and got yourself caught. Anyone else, Crocodile would have dropped you, claiming that you being so careless had cost you a spot within the guild, but he couldn't do that. Not to you. Not when he still ached for you and you didn't even know it yet.

Fuck. He sounded like a love struck idiot, but maybe that is what Crocodile was for you. He sighs and looks over his desk at Mihawk.

“And why are you so adamant about this?” He demands quietly. The hawk wasn't usually interested in anything unless it pertained to him, and it unnerved Crocodile a little to have the other man so fascinated.

Mihawk shrugs one shoulder, “Boredom, mostly. But we are partners, Crocodile, so I feel obligated to assist you in your endeavor. And I wouldn't mind meeting the woman who's captured your attention.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes and puffs harshly at his cigar. He shouldn't have been surprised by Mihawk’s answer, “She is useful and a fine operative. I value people who can prove themselves worthwhile, Mihawk. It would be a shame to leave someone like her in the hands of the Navy. If they have her.”

Mihawk hums quietly and then pushes himself up from his chair, boots clicking against the hardwood as he makes his way to the door, “Of course you do, Crocodile. I'll keep you informed if I have something for you.”

Now alone in his office, Crocodile allows himself to slump back in his chair, a tired look drawn across his face as he sighs deeply. He would find you, and he would destroy any who got in his way of achieving that.

----

You wake to the sound of loud whispering. You don’t dare move a muscle, not wanting whoever it was to know that you were awake and listening. You keep your breathing deep and steady, not changing it from your sleeping pattern.

“Did you hear? The Cross Guild took another one of our ships hostage.”

There is a scoff, and then another, deeper voice.

“Sorry bastards can’t even afford to build themselves a ship. It won’t be long before one of our Admirals have enough and go track them down and haul them back to Impel Down.”

You jolt when the bars of your cell are suddenly stuck, eyes flying open to see the two marines staring down at you. You glare right back and sit up, making a show of stretching out your loose limbs, arms arching above your head before you plop your hands back down on your lap.

“Can I help you?”

The marine with the baton sneers down at you, and it’s then you notice the plate of straight gruel that the other man holds, “Breakfast, pirate scum, so don’t you dare try anything.”

You raise your hands in surrender, but your eyes never lose sight of the keys that the second marine produces. You watch him unlock the door and then shove them back in his right front pocket. A dangerous plan forms in your mind, but it’s one that could prove you a way out of here.

You wait for them to enter your cell, eyes tracking their every move, and when the one with the baton turns away, you leap forward, slamming your hand into the bottom of the plate of gruel and sending it flying into the marine’s face. He shouts when the hot food covers him, hands covering his face to try and wipe what he can away. His partner spins around, and you aim a kick for his middle, sending the marine flying back into the cell bars with a grunt. With them both preoccupied, you slip your hand into that front pocket and snag the keys, tossing them behind you and under the cot, hidden from sight.

“You bitch!” The marine with food all over his face snarls at you. He lunges forward and you let him, taking the hit to the stomach with grace as you fall to your knees, teeth grit in pain. The marine with the baton is suddenly there, weapon raised high before he brings it down across your face.

You hiss when your lips burst, bright blood spilling forth and sliding down your chin to stain the rags you’d been given to wear. It hurts, but with the two of them so pissed off, neither of them notice the lack of keys when they march off in a huff, cursing you to oblivion and back again. You can’t help but grin, however, you have the keys to the entire brig now. The pain had definitely been worth it.

That grin turns into a cackle of delight when you try the door. They hadn’t even locked it back with the other guard’s keys! This has been too easy, but you aren’t complaining. The marines had always lacked intelligence after all.

A new, bigger, more devious plan plants itself in your mind. If Crocodile was looking for ships, well, the least you could do was bring him one yourself.

[rrrrinmaru]

picasso (marius x fem!reader) (nsfw)

wc: 5.7k rating: E warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, handjob, squirting, they're both freaks for each other

“I think it’s pretty,” you say plainly. “I like the look of it. I’ve always had a soft spot for ink wash works.”

The exhibit is held in a famous glass museum in downtown Stellis. There had been a controversy about the full glass walls and privacy issues a few years ago (you had read this case once, out of curiosity, and never again), but that was eventually resolved and now the first floor of the museum was regularly used for art exhibits. 

Before you knew Marius’ secret identity, you had invited him to visit one of Z’s exhibits. And Marius, the most shameless man to ever walk this Earth, had agreed. 

Fortunately, you learnt about this secret before you bought tickets for the exhibit. Not that you wouldn’t want to see his works displayed in the gallery, but the thought of you gushing over Z’s artwork in front of Marius without knowing the truth… 

It’s embarrassing. 

Today, however, it’s a different artist’s work on display. Thomas Mikeden, a foreign painter who’s been going on an exhibit world tour. Stellis is his latest stop, and everything just lined up. Both of you had the day off and tickets were on sale. You had invited Marius to the exhibit, excited to hear his artistic insight about the paintings, but Marius has been… a little petulant.

“I can’t believe we’re looking at a Mikeden painting,” he mutters, arms folded across his chest. “The first time you invite me to an art exhibit and it isn’t even mine; I can overlook that, but Mikeden?”

“What do you have against him?”

“We’re friends,” Marius says solemnly, looking like he doesn’t even believe the words coming out his mouth, “but we suffer from creative differences. Severe creative differences. If I ever have to see the way he mixes his oil paints again, I’d end up on the news for criminal activity. And he said if he ever had to see me try to sculpt a pot again, he’d wring my neck himself. He said my clay pots were an abomination against God.”

You blink at him. “You know how to do pottery?”

“According to him, I don’t.”

And suddenly, you get it. Creative differences, more like a bunch of children arguing over who does something right, or who does something better. Like kindergarteners fighting over whose parent made them the better lunchbox. 

“What are your thoughts on his ink wash painting?” 

Marius gives you an appraising look. “Not his worst work. He’s alright with ink wash. I've personally dabbled in ink wash before. It’s not my preferred medium, but we learnt it as part of our curriculum.”

You turn to look at him, eyes bright. “Really? Do you still have those ink wash paintings hidden away somewhere?”

“Of course. I never throw my works away. I’ll bring you to one of my storage warehouses one day.” 

One of his storage warehouses? It never occurred to you that painters would need a lot of space to store their paintings, even more so if they were particularly diligent and practiced different painting techniques often. With how many easels and canvases were strewn about Marius’ house, you suppose you should have made the connection.

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

The next few works are insightful, to say the least. Marius gets up close and personal with one of them to sneakily point out to you a place where Mikeden allegedly made a mistake and had spent hours trying to cover it up. 

“This is from when he tried to lean into the Baroque style,” Marius says, using his thumb to frame certain parts of the painting to draw your eye to them. “The colors here, see, the stark contrast between the light and the dark? That’s the use of tenebrism, popularised by Caravaggio.”

“Hm,” you note, eyes wandering around the painting. It’s a stunning piece of work, and Mikeden captured the likeness of the male form well. The extreme contrast almost seems to frame the figures with a halo, a light that blooms from their very center to strike at the viewer’s attention. “They’re quite handsome.”

Marius makes a sound at the back of his throat. “You’re more into modern men, jiejie.”

You hide your laugh behind a cough. He’s like a needy kitten pawing at you for attention, and you’re helpless against someone this cute. 

“Yes, yes, look at how handsome you are,” you say, turning around to face him head-on. You reach out, smoothing the non-existent creases away from his button-down. 

Without really thinking too deeply, your fingers linger on the stretch of the fabric across his chest—the thought that you can see them if you squint hard enough comes unbidden to your mind. The small bumps under the fabric, stiff from the slight chill of the room. 

It’s the kind of thought that grips you by the throat, sitting in your mind and taking up space, holding you captive until you do something about it. 

You brush your thumb against one of them, just because they’re right there, because you can, because Marius’ hands are on your hips and you’re feeling a little… playful. 

Immediately, a hand catches your wrist. It doesn’t stop you from pressing the pad of your thumb lightly against that raised bump, and Marius’ breath hitches. His fingers flex against your wrist, hard enough that you can’t help but smile. 

He’s usually the one making you flush in public, so you mark this as a victory. The sight of him, red-faced and pouting, heart pounding so desperately you can feel it through his chest—you pull your hand back, and he lets you go. That hand drops back to your waist as you bring your thumb to your lips, and you hold Marius’ gaze as the tip of your tongue darts out to lick your thumb.

Marius goes still. It’s as if he’s nothing more than one of the paintings hung up on the gallery walls, with how still he is; his pupils are blown wide and he gives you this shaken look, as if you’ve completely disarmed him. Swept him off his feet and left him grasping at straws to find the words to say. 

Eventually, you go back to smoothing out his shirt. Properly, this time. No messing around.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Marius murmurs, his breath puffing against the curve of your throat as he leans down. His voice is soft, barely louder than a whisper, but it somehow feels deafening in the quiet of the room. 

Your hands tighten around the front of his shirt. “Marius?”

“Be quiet for a moment,” he says. His fingers rest on your hips and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off his palms. It makes you want to shuffle away, pull back and put some space between the both of you—he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t tighten his grip, but his hands somehow get heavier. Like a weighted blanket resting around your waist, shackles holding you in place without really holding you at all. 

Your heart kicks in your chest. It isn’t often that Marius gets this way, so quiet and possessive, like he has to cage you in a small corner and watch you to make sure you don’t get away. His forehead rests against your clavicle—it’s not a comfortable position, not when he’s so much taller and he’s pressed up so closely against you that you can feel the way his chest shivers when he drags in a long breath. 

“Jiejie,” Marius whispers, voice quiet. “Sometimes, I wish I could wrap you up like a piece of art and hang you on my wall.”

He’s crazy, you think, and you realise even your subconscious thoughts have taken on this air of fondness when thinking of him.

“Is that so?” You reply, voice just as hushed. From the corner of your eye, you can see another patron glance at the both of you—they glance away, then look back, as if doubting their gaze. Yes, you think weakly to yourself, Marius is indeed clinging to you in the middle of a public gallery for expensive artworks that easily go for three times the price of your apartment. “Which wall will you put me up on?”

This time, Marius’ grip tightens imperceptibly on your hips. “Any wall that jiejie wants to be put up on,” he says huskily. His voice has dropped an octave, and the tone he takes is one that you’ve become very familiar with when you tease each other. Never enough to really commit to anything, not yet, but enough that Marius gets that look in his eyes like he’d very much want to stop being a gentleman about things. 

Abruptly, you notice the double entendre. “Marius!”

“You asked,” he says smugly, lifting his head so you come face to face with the smirk pulling at his lips. He tugs you in to press your body fully up against his, hip to shoulder. “Is jiejie shy now? I can tell you about which walls I’ve thought about you up on—my bedroom, naturally, but the living room is a strong contender.”

You gape at him, too shocked to say something smart in return. “You—! Not so loud, we’re in public!”

“No one’s listening.” Marius tilts his head, giving the surroundings a cursory once over before catching your gaze. “They’re busy looking at the art on display. I’m looking at a different kind of art on display.”

He’s so shameless that it makes you want to burst out in laughter. A different kind of art on display? Who does he think he is, a host from a host club? Where did he learn these phrases from? The Internet? His brother? Worse, Vyn? 

The thought of Marius asking the one and only Vyn Richter for advice on how to pick girls up makes you laugh. 

“You think you’re so smooth,” you say helplessly, lips curving up of their own accord as you reach up to loop your arms around Marius’ neck. “You think I’m going to fall for that?”

“I’m not a gambling man,” Marius tells you, a confident glint in his eye, “but I’ve always been lucky.” 

He puts up a strong front, but you know better. The back of his neck is hot from embarrassment. The tips of his ears are flushed red. You brush a stray strand of hair past the shell of his ear and pinch the crimson tip along the way. 

“Jiejie,” Marius whines, caught in the act. “Come on, let me pretend for a bit. Don’t you want to come home with me and have a better time?” 

He gives you this beseeching look, brows furrowed and lips turned down. You’re weak to that look—it’s suckered you into agreeing to far more things than you normally would have agreed to. But how can you say no to a face like that? To a man built like that, shoulders so broad they could dwarf you in a hug, fingers so long they could encircle your wrist, a face like God himself came down to carve it from marble—when Marius looks at you with that pleading gaze, millimeters away from begging, how can you say no to anything he asks for? 

Perhaps a stronger man would be able to resist the power of Marius’ visual attack. But you never proclaimed to have a strong willpower, and you fold like a castle of cards in a stiff breeze. 

“Let’s finish looking at all the works first. And no, just because you know who the artist is and insist that you could bring me over to his studio to see his other works—that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the works exhibited here.”

“His art isn’t even that good,” Marius says, just to be contrary. “If you really wanted to see something from him, you should see his sculptures. I’ll admit those are impressive.”

“Finish the gallery, and then we can go home. You get to pick dinner.”

He perks up. “Italian or Chinese?”

“Later,” you insist. “I want to see this painting—” you glance at the title, raising an eyebrow when you catch sight of it, “—Lotus III.”

“Inspired by the same lotus garden that was featured in Lotus 0, Lotus I and Lotus II,” Marius grumbles as he takes one hand off your waist. You slide your hands down his shoulders, his chest, and furtively pat him on the ass before letting him go. 

He jumps, eyes wide as he swivels his head around to look at you. You give him an innocent look in return. 

“If you insist on being naughty, jiejie, don’t be surprised if I snatch you away and kidnap you back home.” The hand still on your waist squeezes in warning, and heat slithers down your back at the tone in his voice. 

You put a hand over the one on your waist, sliding your fingers in between his. “Be good.”

“Good boys get rewards. Is there a reward waiting for me later, jiejie?”

Naughty, you think to yourself, side-eying him. There’s a charming smile on his face, not even bothering to hide the playfulness lurking beneath his eyes. He’s testing you, pushing and pulling at your limits to see how far you can bend over backwards. 

“Maybe,” you reply. It’s never a good thing to reveal all your cards too early when dealing with a von Hagen in a playful mood. 

Marius laughs, leaning in to press his lips against the side of your head. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

The way he practically attaches himself to your hip, thumb rubbing possessively over your waist—you can’t help the flush crawling up to your cheeks, or the heat that flares between your legs. His hold on you isn’t tight, but it isn’t loose either. It reeks of a promise, and you can’t help but look forward to what that will happen once the two of you get back to his house. Or what will happen once you get into his car, when Marius has you right where he wants you to be and there’s enough privacy for something to happen. 

You shift, thighs rubbing together involuntarily at the stray thought. Desire slips through your body like a snake coiling in your veins; if you cling a little tighter to Marius in return, your mind only half-focused on the works displayed on the walls, well, no one will know. 

You think Marius might suspect something, though, going by the way his smirk grows larger with every glance he shoots you from the corner of his eye. 

Like he’s found something he can’t take his eyes off. Like he’s found something he likes. 

You fail to give Mikeden the attention his works deserve for the rest of the time you spend in the gallery, but he’s truly friends with Marius then you think the man won’t mind too much.

==

To your surprise, Marius doesn’t immediately scoop you into his lap when you get into the car. 

He leans over to help you pull the seatbelt, and very conveniently buries his face in your neck for half a second before he pulls back. Long enough for him to press his lips against your collarbone, the tip of his tongue swiping wetly against your skin; short enough for you to wonder if you hallucinated it.

But the smug look in his eyes as he pulls the seatbelt over your chest to click it into place tells you that you most definitely did not hallucinate it. 

“Home first,” Marius tells you, pretending to be casual as he leans back in his seat and does his own seatbelt. “If you keep looking at me with those eyes, jiejie, I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to myself while we’re on the road back.”

Right, you think dazedly. You’d forgotten Marius had decided to drive the both of you here—it wasn’t far from his place, and the both of you typically take a chauffeured car, but Marius wanted to do something special today. You haven’t been on a date in a while due to your unfortunate work schedule, and it definitely surprised you when Marius pulled up to your apartment in the driver’s seat, the window wound down, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he grinned at you. 

“What a shame,” you murmur under your breath, watching as he does his own seatbelt before pulling out of the parking lot. 

Your words make Marius stiffen. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel as the other finds its way to your knee. 

Again with that loose grip that feels like a shackle holding you in place. Marius isn’t doing anything more than just placing his hand over your knee—there’s not even any real pressure behind, no force or flexing or tightening of his grip, but you feel weighed down. You feel held down.

You wonder, a little stupidly, if Marius would do something if you spread your legs apart. 

But you’re on the road. Despite the heat flaring insistently in your gut, you’re not actually ready to risk it all while Marius is behind the wheel. It would have been a different story if the both of you were in the back seat with the partition drawn up. The ride back is what, ten, fifteen minutes? There’s a lot you can get done in that period of time.

Right as you resign yourself to a normal, quick ride back home, Marius’ hand slips a little.

Just a little. It’s so subtle that if it weren’t for the heat practically bleeding through his palms, you think you wouldn’t have noticed. 

His hand goes from right above your knee to cupping the inside of your knee. 

You eye him speculatively. Was it inertia? The car made a turn and his hand simply slipped with the centrifugal force? 

His lips quirk up. “I’ll get shy if you keep looking at me, jiejie. I need to focus on the road.”

“Hm,” you say, feeling your cunt clench involuntarily when Marius’ hand moves further up your thigh. It’s not in direct contact with your skin, not when there’s your silk dress in between, but the material is thin and you swear you can feel the calluses from Marius’ fingers rubbing gently against the sensitive inside of your thigh. 

Fifteen minutes, you think. Surely you can’t die from a little fun on the road. 

“Your hand’s on the wrong place,” you murmur, gently placing your hand over his. 

Marius hums at the back of his throat. “Ah? Sorry, I—jiejie.”

You lift his hand off your thigh for a quick moment, draw apart the slit of your dress, and slide his hand under the fabric.

Directly on your thigh. You even curve his fingers back down so he can maintain that grip on you.

You can see his fingers flex. They’re stiff, knuckles tense as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When you peek at him, his ears are flushed a bright red and his Adam’s Apple bobs furiously, like he’s swallowing desperately. 

And right between his thighs, you can see a tent in his trousers. You kind of want to reach out to touch it, but you hold yourself back. 

“Jiejie,” he whines, and chances a glance at you before reluctantly dragging his eyes back to the road. “I was joking—you can’t distract me while I’m driving.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say mildly, burying the laugh that threatens to escape when his fingers squeeze pointedly around your thigh. The grave you dug is for both of you; his hand is higher now, on your thigh, so close to your core that one road bump would probably be reason enough for his fingers to slide right home. 

You almost want to pretend to jerk forward. But you have enough of your wits about you to recognise that if Marius felt the heat of your pussy through your panties press up against his fingertips at this moment, he would probably drive the car into the nearest building. 

“I’m trying to be good,” Marius complains. His fingers keep twitching against your skin, as if he’s really, physically holding himself back from doing something. 

“Good boys get rewards,” you echo, patting the back of his palm. “We’re almost home, see the gates up in front?”

He clicks his tongue. “As if I can focus on anything right now.” To prove his point, he speeds up, leg bouncing impatiently as he turns into the driveway. “Park, I have to park…”

The whole time, his hand doesn’t leave your thigh. And there’s something really sexy about it, you can’t help but realise—the slant of his jaw from the side, the way driving comes so easily to him, where he only needs one hand to maneuver the wheel. Even the way he looks over his shoulder as he eases into his parking spot makes you want to press your thighs together in a useless attempt to stave off the heat building in your core. 

“Good enough,” Marius declares, switching the engine off. “Out, out, come on—”

He snaps the seatbelt off and practically flies out the car. You’re so taken aback that you’re still in your seat when he comes to your side and yanks the door open, petulance written all over his face when he finds you still strapped in. 

“C’mon,” he whines, reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Jiejie, come on, come on—”

“Impatient,” you chide, even as you reach out to steady yourself while you exit the car. “Hold on, my heels—”

“Jiejie,” Marius says, and he seriously sounds like he’s about to burst. 

In that split second, you make a decision. Your panties are ruined as is, and you really, really want to be filled right now. You’re not sure if you can make the distance from the car to the lift, especially when the garage is so fucking huge—

“Backseat,” you murmur, and Marius reacts much faster than you expect. He pulls you up and into his chest, making you let out a sound of surprise at how aggressive he is, but he’s surprisingly gentle when he cups your jaw and slants his lips over yours. 

It’s a desperate kiss. Marius licks into your mouth, hands tight around your waist as he pulls you in close. The bulge in his slacks feels like it’s burning a brand into your hip—you want to skate your hands down, cup that swollen cock and rub your thumb over the tip. You’ve never seen it, not yet, but the two of you have fooled around every now and then so you’re somewhat familiar with the curve of his cock through his pants. 

It’s a hefty weight in your fingers, and Marius always makes the most delicious sounds when you rock your hips against him, squeezing around his thigh between your legs as you trace over the outline of his cock. 

“Fuck,” Marius curses. His fingers dig greedily into the sides of your body—the grip now is entirely different from the one at the museum. The positions are roughly the same, but this time he holds you like he’s trying to burn his brand into you, leave an imprint of bruises around your waist so you ache every time you move tomorrow morning. “Fuck, jiejie, your mouth—”

“Mmhmm,” you hum into his mouth, shoving one thigh between his legs so you can get a good seat on Marius’ thigh. It’s as if Marius has a direct line of sight into your mind—he hikes you up on his thigh so the hard line of his muscle presses right into the swell of your clit, and you groan out loud as you start rocking against his thigh. 

Fuck, you think you could cum like this. Marius’ hands have dropped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and every squeeze he makes goes straight to your cunt like there’s a livewire connection. He pulls you so high up that you’re struggling to keep your toes on the ground, and Marius is practically pulling you back and forth on his leg, helping you rut against him. 

His breath is hot. His kisses are searing, and it feels like there’s a nonstop feedback loop where your arousal pours into each other over and over again. It’s a fire in your gut, threatening to eat you alive, and when he pulls back to catch his breath, he immediately bows down to lick against your jaw. 

Marius sucks at your skin, bullying a bruise into the underside of your jaw. He isn’t satisfied with just one, and he just keeps going down the expanse of your neck, biting at any patch of unblemished skin. 

“Baby,” you whisper, one hand trailing down to press your palm over the tight bulge begging for attention. The lightest touch is enough to make Marius groan, hips stuttering as he chases your touch. “Can I—can I touch?”

Marius freezes for a heartbeat. Before you can second guess yourself, he moans into your neck, hips jerking as he pushes his clothed cock into your palm. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, nodding while avoiding eye contact with you.

His ears are crimson. So cute, you can’t help but think through the fever in your mind. It’s almost too easy to find your way around the button in his pants, and there’s some trouble with getting the zipper down from how hard he is. His briefs get caught for a moment, long enough to make Marius groan from frustration, but you shush him with another slide of your hips, cunt wet enough to drench his slacks, and Marius shuts up. 

“Good boy,” you murmur breathlessly, arching your back so you get a better angle to grind your clit against his thigh. “Be good, come on, let me—”

Unfortunately, there are no flaps in briefs for you to pull his cock out from. You reach in instead, shivering at the proper weight of it in your palm—skin on skin, you think deliriously to yourself, cunt clenching at the feeling of Marius’ cock in your hand. His cock, so thick that you can’t even really wrap your fingers around it properly, and the head is dripping. 

Marius sucks in a tight breath, cursing as he cants his hips up, almost bouncing you on his lap from the force. 

“Jiejie,” he begs, plaintive and desperate. “Nngh, please, the tip, you need to—fuck, I’m not going to—I’m going to cum, jiejie…”

And you stop thinking. You grab one of his hands and drag it to your front, so commandingly that Marius’ head flies up. His eyes are red, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath every time you swipe your thumb across the sensitive slit at the head of his cock. 

“In, inside,” you whine, rising as high as you can go on your toes. It’s not very high, given how far up Marius has pulled you onto his thigh, but it’s enough for your to drag his long fingers under your skirt and press them up against your cunt. 

Marius’ eyes are blown wide. “In-inside?” He stammers, fingers crooking automatically to press against the throbbing bud of your clit. Such clever fucking fingers, already familiar with the shape of your cunt to know where your clit is. 

Without needing much direction, he uses two fingers to drag your soaked panties to the side and rubs the knuckle of his index finger against your pussy. 

“A-ah,” you cry out, hips jerking. Fuck, you understand now why Marius reacted like that when you got your hand on his cock—there’s something about the texture of his skin, the calluses on his fingers that’s stroking the sides of your pussy, the sheer heat radiating off him—and the knowledge, the knowledge that it’s his hands on your cunt. After months of frotting, the most you’ve done being Marius’s palm flat against your cunt while you held eye contact and grinded against his shaking palm until you cummed—

“Inside, baby, come on,” you plead, rocking your hips insistently against his curious fingers. 

Again, it’s like Marius gets you. He sinks his index finger in; you think he wanted to go slow, because he tentatively pressed up into your cunt, but you’re greedy and you’ve been thinking of being filled since Marius made that joke about putting you up against a wall and you whine, rocking forward until you sink down, down, all the way down to the base and Marius’ breath is hitching in his throat. 

“You’re—” his finger bends, the tip brushing against this spot inside you that makes your entire body shiver, threatening to bend in half from the electricity that surges through you. “Shit, you’re—fuck, jiejie, you feel fucking incredible.”

“One more,” you beg, holding his wrist in place while you clench around his finger. Christ, you didn’t think it could feel this good. It’s so foreign, so much longer and thicker than your fingers—and again, the knowledge that it’s Marius’ hand, Marius’ finger is enough to make your gut tighten and sparks burst at the very end of your fingertips. “One more and my—”

You break off, thighs trembling when he swipes against your swollen clit with his thumb.

Marius groans at the sight of you, leaning in to bite at your lips. “One more and my thumb on your clit? Is that what you want, jiejie? Is that what you need?”

“Mmhmm—ahhhhhn, fuck, Marius—please, please, I’m so fucking close—!”

You’re not even sure if you’re still stroking the length of his cock. All your senses have narrowed down to your cunt, the pressure on your clit and the way his fingers have gained confidence with every stroke—he fucks up into you with such surety, so certain that he knows exactly where to hit to get that same, body shivering reaction from you.

The worst part is, he does. It barely takes one, two, three strokes while he whispers filthy things about how hot and wet and slick your cunt is, about how it’s soaked through just for him, about how he wants to bury his face in it, please jiejie, please let him put your thighs around his ears and eat you out, and you’re gone. 

It hits you so hard you think you almost pass out. The ascent comes too quickly; it almost feels like the orgasm is ripped from you from clever hands that know you better than you know yourself. It leaves you breathless, your entire body jerking uncontrollably as you whine, pussy clenching around those two thick fingers buried in your cunt. You’re mumbling nonsense, not even sure what you’re saying as your cunt gushes around Marius’ ruined pants and when you resurface, Marius looks at you like you’re the second coming of Christ.

It takes you both a while to get your breathing under control. Marius recovers first, gently sliding his fingers out of your cunt. You’re a little embarrassed at the absolute mess you’ve made, but Marius eyes the wetness dripping over his palm, down his wrist, and decides to drag his tongue along his skin to lick it all up.

He even looks right as you as he does it. The sight is enough to make your clit throb, as if gearing up for a second round. Oh, you could definitely do a second round, but you think you’d prefer for it to be in a room with a bed and not a garage.

Almost absentmindedly, you start to rub your thumb against the cockhead in your grip.

“F-fuck,” Marius groans lowly, free hand reaching out to grab your wrist. “Wait, wait—nnngh, sensitive. Give me a moment.”

You pause. You look down.

His briefs are stained. There’s a massive wet spot at the front, and when you drag your fingers out, they’re coated in a sticky, white fluid. 

You look Marius in the eye as you, too, lift your fingers to your lips. You stick your tongue out, wiping the threads of cum on your tongue so Marius can see how white looks in your mouth—and he flushes even redder than he already is, eyes darting away before darting back, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to look or not—and then you swallow. 

Marius is speechless for a while. 

“That was really hot,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “I—fuck, jiejie, I can go again. I’m serious, just give me a minute.” 

You suck on your fingertips for a moment. You’re clearly ready for a second round, but you know he gets more desperate when you keep him hanging. And a desperate Marius is always a delight to work with. 

“Bedroom?” You suggest, and your cunt tightens at the way his eyes immediately go dark with desire.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

[opbackgrounds]

i'm curious, how do you think the alabasta arc would have happened without vivi sailing with them, driving them towards their goal? i'm confused on what oda's plans were before she was finalized

I don’t know, and considering what Oda has said about how he writes it could very well be he didn’t really have a plan. The Alabasta saga is still pretty early on in One Piece’s serialization and he hasn’t tried his hand at a story that ambitious before.

Something to consider when thinking about One Piece is that the Seven Warlords of the Sea were not initially a thing. The series was only supposed to last for 5 years, and once the crew hit the Grand Line they were just supposed to go against the Emperors and that was that. If you go back and look, Mihawk was only ever labeled a Warlord *after* Baratie when Oda name-dropped Jinbe on the way to Arlong Park; before that he was just the Greatest Swordsman in the World. I personally think that he was retroactively added to the group when Oda decided having Seven Warlords around sounded like a cool idea and he needed to give the group some legitimacy.

So having made up Seven Warlords, Oda then had to find a place for them in the story when they never initially were meant to exist, and its choices like that that turn a 5 year story into a 25 year story. For the first years of serialization Crocodile was not someone who existed, and I doubt Alabasta was a place Oda had thought of.

So who knows! It could very well be that Oda thought having a mysterious group like Baroque Works sounded cool and he made the rest up as he went along, or it could be he made up the group knowing it would be headed by one of the Warlords because he had a group of seven really strong characters he now had to find a place for. Without Oda saying one way or the other, we will never know for sure.

[discordantwritings]

Imagine- Sugar Daddy Sir Crocodile (SFW + NSFW) (Modern AU)

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS I don’t care that some of these are SFW. More detailed warnings right before the NSFW

Note: look at me and tell me this man isn’t prime sugar daddy. Also if you want more of this let me know cause. Boy there is so much I could write.

When he first approached you about the position you were caught off guard. You were a very low ranking member of Baroque Works and never saw much of Sir Crocodile so when you got called into his office you were sure your were getting fired. But, in a way, you were getting a raise.

He doesn’t pressure you into becoming his sugar baby, hell you don’t really give him the chance. A powerful, attractive, rich guy like him? Why would you even think about saying no?

Immediately you stop doing whatever job you already had and get a huge wad of cash. He tells you to buy yourself some nice things to wear since the two of you will be going out to dinner together frequently, and you should look right at home in all the fancy restaurants he will take you to.

So you do. You have the shopping trip of your life, finally able to spend money without having the crippling worry of not being able to pay for your groceries next week. You’re giddy by the time dinner rolls around and it’s time for your first date with Sir Crocodile.

He picks you up and appreciates the outfit you picked out for the night, his eyes wandering over you, putting you slightly off kilter. Being judged (even in a good way) by a man so large and influential was nerve wracking. But, ever the gentleman, he held out his hand and guided you into the car.

He takes you someplace you’ve never heard of before but when you see the menu has no prices listed you know you’re someplace special. He encourages you to order whatever you like and you eat some of the best food you’ve ever tasted.

Admittedly at first getting conversation started is hard. You’ve never had many interactions with him and there was one burning question that you couldn’t get out of your mind.

“Can I ask, why me?”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a long draw from his cigar. “You’re smart, attractive, and I could see that you might have had some interest in me too. Not much to it.”

You flush a bit when he points out that you had an attraction to him- the few times you did see him at work you did have to admit you were enraptured by his stature and the way he commanded the room. At least you’re not getting killed for it.

After that the conversation flows a bit better as he gets to know some of your hobbies and you are able to learn about his love for him bananawamis. It’s adorable how much he loves those things.

He, of course, picks up the check and drives you home. He holds your hand the entire drive home and you have to admit, you love it. Once you get to your place he gets out and opens your car door for you.

“I know we didn’t discuss if there would be anything more to this than going out to events with me, so if you don’t wish to extend our arrangement that’s fine but-“ He steps into your space, towering over you. “I would love to kiss you.”

Arrangement or not you can’t help but nod and let him pull you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. He tastes like harsh sunlight and cigars but you don’t mind it at all it’s so distinctly him. He steps away and grins and lets you go for the night.

NSFW

Warnings: phone sex, possessiveness, limited description of genitals to fit all readers

But you can’t help but think about him all night. Remembering how the kiss felt and how much you wanted just a bit more from him you got brave and texted him about what would need to be done to “extending your arrangement” even further.

Your phone almost immediately rings and you wonder if it’s a good or a bad sign as you pick up.

His voice is gruff over the phone, you think you also might have caught him in bed. “Now why are you thinking about our arrangement so late at night love?”

You’re not sure what affects you more, the accusation or the term of endearment but either way you feel the heat rising on your neck. You take too long to respond and after some shuffling on his end he speaks up again.

“I have a busy morning so if you don’t speak up…” He trails off and you know you have to answer.

“I was hoping, next time maybe, we could kiss again and…”

“And?” His voice is sharp, demanding.

“More than kissing.” You finish.

“So you’re up late at night thinking about me fucking you?” His straight forward rhetorical question hits you deep and you would be more embarrassed if his words didn’t turn you on so much.

“Yes.” You breathe into the phone. You hear more shuffling on his end and his voice is much lower when it returns.

“You all worked up thinking about me?”

At first you nod, but then realizing he can’t see you you manage to vocalize another “Yes.”

“Good. I want to hear you touch yourself.” From the way his breath sounds over the phone you think he’s touching himself too and that sends electricity through your veins. You snake your hands down your pants and moan as you touch yourself.

“That’s it love.” He rewards you when he hears your vocalizations. “Need to hear everything since I can’t see you. Do that for me.”

Being commanded like that makes you work faster, and you gasp as you tell him exactly what you’re doing. Your peak is coming up faster than it normally does when you masturbate and you tell him that too.

“Me too. Imagine how fast I’ll ruin you when I see you next. You’re mine now, got it? You won’t be able to think of anyone else now that I’ve got my hands on you.” His words are gruff and breathy and you can hear him working himself faster, just like you are.

“I’m close.” You whine to him.

“That’s right, cum for me, make yourself a mess for me.” At his words you come undone, yelling his name as pleasure rides over you in waves. As you come down from your high you hear loud grunts on his end and then heavy breaths, signaling he had cum as well.

There’s a few moments of silence as you both just breathe into the phone, enjoying just the slice of each other presence you have. Crocodile is the one to speak up first.

“Make sure you get yourself cleaned up before you fall asleep. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, love.” The term of affection has you grinning from ear to ear.

“And also,” He adds. “Don’t bother wearing underwear.”

Yeah, you’re going to love being Sir Crocodile’s sugar baby.

[moongothic]

You know I was wondering if Crocodile ever did have any kind of involvement with the Revolutionary Army in secret (lest the Government finds out and revokes his Shichibukai status), what kind of involvement would that even have been

And now, with both the Vegapunk/Ohara flashback and Kuma's flashback, it's being made very clear to us that the Revolutionary Army was broke as hell 22 years ago. Like the fact that this has been brought up twice now in a relatively short span of time is interesting to me, that's usually a sign it's not an unimportant plotpoint

But you know who would have had money to help fund the Army

A funny little warlord who would eventually go and build a fucking casino to run for funsies. A warlord who had to give the Government some of his Pirating Income to keep his warlord-status

Like Crocodile hated the Government anyways so why not help fund the Revolutionary Army in secret, out of spite if for no other reason

Vaguely related, but I keep on remembering this scene (post-Enies Lobby), which at first glance just seems like a basic Lore Dump

But then there's the

"Yet..."

(Or "however", she says "no ni" in Japanese and you could translate that in many ways, I would probably have gone with "however" but that wouldn't have fit into the speechbubble)

Mind you, the conversation just kind of ends there, next we see Garp realize he probably shouldn't have mentioned Dragon infront of such a massive audience, so wherever that "yet" was going to lead to we will never find out, because Oda conveniently changed the subject before we got to it

And you know. Like yes, Robin could be just expressing her shock over finding out that the leader of the Revolutionary Army had a child with someone

But also, Robin was a part of an organization that was trying to overthrow one of the founding countries of the World Government in an explicit attempt to go against said Government (compared to like, Blackbeard, who currently wants to make Fullalead into a "pirate country" that's a part OF the World Government)

Like you don't have to be a genius to look at Crocodile's ultimate goals and compare that to what Dragon is doing and find a few similarities here and there maybe

(Also like, Crocodile's equivalent in Romancing SaGa 2 is meant to be Wagnas, the queer-coded leader of the Seven Heroes (whom the OG Shichibukai are based on) who "hoped to help the world". You know, an interesting detail and all.)

Not to mention, during the time Robin spent with Baroque Works, if Crocodile was ever in contact with the Revolutionary Army at all, considdering she has the ability to easily spy on people and that she didn't trust Crocodile one bit, it wouldn't be unsurprising if she ever spied on Crocodile and/or just overheard a phone call or knew about Crocodile having secret spending habits or something

(Mind you, I'm not saying "she knew" Crocodile was involved with the Revolutionaries, more that she might've been Suspecting Things, that "yet" being about her connecting the dots while unsure if her conclusion was right or not)

Of course Crocodile's plans can't have been Dragon Approved by any means, especially considdering the Army had been looking for Robin for over 10 years (pre-timeskip)

Four years of which were with Crocodile. Like if he was FULLY allied with the Army and KNEW they were looking for Robin, surely he would've called Dragon and been like "hey I found the kid from Ohara, wanna come hang out" or something. But no, he had bigger plans and kept Robin a secret from the Revolutionaries and the Government alike

Also like, I have seen people question why the Revolutionaries weren't involved with Alabasta's rebellion at all, and "Oda hadn't come up with the Revolutionaries yet at the time of writing" (/"OP was meant to end at Alabasta at one point so there would've been no reason to introduce the subplot at that point") aside Between Baroque Works being a secret organization working undercover (thus the Army might not have been aware of the civil war being manufactured), the framing of the King making him look bad and very much the type of monarch that deserved to be overthrown in the Army's eyes, and Crocodile maybe lying through his teeth about what was happening in the country... Yeah, the Army's lack of involvement with Alabasta suddenly makes sense

EDIT Minor addition: Just realized that because Crocodile was technically working for the Government, if the Revs ever did send forces to participate in Alabasta's civil army and taking down the throne, the Government could've easily ordered Crocodile to step in to stop the rebellion and take down the Revolutionaries, right? Because he was supposed to be on the Government's side, right? And surely the Army wouldn't have wanted to fight against Crocodile if they were secretly allied (Croc's secret betrayal aside), and if Crocodile refused to fight the Revs the Government could've seen that as a reason to revoke his Shichibukai rights (which wouldn't be great if they wanted to keep Crocodile in a position where he could fund the Army?). So it could've also been a case of it being for the best for everyone's sake to let this one play out "naturally"

But my point is

I'm just deeply intriqued by these little details and wonder if I'm Actually Masterfully Connecting The Dots Like a True Genius or just seeing a pattern where there's none. Like this is far from confirming the theory, I'm just saying, the pieces do kinda fit together do they not

[five-rivers]

Turpentine

An AU following the same 'ages' concept as Baroque. You do not have to read Baroque to understand this.

.

As a superhero, ghost-based or otherwise, Danny tended to be hyper-aware of changes in his environment.  So long as he wasn't sleep-deprived, anyway.  Which he was.  Frequently.  But Frostbite didn't spar with him when he was sleep deprived, so, when he called a time out to their bout, he wasn't.  

"Is everything alright, Great One?" asked Frostbite.  

Danny, a little out of breath despite not needing to breathe - it was a psychological thing, okay? - shrugged and pointed.  "What's that?"

Frostbite turned to look and stiffened.  Danny didn't blame him.  The sight had surprised him, too.  A flat, black disk, about the size of his pinky fingernail held at arm's length, hung in the Ghost Zone sky, over what had formerly been its brightest part.  It looked like an eclipse, only with a lot less light escaping from around the edges.  

"Oh, dear," said Frostbite.  

"What is it?" 

Frostbite turned and flew quickly out of the training stadium.  

"Driftice!" he called.  "The age is turning!  We need the telescope!"

"The telescope?" asked Danny, matching his pace with Frostbite's.  

Frostbite spared a moment to smile down at Danny.  "It's very impressive, I think you'll like it."

Danny nodded.  He’d never met a telescope he didn’t like.  

By the time they reached the buildings proper, yetis were starting to stop and stare at the black spot.  A few of them would then start running, doing something, but others just… kept staring.  

“The telescope!” Frostbite called again.  That spurred a few more yetis into action.  He started giving people directions.

Soon, they were dragging a long, ridged tube from within one of the larger caves and hooking it up to all sorts of equipment.  The lens inside winked at Danny, its curve seeming highly exaggerated for the length of the telescope, until Danny realized it must be made out of ice, which didn’t bend light as much as glass.  

… He may have looked into making a few ice telescopes of his own.  Hey, having a hobby under his circumstances was hard!

“What’s going on?” asked Danny, after Frostbite paused in his orders.  “Are we being attacked or something?”

“Not… as such, no.”  Frostbite looked back up at the black spot, clearly worried.  “Every so often, the Realms… change.  We call it the turning of the age.  It begins with the color of the ambient ectoplasm, and the color tends to indicate the character of the age.  So far, we have been experiencing a green age, which tends towards the more natural or chaotic, with differences between ghosts exaggerated.  With ghosts themselves exaggerated to a degree.”

“Okay,” said Danny, “so… it’s not normally like this?”

“Normal is relative.” Frostbite waved his hand as if dismissing the entire concept.  “Ages can last from anywhere from one year to thousands.  This one has lasted only a few hundred.”

“And I’m guessing black isn’t a good color?”

“It is somewhat more complicated than that.  It is possible that it isn’t true black, which is why we’re looking.  To make sure.  It could be a very deep blue, or green, or red, which tends not to be terribly comfortable, but is still bearable.  It could be the color of a starry night, which is a good deal better.  It could be a color we do not have the senses to see directly, such as ultraviolet or infrared, both of which give rise to rather alien ages, but…”

“But black?” prompted Danny.  

“I do hope it is not truly black,” said Frostbite.  “How to put this… There are certain popular conceptions of afterlives, and other… let us call them worlds beyond worlds, yes?”

Danny nodded, not sure where this was going.  “Like heaven and hell, or the Greek underworld?” he asked, to clarify.

“Indeed,” said Frostbite.  “The Realms reflect those.  Or, perhaps, they reflect the Realms.  Again, the color is the indicator.”

“So, what does black mean?  Hell?”

Frostbite shook his head.  “No.  Hell is red, and… to be truthful, Great One, despite all the woes that come to the fore when we become demons, red ages have positives as well.  Black, true black, is… nothing.”

“Nothing?” repeated Danny.  He was hoping he was misunderstanding.

“Nothing,” confirmed Frostbite.  “Cessation.  Nonexistence.  Not Ending, but stopping.  It is–”

“You’re going to die?”

“No,” said Frostbite.  “As I said, no Ending.  Typically.  But… if the age is truly black, then we will cease to exist until the next age, only returning when it turns again.  It is not sleep.  It is not death.  We simply will not be.”

Danny wasn’t sure if that was better, and he was sure that showed on his face, but Frostbite didn’t look all that enthused, either.  

“The black ectoplasm will spread from where it began, affecting other ectoplasm constructs, including ghosts, on contact.”

“So, if it touches you, you just… stop existing?”

“There is generally a small amount of time between contact and cessation, but… yes.”  Frostbite turned more fully to Danny.  “That is why, if the age is true black, you must leave and not return until the age changes again.”

“What?  Why just me?”

“Think, Great One.  We are fully ghosts.  We cannot survive without ectoplasm.  Yes, some might try to hide in the human world, and avoid the touch of the black.  Some might even succeed.  But they will be much weakened, perhaps even to Fading, should the age last long at all.  But here, we will return, even if much time has passed.  But for you… You are different.”

“Because I’m a half ghost.”

“Yes,” said Frostbite.  “You may be affected just as we are, but imagine, what might happen to you if you suddenly lost your ghost half?”

“I’d… lose my powers, at least,” said Danny, swallowing against sudden nausea.  That was a little too close to what had happened in the bad future, even if it was in the opposite direction.  

“Yes, and if that happened here, while the black was coming, you would not be able to escape.  You would simply fall, unless you managed to hit something.  What is the other option?”

Not one Danny wanted to consider.  “I might… die.”

“And your ghost might come back at the end of the age, or… it might not.  I do not mean to frighten you unduly, Great One, but let me say it again: if the age is black, leave, and do not come back.  Close your portal, leave town, go where you will not be found.”

“Because other ghosts might be affected and bring it through the portal?”

“Because the portal itself would go black, and radiate throughout your town before collapsing.”

“Oh,” said Danny, softly.  “Okay.”

“I would not wish to come back to this world, only to find that you were unmade by black ectoplasm.  I would far prefer to learn that you had died after a long and happy life.”  He smiled.  “But the age might not even be black!  There could be stars, or–”

“Chief Frostbite,” said one of the technicians, nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers. 

“Yes, Flashfreeze?”

“It’s black.”

.

“I’m so sorry, Danny,” said Jazz.  

“It’s not like anyone is dying,” said Danny, mouth dry.  No one but him, if he screwed up.  

No one but him, Vlad, and Dani.  

“It’s still a loss,” said Jazz, who looked like she wanted to cry herself.  “How are we going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“I–”  He hadn’t made a decision to tell them anything.  “I don’t know.”

“They won’t close the portal unless one of us says something,” said Jazz, which was very true.  “We’re going to have to tell them, especially if we have to move away to get away from the natural portals.”

“I know,” said Danny, hunching his shoulders.  

“I know,” said Jazz.  “This is awful, but…  I don’t want you to die, Danny.  I don’t even want you to have to lose your powers.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I know.  I’m just…  I think I need to talk to Vlad first.”  Vlad was out of town for the rest of the weekend for some business thing, but he’d be back on Monday.

“What?” asked Jazz, making a face that was a very appropriate reaction to Danny suggesting they talk to Vlad.  

“He studied the same stuff they did.  He’ll know how to explain it to them.  And he might know how to find Dani.”

Jazz cursed softly under her breath.  “I didn’t even think–  You haven’t heard from her lately?”

Danny shook his head.  “Last time, she was in Eastern Europe and it was a payphone.  She’d broken the burner Sam got for her and couldn’t get a new one.”

“Crap,” she said.  “Wait, what about Valerie?  Isn’t her board powered by ectoplasm?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny, chewing his lip.  “Maybe.  Oh, gosh, what if she falls out of the sky or something?”  He rubbed his face.  “Do I have to tell her, too?”

“Maybe we can get Mom and Dad to warn her,” said Jazz, in a blinding display of optimism.  “Maybe after we tell them, they can make a public service announcement or something.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, significantly more dubious.  “I just– I think I need to tell Vlad first, that’s all.”

Jazz nodded, then paused.  “We have time?”

“Yeah, it didn’t look like it was getting any bigger from where I was,” said Danny.  “Frostbite said it could take months for the age to completely flip over, depending on stuff like where it started.”

“Okay,” said Jazz.  “Then we can wait until you tell him.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Great.”  He rubbed his arms.  He itched to leave, to run, to fly and put this behind him, but…  The idea of a touch of black, then falling–  

Jazz hugged him.  “It’s going to be alright,” she said. 

Danny hugged her back.  “I hope so.”

.

“Anyway,” said Danny, picking at a sliver of veneer that had come off Tucker’s desk.  It was only attached by one end.  “That’s it, I suppose.  The end.”

“That’s… a lot,” said Tucker.  “Are you… okay?”

“Not really,” said Danny.  “It’s–  Maybe it’s a good thing?  I won’t have to fight ghosts anymore and all that, right?”  He rubbed his eyes.  

“I mean, maybe?  I’m a little… stunned about it, too.”

“So am I,” said Sam.  “It’s just going to disappear?  All of it?”

“Yeah, apparently.”

“How long?”

Danny shook his head.  

“Oh my gosh.”  Sam got up from the beanbag chair and started to pace.  “It’s just, we have friends there.  And they’re just going to–?  Are you sure we can’t do anything?”

“Frostbite was pretty sure,” said Danny, curling up.  

“But–”

“I don’t want to die again, Sam.”  That brought Sam’s pacing to a stop.  “I’ll always fight if it seems like there’s a chance, but.  I really don’t want to die.”

Sam sat back down.  

“Frostbite really made it sound like there was nothing we could do,” continued Danny.  “He’s been around for a while, you know?  It sounded… It sounded like he’s done this before.”

“Okay,” whispered Sam.  “What do you want us to do?”

Danny shrugged, then made himself laugh.  “Get into whatever college I do?  That’s a joke.”

“Hey, you tell us where you’re going, and we will,” said Tucker.  “Fast as anything.”

“At least the same city,” said Sam.  

.

Danny had to ring the doorbell three times before Vlad opened up.  Jerk.  

“Why, Daniel,” purred Vlad, who had clearly just been taking his time, “are you skipping school for this?”

“Shut up,” said Danny, already annoyed by Vlad’s whole… everything.  “We need to talk.”

“By all means, come inside.”

Vlad’s mansion was as opulent as ever.  

“Can I offer you some breakfast?  Guaranteed not to come alive.”

Danny forced down the thought that soon his home wouldn’t be at risk for that, either, and shut the door behind him.  “No thanks,” he said, and began to share what Frostbite had told him.  

As he did, the smug look slipped off Vlad’s face, replaced with something stonier.  

“I’ll have to confirm independently, you understand,” he said.  It didn’t sound like a taunt or a joke, just a fact.  

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.  I have to go to school, so don’t get yourself killed.”

“I’m touched by your concern, Daniel, but unlike your father, I do understand basic lab safety.”

That had to be a new addition since college, but Danny kept the snark behind his teeth and just let the door bang behind him on his way out.

.

Vlad was waiting in the parking lot for him when school got out.  

“Why’s he here?” asked Sam.  

“Probably because he’s just as freaked out as I am,” said Danny.  He sat down on the steps.  “I’m going to wait for Jazz.”

“You sure, dude?” asked Tucker.  

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” said Tucker, dubiously.  

“Call us if you need us to kick some vampire butt.”

“Got it.”

Danny only had to wait a few more minutes before Jazz came out.  “Why’s he here?”

“Dunno,” said Danny, getting up and brushing off his pants.  “Want to find out?”

They walked over to the running car.  It wasn’t quite a limo, but it was long, and the back seats faced each other.  

“So?” asked Danny, climbing in.  

Vlad looked wrecked.  “You were right,” he said.  

“Wow, no kidding.”

Vlad waved off his sarcasm.  “This is not time for jokes, Daniel, I–  Jasmine.”

“Vlad.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well, you get both of us or none of us,” said Danny.  “You can drop Jazz off at home just as easily as you can drop me off.”

“And Jasmine’s car?”

“Aren’t you rich or something?” asked Jazz.  “Just drive me back.”

Vlad rolled his eyes.  “I can send someone to come pick it up.”  He leaned over to close the door after Jazz, then tapped on the closed divider between them and their driver.  The car started forward.  

“So, you’ll tell them?  Our parents?” asked Danny.  

“I’ll try.  But do you really think that will stop them?”

“Yes,” said Danny, forcefully.

“If they know it’s something that could hurt Danny, they’ll stop.”

“I certainly hope you’re right,” said Vlad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vlad’s sneer was a shadow of its former self.  He looked genuinely ill.  “Daniel, they already know their research has hurt you.  Or do you think they forgot about bringing you to the hospital after your accident with the portal?”

“That’s different.”  That was an equipment problem, not an issue with the content of their research itself.

“Is it?  They are very aware that the same research landed me in the hospital for years, no matter how much they like to ignore that little fact.”

Normally, Danny would dismiss this as just another ploy of Vlad’s, an attempt to turn him against Jack and become Vlad’s evil apprentice, but…  Not today.  There was a little too much truth to his words.  

“Did they even put up any safety measures after that?  How about when they learned their portal was spewing dangerous ghosts into town at all the hours of the day and night?”

“They did,” said Jazz, although her tone rang false to Danny.  It was true that they’d installed the doors on the portal, and the ecto-exodus alarm, but… for all they claimed to be dedicated to protecting people from ghosts, they hadn’t done much else.

Vlad leaned back.  “As I said, I hope you’re right, for both our sakes.  Based on my calculations, we should leave town before the month is over, to be safe.  If they haven’t left by the thirtieth, I advise you to come with me.  My lawyers can sort everything out after the fact, and if not, I have enough contacts to be able to create entirely new identities for both of us.”

“Do you have any idea how threatening that sounds?” asked Jazz, peeved.

“It’s a service Daniel might find himself in need of, if Jack and Maddie are unreasonable.  I have no intention of dying or letting Daniel die because of this.”

The declaration made Danny feel better.  Not much better, but better.  

The car rolled to a stop.  “In the meantime, I will try to use less drastic measures.”  Vlad raised an eyebrow.  “The question now, I think, is whether or not you will tell them.”

Danny hunched his shoulders and fiddled with the door handle.  “Yeah,” he said.  

“Excellent.  Then we can begin.”

“Wait,” said Danny.  

“What?” asked Vlad, flatly, clearly annoyed.

“Do you know where Dani is?” asked Danny, reluctant to bring Vlad into this particular problem, but unwilling to give up even the thinnest lead.

Vlad gave him a baffled look.  

“Danielle,” clarified Danny, annoyed.  

“Yes,” said Vlad.  “Don’t look so surprised, Daniel.  We may have parted on less than amicable terms, but she’s still my daughter.”

“You tried to melt her.”

“A misunderstanding.”  

Danny wasn’t sure how that could be a misunderstanding.  

“We all do unwise things under the influence of our passions, Daniel.  The important thing is that we rise above them.  You’ll understand someday.”  He climbed out of the car. 

“I hope not,” muttered Jazz.  

Then, some of the conversation’s implications caught up with Danny.  

“Wait,” he said, phasing through Jazz to get out fast and jogging after Vlad.  “Wait.  You don’t expect me to tell them now, do you?”

“Daniel, there is no time.  Tell them now, or tell them never.”  Vlad opened the door and walked in like he owned the place.  

“Vladdie!” exclaimed Jack, who had been tinkering at the kitchen table.  He leapt up and embraced Vlad, swirling him around.  Vlad looked like he wanted to die again right then and there.  

“Hello, Jack, is Maddie home?”

“Yes,” said Maddie, coming up the stairs from the lab.  Her voice was about as warm and cuddly as sandpaper left in Antarctica for three months.  “What do you want, Vlad?”

“I have discovered some disturbing news,” he said, “but I’m afraid that much of it will only make sense in the context of what Daniel is about to tell you.”

Everyone looked at him expectantly.  Jazz gave him a small thumbs up.  

Danny very much would have liked to strangle Vlad.  If someone had to out themselves, why couldn’t it be him?

“What is it, Danno?” asked Jack.  

Danny swallowed.  “Do you remember that time I got shocked by the portal?”

.

As far as reveals went… it was neither everything he’d feared nor everything he’d hoped for.  There had been a lot of shouting.  No one thought he was dead or possessing his own corpse.  Jazz had accidentally outed Vlad somewhere in the middle of an argument.  He was able to go to sleep in his own house without being afraid he was going to be dissected.  His parents had agreed to start the process of shutting down the portal.  The only reason he wasn’t super ultra forever grounded for the rest of his life was because of the whole ‘might die soon’ thing.  

It was exhausting.  Danny didn’t know if he was glad it was over or not.  

This whole week was exhausting.  

He pressed his face into his pillow and swallowed back tears.  He was going to miss his friends. Heck, he was going to miss his enemies.  

He didn’t want to die.

.

Every time he went to school that week, every time he went to Sam’s, or Tucker’s, or the Nasty Burger, or anywhere in town, he was acutely aware that it might be the last time he was in any of those places.  Every time he went ghost, he understood that this time might be it.  Every time he shooed off an animal ghost or spotted Valerie in the hall, or saw the green glow of ectotechnology–

It was ending.  It was all ending.  At least for Danny.  

He wanted to hold onto it.  He wanted to stop time - and wasn’t that a temptation?  To try to find Clockwork?  But he’d learned his lesson about meddling with time, and there was no guarantee Clockwork was even still…  

Danny settled on the word awake.  

So, he did his best to savor it all, even the bad parts.  It didn’t always work very well.  There was too much tension, too much fear.  

Tension and fear did wonders for his Doomed score, though.  He was actually close to beating Sam, for once.  

Except, no he wasn’t.

“No, no, no,” said Danny as Sam pulled a power move out of nowhere.  “Argh!”  Annoyed, he pushed his rolling chair back so he could stare more directly at Sam, where she was playing on the other side of Tucker’s attic.  She wasn’t even looking at the screen, but staring over her shoulder to grin smugly at Danny.  “You suck,” he said.  

“No, that’d be you.  You know, the one whose screen says ‘you died’ on it?”

“Ha!” exclaimed Tucker.  “I’ve got the key!”

Danny turned back to the computer and started smashing the resurrect button.  

Danny’s phone began to ring.  He juggled it open with one hand.  “Hi, sorry, Jazz, I lost track of time and–”

“Don’t come home,” said Jazz.  

“What?”

“They–”  Jazz inhaled sharply, angrily.  “The ectoweenies are dead.”  

Danny’s hand fell still.  “What do you mean… dead?”

“They’re just.  They’re hot dogs!  Rotting hot dogs.  I don’t–  I think they’re experimenting with it.  Mom and Dad.  I overheard–  I think they found some, and they’re experimenting with it, and some of them got into the fridge full of stuff we eat because neither of them ever heard about lab safety, and I don’t know if it’s safe for you to be around me, Danny.”

The death jingle played tauntingly over the speakers, three times over.  

“What- Why wouldn’t it be safe for you to be around me?”

“For you to be around me.  I could have black ectoplasm on me and not even know it.  I don’t think it’s really detectable without an energy signature, is it?”

“Jazz,” said Danny, voice cracking.  “Do you– Why?”  He gasped.  “Why would they–?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to know!”  Danny had to know!

“They said something about fixing– I don’t know if I heard it right.  I just–”  Her voice crackled over the phone.  “Go to Vlad’s.  Forget whatever they promised.  Leave now.  I’ll– If they ask, I’ll say you’re in bed.”

Danny closed his eyes.  His face was wet.  “Okay,” he said.  “Okay.  I– I love you, Jazz.”

“I love you, too, little brother.  Stay safe.”  She hung up first.  She must have known he wouldn’t.  

“You have to go, don’t you?” asked Sam. 

“Yeah,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He scrubbed at his face.  “I do.  But… I will see you guys again.”

Tucker nodded.  “You’ve still got our numbers and our Doomed codes, right?” 

Sam threw a pen at him.  “Not the time?”

“Then when is the time?” demanded Tucker, rubbing the back of his head.  “When is the time, huh?  When he’s gone and can’t contact us because he doesn’t have our phone numbers?”

“I have them,” said Danny.  “Memorized.  I– I’ll call.  As soon as it’s safe.”

“You’d better,” said Sam.  

He hugged them.  

(He hoped it wasn’t the last time.)

.

The sun was just beginning to set when Danny reached Vlad’s house, and the comparison between the darkening sky and the darkening Ghost Zone made him shiver.  He bypassed security and knocked on Vlad’s door.  

“Daniel?  What are you doing here?” Vlad asked.  Unlike before, he was wearing clearly casual clothes.  “Did something happen?”

“You were right,” said Danny.  “They didn’t stop.”  Danny’s voice cracked and he swallowed.  “Jazz says we need to leave, now.”

“Oh, Daniel,” said Vlad.  “I’m so sorry.  Genuinely, I would have preferred them to see reason, for both our sakes.’”  He reached back inside and grabbed a pair of long coats.  The first he threw at Danny, the second he put on around his own shoulder.  “Can I assume that second bag is your ‘go-bag?’”

Danny nodded.  He’d kept one at the school, and hadn’t brought it home after the reveal.  He hadn’t thought to.  He’d raided his locker on the way to get it, and before he’d left Tucker had shoved a lot of other stuff at him that had gotten squished either into his backpack or the go-bag.  

“Good.”  Vlad knelt and phased a hand through his entryway tile before pulling out a hefty duffel bag of his own.  “Then we don’t need to wait.  I’ve had my plane fueled and ready to go at a moments’ notice since you told me.”  He took two steps back into the house.  “We will transform and fly there invisibly, to avoid notice.  Can you maintain that for the entire journey?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.  

“Don’t let your pride get in the way.  Can you?  Surely, you’ve noticed our abilities becoming more difficult to access.”

Danny had thought that was just him.  Some kind of psychological thing.  But if Vlad had noticed it, too…  “I can do it,” he said.  

“Good,” said Vlad, transforming.  “Follow me.”  He turned invisible and flew through the ceiling.  

Danny paced him.  “So, where are we going?” he asked.  “On the plane,” he clarified, catching Vlad’s look.

“For now?  Missouri.  I have properties there that I never involved in my research and which should be safe for us.  Afterwards, we will be able to assess our situation and move from there.  I will have to contact my lawyers - our lawyers, now.  The child endangerment and neglect case against your parents will have to be absolutely airtight, which shouldn’t be too difficult, considering the deathtrap they have downstairs and how long I’ve been collecting evidence.”

Danny wrinkled his nose.  “And how long have you been collecting evidence?”

“Quite some time.  Don’t forget, I’ve just been vindicated, Daniel.”

He wouldn’t.  Not for a long, long time.  “Is there anything else I ought to know?”

“I was able to get into contact with Danielle earlier today,” said Vlad.

“What did she say?”

“Not much to me,” said Vlad, with a hint of wryness.  “She wants to hear everything from you before she believes anything I say.”

“And you didn’t call me?”

“She hung up on me.  Don’t worry, she’s far away from any major supernatural hotspots.  I thought I’d give her time to cool down and then contact her again while you were present.”

“Fine,” said Danny.  “Where is she?”

“Poland, at the moment.”  

They reached the airport and descended into the plane.  Danny let go of his invisibility with a heavy sigh as Vlad went about turning on the lights.  

“Our pilot will be here momentarily,” said Vlad.  “Make yourself at home.”

Home.  Danny put his bags on his lap and hunched around them.  He’d been bracing himself for this.  Really.  He’d known he was going to have to leave for a whole week, now.  

It still felt worse than getting thrown clear through a building.  

.

“It’s true,” said Danny, looking out the landscape windows of Vlad’s Missouri estate.  “I’m with Vlad, the Ghost Zone isn’t safe, the…”  He trailed off, not wanting to recap everything.  “I’m the one who told Vlad it was happening.”

“Okay,” said Dani, voice small and distant.  “So… What should I do?  If even your powers are getting harder to use…”  She trailed off, but she didn’t have to finish the sentence.  In more ways than one, Dani’s existence depended on the careful use of her powers.  

“Let Vlad bring you back here.  It’s– I know,” he said in response to Dani’s groan.  “I know.  But he doesn’t actually want either of us dead, and he’s got, you know, resources.  And– And I don’t want you out on the streets in a foreign country, okay?”

“All countries are foreign to me,” grumbled Dani.  “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Please,” said Danny.  “Even if it’s just long enough for him to set us up in a boarding school or give us our own apartment or something.”

“You think he’d do that?”

“I have no idea,” admitted Danny.  “He’s rich enough to.  Please come, Dani.”  Vlad was… not being as terrible as he could be, about all this.  Actually, he was being… fine.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.  “Alright,” she said, finally.  “I’ll come.”

.

Living in Missouri…  Well, living in Vlad’s version of Missouri was beautiful, lavish, luxurious.  Vlad was definitely going all out.  But every day Danny spent here, it felt more and more like living in a photograph.  The sunlight, the grass, the leaves on the trees… it all felt flat, as if something vital had been drained from underneath the world.  Even sitting in the garden, bare feet in the fountain, felt unreal.  

Danny didn’t know if that was just him, or if it was another side effect of the Ghost Zone going dormant.  He hoped it was just him.  That would mean it might go away if he got a grip.

“Daniel,” said Vlad, shoes crunching along the gravel path.  “I think you’ll be pleased to know the court case is going well, and I am attempting to develop a decontamination procedure that might allow Jasmine to visit us here someday.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  He swished his feet through the water.  “Do you feel like…”  He sighed, not being able to find the words.  

“Every day,” said Vlad, sitting down next to Danny.  “We won’t be able to stay here longer than a year.  Our own ectoplasm will tend to form a thin spot.”

“That’s fine,” said Danny.  “Dani likes traveling.”  She liked traveling, and hopefully Vlad would hurry up and get her fake passport made already.

“I hope you will come to like it, too…  Although, I’m not sure we’ll need to keep up that pace for very long.  Our ectosignatures are fading.  I suppose we owed more of our powers to the Ghost Zone proper than I expected.”  He shook his head. “In any case, we should look towards the future.  Our futures.  You want to be an astronaut, don’t you?”

“Does that even matter, now?”

“Daniel, you are aware of how rich I am, aren’t you?  I could buy NASA.”  Vlad’s dramatic gestures matched his words.  He even went as far as to light his hands with pink ectoplasm.  Danny watched them flicker through the reflection in the basin of the fountain.  

“No, you couldn’t.”

“No,” said Vlad, lowering and extinguishing his hands, “I couldn’t.”  He kept looking up at the sky.  “It’s strange, isn’t it?  It’s strange.  All this power we’ve had, and our passions, all our goals, simply… remained out of our reach.  But now we’re losing them.  Our powers.  Our passions.”

“Do you think we’ll find them again?” asked Danny.  

“Perhaps.  Perhaps if we live long enough, if we fight hard enough.  You do want to be an astronaut, don’t you, Daniel?”

Danny looked up, but not towards Vlad.  He focused on the thin, faint gibbous moon, visible even in daylight.  

“I guess,” he said. 

Vlad patted his shoulder as he stood.  “There,” he said.  “Then we should start discussing your education, little badger!  You can’t become an astronaut by moping around my mansion all day!”

Danny turned his head to regard Vlad with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.  “Don’t call me that, fruitloop.”

“That’s more like it!  Now, come along.  We have tutors to vet!”

.

Thinking about potentially doing more with this continuity.

[amatorygirls]

GtN and HtN spoilers!! CW: talk of not having control over your body

just randomly thought of this now so excuse my incoherentness or possible ignorance or if anyone has said this before (this is also my first ever tumblr post so sorry for formatting errors), but i was looking at fanart of cytherea the first and just loving it. i realized there’s just something so baroque about her, and i think that’s on purpose. because she’s of the 7th house yes, the emperor’s joy and all that, but also because she’s a woman, and also because she’s dying. she’s expected to be beautiful because of her affiliation and her gender, all while she’s decaying from a disease that she was doomed to be born with and could never escape until it ultimately killed her. wilting away infront of everyone. and the ENTIRE time, she was given roses. roses, the pinnacle of beauty. every single rose she was given had a meaning, a life. and every single rose died. inevitably, wilting away infront of her. reminding her of her own fragile, ‘beautiful’ self. and even after she was dead, she was laid to rest drowned in roses that were modified to stay perpetually fresh, along with her body (i think) ((which of course john would do, after reading nona i’m not surprised)). not even eternally asleep could she catch a break. i think tamsyn muir was saying something here about how the ‘ideal woman is a dead one’. she is silent, still, and malleable. that’s what she pretended to be in canaan house. but i don’t think she ever could truly be. she was too angry. too enraged. also the fact that she became a lyctor in hopes she could be cured but just ended up suffering in a stagnant state of sickness for thousands of years, the fact that she was purposely given this disease. the fact that john LIED. lied to everyone. lied to HER. before her life, during her life, and after her life, things were done to her body without her informed consent. her cancer being almost prophetic, her unknowing improper lyctoral ascension, and the possesion of her empty shell of a body. (also it being used as a medium for pyrrha and wake is a whole other thing) she IS the rage of not having control over your own body. i think, ultimatley, that’s what her character is about. i mean, i’m pretty sure harrow stabbing The Sword™️ INSIDE her unwilling corpse was probably a metaphor or something…

“we take so much. i’m so sorry.”

(again i just thought of this thirty minutes ago so feel free to add anything 🙏) ((i also wonder how this parallels dulcinea and her life but it’s 1 am and i don’t feel like thinking anymore. but i think we’ll learn more about her in alecto.))

the art that inspired this was a beautiful cytherea and harrow drawing by pygmypouter on tumblr!

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 14

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Claudia what the fuck are you doing? This is a whole level of stupid not even a sheltered background can be blamed for. I get why it happened, they wanted a baby out of wedlock storyline, but keeping within the story - this is just - I suddenly find myself questioning whether Claudia would know how to get through a closed door on her own accord. I do guess it does explain why we never see her in charge of the register. Girl is as bright as a rainy November night and as sharp as a plastic spoon.

Fina really not wanting to do the commercial thing. Being nervous around Marta and well, the whole idea. Her friends keep her there though. Marta not helping by being unable to let this bone lie, she instantly digs into Fina who is a stiff nervous wreck in front of the camera. Also look at Marta’s body language throughout this entire scene. Each time she's in front of Fina her arms are folded tightly across her chest in a gesture that probably is as much an attempt at intimidation as it is a subconscious protective self-hug. Looking at Fina, being around Fina, releases things she seems to want to be able to ward herself from. Unfortunately, that is not quite how physical attraction works. It’s usually very insistent and sharp enough to cut through anything you try to smother it in.

This is a Baroque painting if I ever saw one. The Suffering of Saint Bertha, patron of "no patience" and lesbians - elevated by stubborn cherubs. One of Caravaggio's lessern known works.

Marta watching Marcos with Fina like a hawk. Yeah, that thing inside her chest, you can see that it keeps picking up speed. Also, something tells me she has the ability to be spectacularly possessive under certain circumstances.

Marta’s reaction as Marcos kisses her. She doesn’t mind having her ego stroked for a bit, but that’s where the line is.

He’s a ballsy little twat though, telling Marta that he gets it, that her heart is already taken. She twirls her ring and says, “yes, my husband”. And he calls her out and says, “Fina.” With that he rocks her world entirely loose from its settings. She calls him crazy and tries to run away from him and what he says. First picking up a folder as a shield and then hiding behind the desk seeking cover. He goes on and mentions that he sees the way she looks at her, how Fina is a magnet pulling her in. He is very decent about it though, telling her that tastes are personal and should never be judged by others. I honestly love how many supportive people this world is populated with. Some right bastards too, but a lot of really supportive people. Marta however goes into a visible halt and catch fire loop and can’t even seem to come up with a response, being confronted like that, no matter what, will always make her short-circuit into a stuttering mess. Her silent face journey as he closes the door is a thing of beauty. It’s both comedic and telling. 

Yeah, the realisation that the little moustachioed fucker is right. I think her body had felt the pull, but it's probably not until this moment that there were words to express it with. I don't think she's quite ready to handle those words yet though. But now they are there, spoken out loud and tangible and made so terribly dangerous because of it.

Marta taking care of business and mediating peace between her brother and Luis. Ending up being her having to tell her dumbass brother to shut the fuck up and he does, but the damage is already done and Luis walks out the door and the company. Jesús is such an incredibly bad businessman. The fact that their company haven’t gone straight to hell already is a true testament to Marta’s business acumen. 

[eriochromatic]

Hey ! I absolutely adore your art, especially the recent Baroque Works pieces ! I was just wondering whether you knew about the Crocodad/crocomom theory and what you think about it if you do ? Have a good weekend!

Thank you so much! I do know about the croco theory haha, I think the first part about him being trans is absolutely true LOL (you can just assume that all the Crocodiles I draw are trans no matter what AU I put him in)

The part about him being Luffy’s parent I don’t really subscribe to, I just feel like he doesn’t need to have any ties with the revolutionary army? It doesn’t really add anything interesting to his character imo.

The timeline just invites too many contradictions imo, Crocodile starts living in Alabasta when he was 30, but then age wise Luffy would’ve been born when he was 27. When would he have fought whitebeard then?? He’s not a reckless person, I don’t think he would fight Whitebeard if he had a 3 year old to take care of.. If it was prior to Luffy, why did he join the RA later and then leave??? (and imo I personally think he fought Whitebeard soon after he became a warlord, maybe around 23-25, but a warlord joining the RA also makes zero sense) To me the Luffy parent part of the theory makes Crocodile’s characterization kind of messy, and we also don’t know enough about Dragon to predict whether or not he’s the type to have one night stands LOL

Maybe I’m being too nice in thinking that Crocodile won’t abandon a child immediately after they were born but I guess the whole Luffy parent thing just doesn’t fit with my vision of him haha, it feels more in character for him to have sought out Iva, transed his gender and went “ok we will never speak of this again” than have all this baggage with Dragon and the revolutionary army. Also I feel like if Luffy was Crocodile and Dragon’s kid then Iva definitely would’ve known.. but idk those are just my thoughts haha

I don’t hate the theory I mean I think the idea of Crocodile raising Luffy is a funny one and there’s been a lot of nice art that’s been inspired by it! But it’s just not something I think about often since the other half of the theory hinges on Dragon who is like a non-character to me.

also like we have confirmation from Oda what Crocodile's son would turn out to be if he ever raised a kid and this snotty brat is Not Luffy.

So if anything I just don't want to entertain the thought of Luffy turning out like that HAHAHA

[fellow-anime-weeb927]

I am back :D (the anon who recently asked you about the idea of reader being mother to the 6 sons in mashle)

I just that the necklaces would probably annulate the magic of the owner too, but reader doesn't really care about it since nobody in her family had magic before (if we don't count the sons). But, since it's a familiar relic (or something like that), naturally her sons also would have their own four necklaces at some point. Neither of them use them, it's not beneficial for them, but they do keep it with them since they see it as being closer to their mother. I also thought about how the smallest area in which the necklaces work would be around the core of the necklaces, to protect it from being destroyed by magic.

I'm sure at least some of them (especially Domina) would be jealous of Mash for being a lackmagic, at some point, since they think about it as the fact that Mash resembles their mother the most (no matter how their mother looks physically). Pops would be so weirded out when four necklaces appeared in Mash's hand in the period of 1 year (I think it would be better if they didn't appeare at the same time?) And Mash would have 0 idea about why or from where (at first he thought that Pops was the responsible for it). I think it would also be convenient that the necklaces wouldn't break forever unless all four are broken in the spam of a certain amount of time. If the time passed, but other necklaces wouldn't be destroyed, the broken would be repaired by itself. I imagine the necklaces being just a square with a beautiful pattern inside and a chain holding it by one of the edges (with a time of hook of the edge?) and since it's a familiar relic, it would probably have more antique style (baroque? Or maybe the renaissance?). The sons would probably treasure it deeply, especially since when their mother fell into a coma. Also, because of the background of the reader (the mother) I believe that the necklaces would only left their owner to lift them. Also, the more damage the owner receives the deeper the necklaces (the core/the square) will go into the owners skin (where the heart is located) as if to protect them better, since if the necklaces break (the four of them in the certain amount of time) the owner either dies or suffers a lot of damage. It doesn't burn or anything, tho.

Since Doom is the nicest of the siblings (not counting Mash and Domina's change in behavior) I would say it's because he's the oldest and has been with their mother the longest. I also believe they (the sons) would visit their mother, no matter if she's already in the coma or not. Epidem would be so obsessed with his pudding because mother "introduced" it to him, idk. Fanim would definitely enjoy the freedom so much because his mother always talked about it and how they always should be free (he got his own version of freedom but nvm). Delisaster likes to party so much because mother said that you never know what will happen next and if there's will be food on the table tomorrow (because of how bad her background is) so they should enjoy their lives at the fullest while they can (she would try to somehow ignore that she married a power hungry man, but it was for her own best). Domina would anticipate the day mother wakes up because all his older brothers told him about how kind and nice and beautiful mother is. Mash wouldn't even know about the existence of his mother (spoilers ahead) since he just randomly disappeared from there. If mother wakes up the day of the eclipse without a clue of what is going on (her husband trying to hunt down their youngest son just to take his heart and be immortal), first of all, all the sons that would be there at that time (depending on when exactly mother wakes up, but we'll take the time after they fought the first four visionaries, but before Dot, Finn and the gang arrived there to fight) would be delightful and shocked (imagine Innocent zero manipulating them to do the horrible things they did because "It will wake up mother") that mother finally woke up. Reader would try to get their head around what is going on and how much time passed while the four of them are sitting or rather standing around her bed where she was laying for all this time. Imagine if when Doom is fighting Mash, Doom says something like "You came in the perfect time, mother just woke up" while Mash doesn't have the slightest idea who this "mother" is. While they're fighting Doom explains a bit more and Mash is just like 🧍‍♀️. If Domina sees her when he there or if he hears Innocent zero talk about her awakening while fighting him he would be so shocked and probably feel slightly betrayed because "what do you mean she wakes up when I'm no longer welcome there?" Mother would definitely not know about how Mash disappeared from the 'house' or how Innocent zero abandoned Domina. I also can guess that she wouldn't be arrested alongside Innocent and the four sons, and rather the Bureau of Magic would let her free like Domina, since she was in a coma for like 15 years and didn't know what was happening exactly (I'm 100% sure Domina would convince them somehow, doesn't matter the fact that she passed out into a coma only after giving birth to 6 sons. He probably asked the boy who used magnetic magic and had a twin for a favor (since his dad is the head of the Bureau of Magic? I think)). And so she would have time to get to know Domina and maybe Mash more?

That's it for now, I will come back >:) Also, can I be '🎨 anon' ?

Woah :O long Mashle rant, I like it picasso✨👍🏻

Very interesting about the necklaces, I can already imagine how pretty they would look👀✨

This does fit the original manga very well hello?? You even managed to make it seem like it actually happened in the past omfg-

Props to you 🎨 anon🛐

(maybe I should make an anon list just in case hehe-)

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 protector: chapter sixteen

synopsis: " you were supposed to stay a crewate, just another back to watch, " he tightened his hold, " i didn't even notice the change until i woke up one day and realized i'd take a bullet for you "

cw: violence, gore, fighting, mature themes, profanity, MAJOR/MINOR ANIME SPOILERS, follows the plot of the anime, slowww burn.

a/n: reposting from another account

After talking to the princess and finding out why she went undercover within Baroque Works, she accidentally spilled the beans about the secret identity of the company's boss.

Which put you, Luffy, and Zoro at the top of Baroque Works hit list.

Igara-guy tried to buy you all some time to escape by posing as Vivi and boarding a ship on a course straight to Alabasta, but it was blown up the second it left the dock.

You, Luffy, Zoro, and Nami managed to grab everyone, including the princess and her duck, and escape from the island.

Though once you got a good ways away, a woman, who Vivi identified as Ms. All-Sunday, somehow snuck onto the Merry and tried to make a deal with an eternal pose that led to an island not too far from Alabasta.

Vivi was about to accept but Luffy didn't like how she blew up Igara-guy and crushed it, kicking her off the ship.

So now here you were, docked on an island called Little Garden.

An island that Ms. All-Sunday predicted would be the death of all of you.

"Damn! Can't get a lick of sleep around here!" you exclaimed, jolting up from your spot in the crow's nest at the 50th earthquake of the hour. 

Everyone else decided to explore Little Garden, and you just wanted to catch up on the sleep you lost from Whiskey Peak. 

But for the past two hours there was nothing but earthquakes on the stupid island.

"Whatever. Might as well do a quick fly over," you groaned, standing up and stretching your arms, unfurling your wings.

"I wonder what everyone else has been up to."

You took off flying, soaring just a little bit above the treeline.

'The air here seems so fresh.'

You smiled as you held out your arms, barrel rolling in mid-air.

Looking down, you saw that you had made it past the forest area, and where now flying over a clearing.

Which, surprisingly, had two unconscious giants laying in it, four Baroque works agents, and three of your friends trapped on this spinning wax candle-cake contraption.

'Never a dull moment.'

You noticed that the Booger Guy from Whiskey Peak was aiming on of his bombs at the giant, and quickly took action.

You dived-bombed for the man, roughly landing on his back and using your foot to pin his head to the ground.

"I try to take a nap and everything goes to hell," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"(Y/N)! We're saved!" Nami cried, relieved.

"Can someone give me a quick catch up? What's with the giants?" tou asked.

"Dorry and Broggy are warriors from an island called Elbalf and have been dueling here for over a hundred years! But Mr. 3 interfered with their duel and Broggy killed Dorry unknowingly," Vivi quickly explained.

'Wait... Elbaf?'

"We got captured and are now slowly turning into wax statues 'cause of this flaky stuff falling from the spinning thing," Zoro added, pointing up to the spinning head of the wax cake. 

"Can't you cut yourself out?" you asked, cocking a brow.

"This stuff is as hard as steel. And I can't put much power behind my swing in this stance," he answered.

"Well then—" "You think I'm just gonna let you plan your escape right in front of me?! Think again! Ten thousand kilogram press!" the Blonde woman interrupted, suddenly falling from the sky like a boulder.

You quickly rolled off the Booger man and dove out the way, allowing her to crush him instead.

"Wax Wax Lock!" a man, who you assumed to be Mr. 3, shouted, shooting wax at you from this hands.

You quickly shot into the sky, dodging the attack and turning around.

"Heavenward Stomp!" you exclaimed, dive-bombing for the creepy man.

You wound up your mace and were about to bring it down on his head when he suddenly turned into a puddle of wax, making you slam your weapon into the puddle and get it stuck.

"The hell?!" you exclaimed, yanking at the handle with all your strength.

But it wouldn't budge.

"(Y/N), LOOK OUT!" Zoro, Nami, and Vivi shouted in unison, you quickly whipping around to see the trouble.

"Wax Wax Lock!" Mr. 3 shouted, binding your wings together so you couldn't fly.

'Crap!'

You did a front handspring, using the time your feet were in the air to kick the man in the face, sending him flying back.

But not before he shot some more wax at you and bound your feet, trapping them to the ground once you landed.

'Double crap!'

"Dammit! I can't move," you hissed, trying to wriggle free.

"That is the power of the Wax Wax fruit, you impudent girl," Mr. 3 smirked, getting up from his spot laid out on the floor.

"Now you get to watch as your friends turn into wax statues right before your eyes!"

You turned to the three stuck on the wax cake, Nami and Vivi's breathing labored as they coughed through the thick cloud of wax particles that had settled around them. 

'I gotta find a way to get myself outta here!'

"Giant, you can still move, right?" Zoro called, turning to Broggy, who was all tears as he mourned the death of his friend.

The giant was surprised, and the sound of his sobs ceased.

"Good. I can, too. And I don't know about you, but I wanna bust outta here," he smirked, drawing two of his swords from their sheaths, his usual determined look in his eye.

"Zoro..." you stated, almost like warning as he held them in a swinging position.

"What the—?! What the hell are you doing?!" Nami exclaimed, eyes wide.

"He's insane," Vivi mumbled to herself, looking down.

"Quit messing around! I know you're not thinking about cutting your own legs off!" Nami shouted once more.

"I'm not messing around at all. It's the only way to get us out of this situation," he stated plainly.

"You in or out?"

"Hold it, Zoro! I can almost reach my mace! Just wait—!" you strained, trying your hardest to reach the handle of your weapon, your stretching against the wax no doubt tearing a bit of the skin on your ankles.

But you didn't care. 

Hell, you didn't even feel it.

There was no way you were gonna let that man cut off his feet.

But sadly, you still couldn't reach it. 

You were only a hair's distance away, but still not nearly close enough.

"We're running out of time," Zoro stated, winding up his swords. 

"Get ready, giant."

"Dammit!" you scolded yourself, still straining to reach.

"Zoro, no!" Nami shouted, the sound of skin slicing echoing throughout the clearing.

But it was cut off halfway by the shouts of Karoo, Luffy, and Usopp, who burst out from the jungle and crashed into a bunch of trees.

"WHEN I GET BACK I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!" Luffy shouted as he flew, splintering the poor tree he landed on into a million pieces.

"LUFFY!" Vivi and Nami happily shouted.

"ZORO! Your feet!" you exclaimed, quickly turning to the swordsman.

"Yeah, I'd say I got about halfway through," he smiled, looking down as his blood trickled over the wax.

"THAT'S NOT SOMETHING TO SMILE ABOUT!"

Just then, Luffy ran over and got his ankles locked by the Wax guy.

He grabbed onto a horn on Broggy's helmet and swirled around so much he knocked into the wax cake, knocking off the headpiece.

Only now it landed even closer to the three.

"THAT DIDN'T HELP!" Nami and Vivi shouted.

'DAMMIT I GOTTA GET FREE!'

"One more stretch, (y/n)! C'mon!" you scolded yourself, giving one more big push. 

You made it. 

You managed to grab onto the handle of your mace.

"Yes! Now... Strength of the Gods!"

Suddenly, your strength increased tenfold and you were able to break your mace out of the wax, using your feet to break out of your own wax lock to the ground.

"Alright!" you cheered, happily.

"(Y/N)! WATCH BEHIND YOU!" Zoro warned, you responding by forward flipping without even knowing the danger.

You trusted him.

Turning around, you saw that it was some girl with a paintbrush.

"She messed with Luffy and now he won't save us!" Vivi shouted.

You took a quick glance to see that he was sitting on a picnic blanket, drinking tea and eating rice crackers.

"It's always something," you grumbled, dodging another one of her paint splatters.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Usopp exclaimed, running back into the clearing on Karoo's back.

"USOPP! I need you to help Luffy! I'll take care of the kid!" you exclaimed.

"On it!" he nodded, changing direction.

Quickly, you tossed your mace at the kid at full-speed, knocking the paint palette out of her hands.

"Huh?!" she exclaimed, wide eyed.

"Go to sleep now, kid. You've caused enough trouble," you spat, flying over and smacking her upside the head, knocking her out.

Turning around, you noticed that Usopp managed to wake up Luffy, and the both of them set the Wax Cake on fire, freeing Zoro and the girls enough so they could save Usopp from getting his head chopped off.

"That was hot! You couldn't have come up with something else!" Nami scolded.

"Can't you be at least a little bit grateful! That was hard!" Usopp fired back.

"I can't believe it. We're alive," Vivi stated, looking down at her wax-free hand.

Suddenly, the Booger guy grabbed Usopp holding him in a headlock.

"Now it's time for a full body explosion!" he shouted.

"Crap! USOPP!" you exclaimed, zipping off to try and reach him in time.

"NO! PLEASE! I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!" Usopp cried.

"FLAMING ONIGIRI!" a familiar voice shouted, bursting from the flames and cutting up the Booger guy.

And setting him on fire.

"Zoro," you smiled, the pit in your stomach finally lifting.

You were really worried for him. 

Broggy slammed his hand down on the ground, standing up with a smile.

"Hey, giant. Glad to see you're alive."

That's when you remembered.

"Zoro, your legs," you reminded, holding Zoro's shoulders still to get a good look.

"Stop worryin' about me. You messed up your feet pretty bad, too," he noticed.

You looked down to see that you tore off huge hunks of skin on your ankles and feet from your straining.

"Damn. I didn't even no—" Suddenly, your legs gave out, but the swordsman caught you easily.

"Huh. What happened?" He asked, his concern showing clearly in his tone.

"It's... Strength of the Gods. It gives me ten times my strength... for ten minutes. But when that's up... my strength in shot," you groaned.

He sighed, "Just rest for now. You've done more than enough."

"No I haven't," you quickly snapped, sniffling.

Zoro cocked a brow.

"If I had just been stronger, if I hadn't taken so long to reach my mace, you wouldn't have had to cut yourself. I was too weak when it really counted. How am I supposed to kill—" You paused, trying to wipe to glossiness from your eyes.

"How am I supposed to find Doflamingo if I'm not strong enough?"

The man paused, allowing your words to sink in before he spoke up again.

"That depends... What are you gonna do about it?" he asked.

You were surprised.

'What am I gonna do about it?'

Your face turned serious.

"I'm gonna train harder," you answered, looking up at him determinedly.

He smirked.

"Alright then. We start tomorrow," he smiled.

A strong blush managed to grow on your cheeks, spreading up to the tips of your ears.

"Yeah... tomorrow," you smiled back, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

[sgiandubh]

Hi, I'm sister Anon. I'd like to say that I got into a controversy about Sam and Caitríona in an Outlander group a year ago precisely because I responded to someone who was saying it was impossible for them to be together and no one had ever caught them . I always use a pseudonym and gave the example of my sister( I said this was a friend btw) but I didn't go into details. However, let me say a few things: in his family only his mother and ONE sister knew about their relationship. In my family, my parents and I knew. Grandparents, uncles, brothers-in-law and nephews didn't know they were together, for them they were just close friends and work colleagues. The rest of the team at work was certainly suspicious, but nobody dared to say anything, because there is a secrecy clause in the contracts. During this period there were speculations of him with at least two models and some Instagram influencers and they laughed, because it gave them exactly the cover they wanted. Anyone who looked at his social media would see a single guy enjoying life, when in fact he was a committed and passionate guy, living a very beautiful love story.

Dear (returning) Sister Anon,

Thank you for coming back with more. I chose to publish your story since the very beginning, because it sounds completely legit. *urv can troll around all day long, now enrolling that 23 year old Brazilian fan/journalist/writer (who doesn't know the plural form of 'gentleman' is 'gentlemen', not 'gentlemans'), she could never prove anything else than people having lunch, not sex, in Kensington. But for her crowd, that is enough.

Also, the Brazilian girl could have been my daughter. And if she were, I would tell her that people questioning her (obviously doctored) story does not mean they hate her. It simply means we are older, less gullible and certainly able to tell when an immature woman is desperately looking for attention. She will probably understand that... in five years or so, but that is not my problem anymore.

I loved every single thing you shared with us. Drop by anytime, you will always be more than welcome. And you are completely right: social media is not real life. And how could it be? Would you read my blog, if I told you all there is to know about my bunions?

You wouldn't. You want me to tell you about business, legal, travel, foodie and obscure Baroque/Renaissance/classical music stuff, right?

Things like this (what I wanted to be last week's Sunday sounds, but hey - drama, drama), for example:

PS: one of my acquaintances, a rather popular singer, was at one time the lover of a high (very high) profile local politician - a brilliant guy (also a family friend of ours, btw). I had no idea and I kept on teasing her about singing at his party's events, until someone told me to stop, because it made her feel uneasy. The same person was always referring to the guy as 'Michael', when they were talking about him in public (the woman was really smitten, along with tens of thousands of others, nationwide). Michael, my foot and it ended up in the tabloids anyways.

[petercapaldi-press]

INTERVIEW

Peter Capaldi interview: 'Sexism in the TV industry is ridiculous'

The Doctor Who actor talks playing 'strange' characters, female Time Lords, and Jeremy Corbyn

5 November 2015

Johanna Thomas-Corr

Peter Capaldi is recovering from a Doctor Who injury. I initially assume when we meet at the Charlotte Street Hotel that his unlaced black Loake boots are a punkish subversion of the ones he wears on-screen but actually he’s seeking relief after key-hole surgery to his knee.

“The injury comes from running down corridors and swivelling round quickly,” he says with a lemon-sucking grimace. “When I first met Matt Smith he was on crutches from exactly the same problem.”

However, if ligament damage is the price he pays for being the 12th regeneration of the Doctor, he seems happy with it. Happy too with embracing the sort of advanced geekery that goes along with Doctor Who — such as paying a surprise visit to selfie-demanding Whovians queuing over night at Comic Con like some latter-day Henry V visiting his troops on the eve of battle.

No doubt there’ll be similar levels of fandemonium at the ExCel centre later this month when he takes to the stage at the three-day Doctor Who Festival. Such are the burdens of carrying the BBC’s crown jewels, a franchise that has been licensed to 189 countries (and wildly popular in the US) and is the most successful show in the BBC Worldwide portfolio.

Occasionally, of course, a fan will bring up his most famous pre-Tardis role as The Thick of It’s Malcolm Tucker. But as agonising as it may be for those (like me) who fell in love with him as master of the baroque expletive (“I’d love to stop and chat to you but I’d rather have Type 2 diabetes”) 57-year-old Capaldi is enjoying his role as the avuncular extraterrestrial too much to contemplate doing much else. Including dealing with the life admin that has accumulated since he took on full-time Timelording in 2013.

“I’m Doctor Who! I shouldn’t have to stand around in this queue,” he declares, with a teasing scowl. “Or wait in for a pair of shoes to be delivered. Or sort out the recycling, which I had to do yesterday. My family keep my feet on the ground but I don’t want my feet on the ground!”

"A lot of the people I play are excluded from the mainstream and I think that’s because of the way I look."

By family, he’s referring to his wife, Elaine Collins, an actress turned BBC TV producer, and their daughter Cecily, who recently graduated from university and is training in London to be a teacher. (He recently had to move them from his beloved Crouch End to Muswell Hill because his old house was so near a school that he was constantly spotted by junior Whovians.)

I ask him where he would go if he could time-travel back to any part of his life. “When you’re middle-aged, like I am, the past becomes more colourful,” he says, and yet despite the technicolour craziness of his current existence he eventually alights on the moment in 1983 when he first met Collins working for Paines Plough Theatre Company: “I just loved meeting my wife. We were both in a show together so that was terribly exciting. I’d like to re-live that.”

Time to change: Peter Capaldi with his Doctor Who co-star Jenna Coleman

It’s a sentimental confession from an actor who almost never plays a romantic role, usually portraying men burdened by power (King Charles I in the Devil’s Whore) or witty mavericks (such as Tucker or Randall Brown in stylish BBC series, The Hour.) In some quarters (ahem) he’s considered thinking woman’s totty — so why doesn’t he play more husbands or lovers?

“You’re looking at it,” he says, circling his gaunt features. “I like characters who are strange and on the edge. A lot of the people I play are excluded from the mainstream and I think that’s because of the way I look. But who wants to watch an everyman all the time? I’m not that bothered if I never do another scene in a kitchen.”

He recently won praise from female fans for insisting that it would be “creepy” to add any sexual element to his on-screen relationship with his much-younger sidekick, Clara, played by Jenna Coleman.

“It’s ridiculous that we get these old guys with young women draped round them. When I started Doctor Who and we were doing photoshoots we’d be asked if Jenna could just lie down there while I, you know” — he leaps up and acts out a young woman sprawled coquettishly about while he gets to stand and look powerful over her. “I had to say, ‘Look, that’s just not what we’re about. The relationship between my Doctor and his companion is one of deep love. But it’s a strange sort of platonic bond. It becomes clearer and more moving as this particular series goes on.”

Capaldi saves his most Tucker-esque sneer when discussing sexism in the industry. “Of course it’s sexist. Most of my peers have partners their age, so if we have a dinner party with a bunch of actors, the wives or partners are largely the same age. Then you see your friends on screen and they are suddenly with some extraordinary young lady who wouldn’t be at the dinner party. It’s ridiculous.

“It is true that women reach a certain age when people decide that they’re not useful anymore as actors. There are a few significant theatrical roles that they might be viable for. That’s not fair, it’s not right, it’s not a proper reflection of what goes on in life.”

He says he’s not averse to a male sidekick once Coleman bows out in December — and he doesn’t rule out a female doctor with a male sidekick in the future — but “it depends on who plays them”. Capaldi isn’t keen on speculating on his possible replacement because as far as he’s concerned, there’s no vacancy.

He rules out any return for The Thick of It — even if he agrees that the current state of politics is ripe for satire. “I don’t know where my character would fit into it. Politics is so much about the now that I’m not sure there’s an avenue for Malcolm to reappear. And I wouldn’t want to revisit him unless he was central to the endeavour.”

Surely a series set among Jeremy Corbyn’s opposition would be fun? He remarks that the Labour leader himself would be “an amazing character to play”. Is he a Corbynite, then? He refuses to reveal his politics but as someone drawn to outsiders he’s found Corbyn’s emergence “absolutely thrilling”.

"Even on your break, everything is Doctor Who-related. Artistically, I hunger for something that is different."

“I love the way the political orthodoxy is being challenged. It seems to be becoming — rightfully so — the spirit of the times. It feels vital and compelling. There’s a range of professional politicians and opinion makers who say certain things in politics can’t happen. And then these things happen because people want them to. That’s a wonderful thing.”

He admits craving roles beyond Doctor Who. “Even on your break, everything is Doctor Who-related. Artistically, I hunger for something that is different.”

He reminisces about the bohemian London that still existed when he first arrived in the early Eighties, when Soho was a “swamp” and he would spend his days hanging around there smoking Gauloises and hoping to meet John Hurt or acting with Daniel Day-Lewis in Dracula. The pair would be taken in and fed by the mothers of the working-class girls who sold tickets for their play at the box office.

“I loved being in touch with all of that part of London life. You get distanced from that as you become successful. I’ve never felt drawn to Mayfair.”

He has a particular yearning to play an artist. “I’m interested in Francis Bacon and how he came to be. And Lucian Freud was very interesting.”

He fancies being involved in a TV show that subverts the crime genre: “I love that idea of taking a standard police show and giving it a philosophical or supernatural timbre.” Although he would consider a Shakespeare stage role, he fears coming across as the “dunce at the back of the class” as he’s never had any classical training. “I have given up trying to make things happen. If people want me in the movies, that’d be lovely.”

After the Sony hack revealed discussions over a Doctor Who feature film, it’s entirely possible — but there are no firm plans as yet. He wants to squeeze as much pleasure out of the role before the franchise sheds its scales (as it always does) and looks towards a 13th Time Lord.

Capaldi recalls that a few nights earlier, on Halloween, young trick-or-treaters who came to his house were spooked when Doctor Who greeted them. “In a few years’ time, once I’ve left the show, I’ll miss it so much I’ll be coming to the door in my costume.”

[ladycrocy]

Cutting a deal - Part 3

Doflamingo X Crocodile

Summary: Doflamingo has need of resources that Alabasta has to offer. He decides to visit Crocodile to extend a partnership. Of course, this deal is more than what meets the eye. Though, he could never truly pull the wool over on Crocodile's eyes.

Content Warning: Suggested sexual themes. Vulgar language. Mostly banter.

AO3

Word Count: 2400

The newspaper had a lot to say the next day. 'Desert Dual or Love Tangle? Croc and Doffy spotten in steamy confrontaion.' This was just the tip of the iceburg for Crocodile. He could still taste that birds blood on his tongue as he bit into his cigar. It even mentioned that Doflamingo had called Crocodile his 'bride'. One thing was for sure, if there were to be roles in this fantasy relationship, Doflamingo would be the bride!

The warlord let out a gutteral growl and slammed the paper onto his desk. He stabbed it with his hook and rubbed his temple. Why was he thinking of asinine things like that? The large man tilted his head to the side with a loud crack. There had been times when this reptile had let his anger flow off of him like a river. A river that turned to blood in the end. This stunt was almost too much for him to take.

'What have I done to gain so much attention from this lunatic? We have only met in passing a few times at the meetings, right?' These thoughts were the only thing on his mind as he pulled another cigar from his pocket. He clipped the tip of it and placed it in between his lips. Before he lit it, he rolled it around, getting it wet and let the flavor soak into his tongue.

If he never saw that stupid pink feathered idiot, it would be too soon.

Months of glorious silence. The gifts had completely stopped. It was a good time for Crocodile. His plans were coming together with Alabasta and baroque works. He was getting closer to finding the secret weopon of history, and nothing seemed to be getting in his way.

The silence was a blessing. He could live just fine without Doflamingo, but living with him was... It's like a guilty hobby. It requires a lot of time and patience. Something he didn't always have to spare. The sand warlord is rather busy, all things considered, and didn't need his work constantly interrupted over some bird dick.

Meanwhile, Doflamingo had been busy himself. He had not forgotten Crocodile. No, his obsession was still alive and well. Every time the sandman's face appeared in the paper, Doflamingo took the time to relieve himself. This unhealthy obsession had even been a driving force to get his plans in order. Dressrosa, weapon trade, smile fruit production, and the many other endeavors the warlord had going on. Finally, he had come across a reason to visit his Wani again.

Doflamingo showed up in a red suit with a black button-up shirt. He even left his pink feathered coat on the Numancia Flamingo, knowing that it always seemed to irritate the reptile further. Once he had arrived, it was the same as before. He awaited to have himself let it by Miss All Sunday. Still, he knocked before entering, just to add a little extra care to his visit.

Crocodile was pouring himself a small glass of expensive whiskey at his desk. Nothing to get drunk over, but a buzz sounded pleasant. His tired eyes lifted as the pink menace came marching in. Nevermind about the buzz. He poured the glass completely full now.

"Crocodile, I have come with another business proposal without my dick this time.Its about resourses that Alabasta might have that could come in hand for Caesar's research." There was no flirtation in his voice, no sarcasm, no... anything. It was as if he were just another businessman. His grin had long faded down to just a contented smile. "What would be an offer you deem reasonable?"

"Doflamingo..." The sandman never sounded thrilled to say his name. He took a long, much needed drink, enjoying the burn that traveled down his throat. "I was almost hopeful you'd found a new poor soul to stalk. It's been months after all. Pleasant, quiet months."

He's already looking at the man with pure accusation. He wouldn't be tricked again by a calm demeanor. Doffy's tru colors were far from this. "If I were to say, I'd suck you dick dry right now, you'd refuse and continue to focus on resources?" The raven haired man smirked as he lifted his glass to his lips once again.

Doflamingo's jaw moved as one does when they are reminded of their embarrassing moments in the past. He ran his fingers through his spikey blonde hair and let out a tired chuckle. "Wish I had the time for such pleasantries, but I would have to deline."He pulled out a small note pad and threw it over to land on Crocodile's desk right in front of him. It had resource names and amounts he would need for a certain time period.

"Three months constant for the first batch..." It was as if Doflamingo had no interest in Crocodile at all. "Then, to ensure the marines aren't sniffing around, we can cut it off for three moths. I will, of course, require that I have a representative stay here and ensure shipping is being done properly. I hope you don't think I don't trust you. You are anything, if not your word. It is merely insurance on my end." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee, and then jumped a bit. "Oh! And it won't be me overseeing anything, so I won't be here at all. I just assume that would be one of your conditions." The blonde chuckled.

It was odd to see him like this. Doflamingo cracked his neck from side to side as he awaited an answer. He wasn't shifting any more than that. Normally, this man is an ADHD poster child. Right now, he looked like just another average guy trying to get a deal set up. "Well? What do you say, Crocodile?"

Crocodile gave a dull hum in response. So what if the other was behaving right now? A fancy suit and the ability to shut up wasn't going to change those evil roots. He hooked the notepad to drag closer as he drank. The resources were plentiful, of course, as he controls the land here.

"This will require a lot of manpower.. and hosting one of your own won't be free either." It was typical business in the making so far. That doesn't mean the reptile isn't absolutely weary of the fiend in front of him.

"First and foremost, I expect 60 percent of your earnings. You think I wouldn't recognize what you're creating with these elements? Weapons, in the plentiful, I might add. Second. All trading will come to a hault if I sense the government having suspicions. Nothing will cross waters until I deem it safe to do so. And you are correct. I do not want you to step a foot on my land. You will call if there are concerns. My schedule does not revolve around you."

He finishes the drink with ease before leaning against his own palm. "You almost look handsome with the more I drink. I suppose I should slow down. I've been told I have a sex drive like a beast, ready to devour his next piece of meat. I used to belong to the world's most ravenous lover. I nearly miss those filthy, chained up nights together." Crocodile teased. Why? Because it's entertaining. It was like some power kick, knowing what it did to the other man.

"Those are my agreements. Take it or leave."

Doflamingo listened intently as the man went on with his demands. They seemed reasonable, and 60 percent didn't mean much to him. Doflamingo was actually getting in the flow of the negotiation when all of a sudden, Crocodile's demeanor changed.

Doflamingo's mouth slightly dropped, and a pink hue hit his cheeks when Crocodile said he was almost handsome. But it didn't stop there. His little rant had Doflamingo swallowing hard and trying to keep his body in check. He couldn't let it fuck up his plans now.

Doflamingo cleared his throat and held out his hand to shake Crocodile's. "Seems like a reasonable request. Just don't expect that much yet. I still have to make the weapons. But once they are created, I will make sure that the profits will continue to flow." He pulled out a transponder snail and placed it on the edge of his desk. "This is my direct line. I won't be calling you with issues, you know how to run a business, but if you require something from me, you can just call me directly."

It was hard, keeping his composure. Imagining Crocodile's hook wrapped around the base of his cock as Crocodile sucks him dry with that irresistible look in his eyes. Doflamingo felt a shiver go down his spine, but he bounced back and tried to focus on the task at hand.

It's working, it must be. The reptile is certainly enjoying the entertainment in front of himself. He can see how Doflamingo is struggling to remain professional. For what reason? God knows, maybe he truly needed those weapons above his own sexual desires.

Crocodile smirked again. It's that devilish little grin that curves his lips.

Crocodile reached the hook out, willingly this time, and placed it against the other's palm. It's the most he'd be getting as a handshake. "Good boy," He mocks. Those words hardly above a whisper, but the bird would hear them loud and clear. "I will be calling in regards to beri. The rest will be handled under my intensive care."

He pulls another spare glass from his desk. The two are filled up with the spicy liquor, a drink that might even put Doffy on his ass, and soon slid one over to him. "It's good business to share a drink. This liquor is imported overseas. It's called Habushu. An Asian snake wine. I pray you can hold your liquor as you do your facades."

That smirk. Doflamingo was struck in the chest the same way he was when the same man drew his blood and made him swallow it. He wondered if Crocodile knew just how attractive he was. The 'good boy' comment had his brow line raised. What was happening? Doflamingo slowly sat back down and watched him pour the drink. His mind wandered again as he told him where the drink came from.

That smirk.. He visualized it perfectly. Crocodile looking up at him as Doffy slowly shoved every inch of his girth inside of him. It was so.. sadistic yet held its own level of pain tolerance. Crocodile was a man who wasn't afraid of pain because he could handle it. And that was what attracted Doffy to him the most.

Doflamingo took the glass and held it up to clink the glass to his. The clink feels the quiet room. "Much appreciated, Crocodile. One will be enough. I shouldn't have more than that, seeing as I have quite a few other plans I need to get started for production." He sipped the liquor, and it immediately shot him back to that kiss. As brief as it was, he tasted the smokey warm mouth of Crocodile. It had a hint of this flavor. Doffy smirked. Now he knew for a fact Crocodile was teasing him. So he did enjoy this game. He took a bigger sip, trying to feel the burn on his scars that he left him on his tongue. "This is one of the best drinks I have had in a long time. Perhaps I can get the supplier so I can order some for Dressrosa." Also, so he can have something to drink when he is thinking about him at night.

There's no doubt in his mind that Doflamingo was probably getting heated up. God, he could call that man a dog, and it'd have him excited.

Crocodile downs the booze more gracefully, enjoying every single sip and placed aside the empty glass. Plans? What was that bird brain up to? It's almost like he's preparing for a war or a take over. Figures. Every pirate demanded control.

Doflamingo watched him behind the protection of his glasses the way his lips touched the glass, and his tongue could be seen slightly as he swallowed. He turned away for a moment to gather his thoughts. This man had infatuated him. He finished his glass and set it on the desk quietly. He didn't even turn back. Instead, he saw the wani swimming in the tank. He also saw the one he had given him. Much smaller than the others. It brought on a smile.

"Perhaps." The raven-haired man agreed without really listening. His thoughts are elsewhere, something that made him curious.

His palm reaches out in a demanding manner. The tan skin is opened and welcoming. "Put that disgusting tongue on display."

Doffy was just about to turn and say something about the small wani when he saw Crocodile had laid out his palm. His request was.. out of character. It put Doffy on edge. He wanted nothing more than to bark and roll over for him. But his tongue is the only constant reminder he has of him. Something he gave him willingly. A scar. He rubs it all the time and thinks of Crocodile. If he put his tongue on display, who is to say Crocodile won't let him keep the one memory.

"I.. I don't think that is necessary for this type of meeting, Crocodile..." It took all the energy and willpower he had, but he stood up and gave a slight nod. "It was wonderful doing business with you.. good to see you again." He forced a smile and turned. He then walked out of Crocodile's office. Once out the door, he plastered that grin back on and jumped on his ship. He had a new deal set, and everything was turning out pretty alright.

Crocodile is already lifting his brow. "No?" Consider himself impressed over his self control. He doesn't ask again and rests down the palm. One of the first and only times he'd ask for physical touch. Now, there's no desire.

"Have fun jerking off to sand, Doflamingo." Is the most he bothers to say before kicking back to relax. Doffy might've restrained himself, but it's evident how excited their conversations make him. What a freak.

Doflamingo couldn't help but wonder if Crocodile would ever call him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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