#i really truly do need to make him a proper playlist

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

how to radically improve the chances of a character being my favorite: does they embody this song with their whole pussy? yes? vibe check passed.

case in point: ricky

[warabidakihime]

Rules and Roses Chapter 5

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic). 

★ content warnings : implied violence, self-harm and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n:

i MIGHT have indulged this chapter ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

and i most definitely had a change of heart as to where this story will go ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

as always, comments are always welcomes and super appreciated!

-

"Good day, Azudellin! Thank you so much for the warm hospitality you bestowed upon us. It's truly an honor to stand before you today in this beautiful province, surrounded by such a passionate and vibrant community."

Muzan said proudly as he stood at the stage with the rest of his political party sitting just behind him, who were also gazing at the huge crowd that gathered today in the city proper to attend the party's town hall. He stood there with a dashing smile on his face, patiently waiting for the applause and cheers to subside before speaking again.

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the front row, mirroring your husband's smile as you listened intently to his speech. For a brief moment, he turned to you, and a giggle slipped through your lips as you witnessed his smile getting bigger. 

"Good luck," you mouthed to him, to which he subtly and cleverly responded with a wink before turning to the vast crowd once again.

"I’ve traveled far and wide across our great nation, but each time I come here, I am reminded of what makes our country truly special. It’s the people—the heart and soul of our nation. And tonight, I want to speak to you not just as a presidential candidate, but as someone who deeply believes in the potential of every single person here."

Since you were at a fairly far place from home and currently a part of a really huge crowd, Muzan took it upon himself to double up the security in the vicinity, not just for your safety but for everybody's as well. Not that he has enemies (he's aware of) that are out to get him; it's just that elections in general are a time where anything can happen, and so it's still better to be safe than sorry. 

Akaza and Kokushibo are standing on each side of the stage upfront so that they have a fish-eye view of the whole venue, and god forbid something happens. Your two most trusted allies are just a few feet away from the both of you.

"I’ve heard your voices, your concerns, and your dreams. From the stories shared with me in the fields, to the struggles faced by our small businesses, to the aspirations of our young people yearning for a brighter future—your voices have been a guiding light for my campaign.

Azudellin is a province rich in history and potential. But like many places, you’ve faced challenges—economic downturns, educational disparities, and the need for better infrastructure. I know that these challenges are not just statistics; they are real issues that affect your daily lives. And I am here to tell you that change is not just a possibility—it is a certainty if we work together."

As your husband got into his speech, his passion for his cause was evident in his face, and the crowd started to clap for him. Some of them even stood out and cheered loudly for him. Chills went down your spine as the cheers got louder and louder.

Then, Muzan raised his hand to calm the applause and cheers, despite feeling elated at their passionate support for him. His smile never left his face as he continued his speech, his voice laced with passion and strong will.

"Thank you. We must remember that real change begins at the grassroots level. It begins with our children having access to quality education, with our farmers getting the support they need, and with every worker having a fair opportunity to succeed.

When I think about Azudellin, I think about resilience. I think about the community spirit that binds you all together. It’s in the way you come together to support each other during tough times and how you celebrate each other’s successes. That spirit is what will drive our nation forward."

The crowd broke out into another round of cheers and applause, and this time, you were cheering with them. You stood up proudly and gave your husband a warm round of applause. Your eyes were slightly misty because you were also incredibly moved by Muzan's speech. So much pride surged within your veins as you continued to watch him in awe. You were so damn proud of the man he's become all through the years. 

Images from the past flashed through your mind when you and Muzan were still in college. You could still remember how his eyes would twinkle each time he would share his dream to you and how much his voice carried so much hope. 

From the stage, Muzan saw you wiping your tears. You were so immersed in your little trip down memory lane that you couldn't help but get emotional. His eyes and overall expression softened, while his heart swelled with so much joy that he himself was this close to getting emotional himself. And the cheering crowd wasn't helping; they kept getting louder and louder as the seconds went by.

Once again, he raised his hand to calm everyone down, taking a deep breath to ground himself before facing the crowd again.

"I see the hope in your eyes, and I feel the determination in your hearts. This election is not about one person; it’s about all of us. It’s about what we can achieve together. Every vote you cast, every voice you raise, every action you take—it all contributes to shaping the future of our province and our nation.

I promise you this: I will not be a president who stands apart from you. I will stand with you, listen to you, and fight for you. Together, we will build a future where no one is left behind, where opportunity is abundant, and where our values of unity and compassion guide every decision we make."

From his post, Akaza glanced subtly at Muzan, who's clearly reveling in the love and support he's getting. Then he looked at the crowd; everybody was now on their feet, applauding loudly and chanting his name. Akaza couldn't help but feel immensely impressed by his boss' charisma and command on stage. It's like it was written in the sky that Muzan was born to be on stage. Born to be in the spotlight.

At this point, Muzan couldn't help but flash everybody with the biggest smile he has ever worn in front of everybody, but to you, that was a smile you'd fallen in love with twelve years ago. You already saw that smile a bunch of times. From the day you said yes to him when he was courting you, the day you celebrated your first anniversary, when you said yes to his proposal, and when the priest announced you as husband and wife.

'Hakuji Soyama x L/N Y/N - Just got engaged! (03/03/2015)'

As that flashed in your mind, you stopped dead in your tracks. It has been a few days since that day, and sadly, it has continued to haunt you. From time to time, either the photo or the words scribbled at the back would flash in your mind, making you rather uneasy and agitated. As much as you wanted to deny it, it was clear as day as to who you saw in that photo.

"Thank you, Azudellin. Your spirit has filled me with renewed strength and conviction. Let us walk this path together, with hope in our hearts and determination in our souls. The future is ours to build, and I believe with all my heart that we will build it together.

Thank you, and may we continue to forge ahead with courage and unity!"

As Muzan finished his speech strongly, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause once again, many of them even coming forward to shake hands with him and express their utmost support for him. The loud cheers woke you up from your stupor. Looking up, you saw your beloved husband get showered with so much love and support. Meanwhile, Akaza and Kokushibo were doing their best to do crowd control.

At that moment, your eyes darted from your husband to your personal bodyguard multiple times before Muzan's voice called out to you. From his point of view, you must be feeling quite overwhelmed given that there's a high volume of people walking and running from all sides, and so he took it upon himself to call you to him, but the loud crowd made it impossible for you to hear him.

"Madam," Akaza said while reaching out to you to guide you to Muzan. 

You gingerly took his hand and let him guide you away from the roaring crowd. Akaza couldn't help but frown a little upon seeing the rather unusual look on your face. He knows you tend to get overwhelmed with crowds, but he can't help but assume that something else is plaguing your mind.

Muzan shared his sentiment as well, and so he called out to Akaza, "Escort her inside! I'll be right there." 

Akaza bowed and uttered a 'yes, sir.' before proceeding to guide you out of harm's way. 

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" Akaza asked you while you took a seat.

You smiled sheepishly and said, "A glass of water would be nice."

Akaza nodded politely and excused himself so he could fetch you your drink. While waiting, Muzan emerged from the door along with his political party. You could hear the noise from outside subsiding, which meant the people were gradually leaving now that the townhall was over.

Muzan immediately went to you, kneeling in front of you while wearing a worried expression on his face.

"Hey, darling, are you okay?" he said, one of his hands cupping one side of your face and his thumb caressing your cheeks tenderly as he tends to you.

You nodded and smiled fondly at your husband.

"I'm fine. I was just a bit overwhelmed earlier. You did a little too well back there with your speech that everybody was on their toes shouting their hearts for you," you joked.

Muzan snorted and chuckled at your joke, "Did I?"

"Mhm. Show off~" 

Your husband smirked at your joke, pinching your cheek playfully as he replied, "How can I make it up to you then?" 

"Madam, your water," Akaza said, unknowingly disrupting your sweet moment with your husband. You gratefully took the water bottle and mouthed a thank you; meanwhile, Muzan got up and sat next to you. 

After taking a swig of your drink, you turned to Muzan and said, "Since it would take us six hours to get back to Areswood, can we stay the night here, my love?" 

"Hm? Sure. I don't see why not."

Smiling gratefully at this, you leaned forward and gave your husband a peck on the lips, to which Muzan audaciously chased after your lips when you pulled away and captured them again for another sweet kiss.

"I was also hoping we could go on a date with just the two of us, like without Akaza or Kokushibo tailing behind us." 

Muzan was slightly taken aback by your request; his face was rather unreadable. There were a lot of things racing in his mind, mostly your safety, but you woke him up from his stupor when you pressed on, "Please?" 

After a few seconds of you doing your damnedest to give your husband the cute puppy face, he yielded. A fond smile danced on Muzan's lips as he looked pointedly at you.

"Your wish is my command."

You broke out into a huge smile and tackled your husband into a tight hug, almost pressing your whole body against his, totally not caring people were around.

"You're the best!" you exclaimed, to which Muzan responded with a fond laugh as he reciprocated your hug with just as much passion. 

He then placed a kiss on top of your head before pulling away from the hug to face both Akaza and Kokushibo. As much as he wanted to revert back to his stoic self, the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lip was winning, as you and the townhall had put him in such a good mood. 

"Tomorrow, have the day off. Azudellin is vastly big, so take the opportunity to roam around. I'll give you some pocket money. Just have your phones open just in case of emergencies."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Both Akaza and Kokushibo responded politely.

Muzan nodded. "We're done here, so have the car ready so we can all return back to the hotel."

He was met with another chorus of 'Yes, sir.' before the two of them hurried back to the parking lot to get the car ready to escort you back to the hotel. 

Muzan watched as Akaza and Kokushibo walked off. When they opened the door, the two of you noticed that the noise from outside had completely died down and the ambiance in the entire place had become more peaceful.

With a soft sigh of contentment, Muzan turned his attention back to you.

"Ready to go?" 

You nodded happily and said, "Yes."

As you both stood up, ready to leave the venue, Muzan placed a protective arm around you. "I must admit, I am looking forward to our date. Thinking about it now, it really has been a while since we last went on a proper one, no?"

You nodded in agreement, letting Muzan guide you through the now-thinning crowd. Akaza and Kokushibo were already waiting by the car, the vehicle's engine rumbling softly in anticipation of the journey ahead.

While walking side by side, you gave his waist a loving squeeze and even stopped him for a moment to give him another kiss on the lips, and your husband immediately picked up on the longing that lingered in the sweet gesture. 

"It really has. To say that I've been missing you is an understatement, to be quite honest."

Before stepping into the car, Muzan glanced at you one last time, his expression a mix of excitement and tenderness. "I feel the same way, Y/N."

"Let's make the most of our free time here, hm?"

"Of course, and I'll also see to it that we go on dates as much as we can when we get back home."

You smiled at this, clearly happy and thankful for Muzan's thoughtfulness. You really are the luckiest woman in the world. 

"I'd love that."

With that, Muzan opened the car door for you, and as you both settled inside, he turned to Akaza and Kokushibo. "Take us to the hotel, please. And remember, enjoy the day off. I trust you’ll keep things under control."

"Understood, sir," Akaza responded as he slid into the driver's seat, and Kokushibo took the front passenger seat.

As the car began to move, you turned to Muzan, your eyes shining with pride. "Your speech today was incredible, my love. You really have a way of connecting with people. I could see how moved everyone was."

Muzan smiled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you, darling. It means a lot to hear that from you. I put my heart into that speech, hoping to reach everyone in the crowd."

"You did more than reach them," you said softly. "You inspired them. I’ve never been prouder of you. Seeing you up there, speaking with such passion and conviction... it reminded me of why I fell in love with you."

Muzan's eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. "I’m glad I could make you proud. Your support means everything to me. I couldn’t do any of this without you by my side."

You blushed at his words, feeling the sincerity behind them. "I’ll always be here for you, Muzan. No matter what."

The car glided smoothly through the evening, and Muzan couldn’t help but glance at you with a satisfied smile.

"Tonight, let's celebrate. Not just the success of the town hall, but us—our partnership, our love. I promise, tonight will be special."

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m looking forward to it."

From the driver's seat, Akaza's eyes remained focused on the road, but a faint smile was dancing on his lips, but it immediately disappeared the moment he realized what he was doing. 

But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't stop himself from feeling genuinely happy for you at this very moment. And he couldn't help but feel admiration for the man he swore was the bane of his and your existence.

He bit his lips as he continued to drive back to the hotel. On the outside, he remained stoic, but from within, in the depths of his heart, he feels incredibly conflicted. 

"Akaza, what's wrong?" Muzan asked from the backseat. It was dark in the car, so no one could see how piercing his gaze was.

Akaza merely shook his head, not wanting to lose focus on his driving. "Nothing, sir."

Muzan's eyes narrowed slightly, his intuition telling him otherwise. "Are you sure?"

Akaza shook his head rather sheepishly.

"It's just... I noticed Madam seemed a bit off earlier. I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

Muzan glanced at you, his expression softening as he saw the concern in Akaza's eyes.

"She was a bit overwhelmed, but she's fine now. You know how these events can be."

Akaza nodded in agreement.

"Of course, sir. I just wanted to be sure. We can't afford any mistakes."

Muzan's gaze softened a bit as he saw the genuine concern in Akaza's eyes. "Your vigilance is appreciated, Akaza. But sometimes, it's just the weight of the moment. Thank you for looking out for her."

Akaza relaxed slightly at Muzan's reassurance.

"Understood, sir. I'll keep a close watch."

Kokushibo, who had been silent until now, chimed in from the passenger seat. "Akaza's right to be cautious, but I agree with you, sir. It seemed like a momentary lapse. We have everything under control."

Muzan nodded, feeling more at ease. "Very well. Let's focus on getting to the hotel. We all need some rest after today."

As the car continued its smooth journey, Muzan squeezed your hand gently, offering you a reassuring smile. "We're almost there, darling. Just a bit longer."

You smiled back.

"Thank you, Muzan. And thank you, Akaza. I appreciate your concern."

Akaza glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his expression softening. "You're welcome, Madam."

The car finally pulled up to the hotel, and as you stepped out, Muzan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you inside. Akaza and Kokushibo followed closely, their watchful eyes ensuring your safety.

Once inside your suite, Muzan turned to you with a tender smile.

"Now, let's enjoy our evening and tomorrow. Just you and me."

You nodded, feeling the stress of the day melt away.

"I couldn't ask for anything more."

*

The date was fantastic.

Azudellin was a feast for the senses. Grand, old structures lined the streets, their intricate carvings whispering tales of Phario's glorious past. You and Muzan, both art lovers, wandered hand-in-hand, marveling at the architecture.

At one point, a group of tourists recognized you, but instead of rushing over, they gave a polite nod and a smile, respecting your privacy. You sent them a grateful smile in return.

The bustling market was your next stop. Unlike the grandeur of the historical sites, the market was a riot of colors, sounds, and smells. The air hung heavy with the aroma of spices and sizzling meat. Muzan chuckled as you excitedly dove into the throng, bargaining for souvenirs.

You emerged with a delightful mix of treasures: a hand-painted fan for Kokushibo, a woven scarf for Akaza, some trinkets for the maids and guards back at home, and of course, presents for your friends as well.

"Don't forget about me," Muzan teased, his voice warm.

You winked. "Of course not."

Your fingers brushed against a rack of clothes, and then you spotted it—a button-down shirt made from a fabric that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. It was a perfect shade of blue, and you knew exactly who it would look good on.

Muzan slipped the top on, and your breath hitched. The rich blue brought out the vibrant contrast with his scarlet eyes, and the fabric skimmed his toned physique. 

A blush crept up your cheeks as you stammered, "It looks amazing! Absolutely perfect."

Muzan's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He struck a pose, eliciting a giggle from you. The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring hidden alleys and sharing stolen kisses, the joy of the day bubbling over in every interaction.

Dinner was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

The restaurant, renowned for its seafood, boasted a breathtaking view of the Azudellin coastline. As you savored the melt-in-your-mouth fish and the tangy local salad, you couldn't help but steal glances at Muzan across the table.

Gratitude filled your heart for this man, who brought so much love and laughter into your life.

The fairy lights strung across the restaurant balcony twinkled like captured stars, casting a warm glow over the table. The gentle sea breeze carried the murmur of waves and the scent of salt, creating a serenely romantic atmosphere.

You took a sip of your mango iced tea, letting the cool sweetness dance on your tongue.

"This has been such a fantastic day," you said, leaning back in your chair with a contented sigh. "Azudellin is simply amazing."

Muzan, seated across from you, mirrored your smile. His warm, scarlet eyes sparkled with genuine affection. "Absolutely," he agreed, taking a slow bite of his fish. "Though the scenery pales in comparison to the beautiful sight before me."

A blush crept up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment. "Muzan," you chided playfully, "you always know what to say."

He chuckled, making a rich, rumbling sound. "Flattery? No, sweetheart. It's the truth. Seeing you so happy and so engaged with everything today...it brings me a joy I never thought possible."

His words sent a thrill through you. It wasn't every day that Muzan, a man known for his sharp intellect and driven nature, spoke so openly about his emotions, but then again, behind closed doors, you always see this side of him, but even then, when he speaks from his heart, it never fails to sweep you off of your feet.

You reached across the table, your fingers intertwining with his. "Me too, Muzan. I wouldn't have wanted to spend this day with anyone else."

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, punctuated only by the soft clinking of silverware.

"Remember that little market stall overflowing with fans?" you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. "I almost forgot how much you struggled with the heat."

Muzan's lips twitched. "An astute observation, my love. Although witnessing your bargaining prowess was...interesting, to say the least."

You laughed, the sound tinkling like windchimes.

"Oh, come on now, it wasn't that bad! Besides, you can't deny the satisfaction of getting a good deal."

"Perhaps," he conceded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Though, I daresay the look on that vendor's face when you countered his offer was priceless."

You both dissolved into laughter, the memory of your playful haggling warming the night air. As the laughter subsided, Muzan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender whisper.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his scarlet eyes searching yours, "this day has been exactly what I needed. Honestly, it was a brilliant call suggesting this date."

A blush crept up your cheeks. "Really?"

He squeezed your hand, the warmth radiating through you.

"Absolutely. The campaign has been all-consuming lately, and quite honestly, there have been a few times where I felt overwhelmed. As much as I don't want to admit it, but as the day of the election draws closer, I can't help but feel nervous."

His gaze softened further.

"So seeing you so happy and so carefree today... it reminded me why I'm doing all this."

Your heart ached with a mix of joy and a touch of sadness. "I know this election means the world to you, Muzan. It's always been your biggest dream."

A flicker of regret crossed his features. "And it is, darling. But maybe I haven't been as good at showing you just how much you mean to me in all the craziness. These past few weeks, I've missed..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your free hand over his. "You've missed us, haven't you?"

You weren't accusing; you were just stating the truth.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Yes. I've missed us. I've missed these quiet moments, these shared laughs. Truth be told, I've missed you terribly."

His voice softened further, tinged with a hint of apology.

"I know you've been holding back a bit, wanting to be supportive, and for that, I apologize. But please, don't ever feel like you can't tell me how you're feeling, even when things are hectic."

His words washed over you like a wave of relief and understanding, and as cliché as it sounds, you're almost certain you've fallen for him all over again. 

All the wariness and anxiety that damn photo has been giving you these past few days have completely vanished. That old lady must've mistaken you for someone else, and there's also the possibility that the woman in that photo was just someone who resembles you, because you honestly could not picture yourself being in love with someone else. 

Muzan is the love of your life, and he will always be. You've built a life together, filled with shared dreams, laughter, and moments like these that reaffirm your bond. The thought of anyone else simply doesn't fit into the picture of your heart.

You pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the here and now.

The truth was in the way he looked at you, the way he held your hand, and the way he spoke with such sincerity.

Nothing else mattered.

You were certain of your love and of the future you were building together. As you squeezed Muzan's hand a little tighter, you knew that no photograph or fleeting worry could ever shake the foundation of the life you were creating.

You looked at your husband with misty eyes and a huge smile on your face and said, "I love you so much, Muzan."

His expression softened, his thumb gently stroking your hand. "And I love you more than words can express, my love."

With a tender smile, Muzan rose from his seat and walked around the table to stand beside you. He took your hands and gently pulled you to your feet. Under the fairy lights, with the ocean as your backdrop, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close.

"Let's make a promise," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze. "What promise?"

"No matter how busy life gets, no matter what challenges come our way, we'll always make time for moments like this—moments that remind us of why we fell in love in the first place."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they were tears of happiness. "I promise," you whispered.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of love and contentment.

When the kiss ended, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Thank you for today, Muzan. I had so much fun."

He held you tighter and mirrored your smile.

"Anything and everything for you, Y/N.”

*

“What did you just say?”

Muzan's voice was dangerously calm as he looked at Akaza, his expression unreadable. But as the words sank in, his face turned sour.

“You're resigning? Why?”

Akaza winced but held his ground.

“No reason in particular, but I’ve been doing some thinking, and I figured it’s time for me to look for other opportunities elsewhere.”

Silence enveloped Muzan’s personal office in your mansion. Your husband stared pointedly at your bodyguard, clearly flabbergasted by the sudden decision to resign from his post. It was all too sudden, and rather... unexpected.

Akaza shared the same sentiment.

He hadn’t planned on resigning anytime soon; he was hellbent on seeing everything through, even if a bitter end awaited him. But after last weekend in Azudellin, an epiphany struck him.

Maybe it was for the best that he stood down and gave up.

He didn’t want to, but seeing you so happy and in love, maybe... Just maybe, it was okay to give you up as long as you were happy.

“I’m not allowing it.”

Muzan’s commanding voice snapped Akaza out of his thoughts. He looked up and finally noticed the fury on Muzan's face.

“We’re in the middle of the election season. You know damn well Y/N’s safety is at stake because of my candidacy, and you know how risky it is to entrust your job to someone else, Akaza. You’re the best at what you do, and you’re the only one I trust to keep her safe.”

“Sir Muzan, I understand, but—”

“No, you don’t understand!”

Muzan's voice rose, echoing through the office.

“You don’t get to walk away just because you’re having second thoughts. Your loyalty is not something you can just toss aside on a whim.”

Akaza took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“It's not on a whim. I've thought this through. I just—”

“You just what?”

Muzan interrupted, his eyes blazing.

“You think you can just leave and everything will be fine? You think I’ll find someone who can protect her like you do? I demand your commitment, Akaza. And I will not let you walk away when we need you the most.”

Akaza’s resolve wavered under Muzan’s intense gaze. He had never seen his employer this furious. “Sir, I—”

“No!” Muzan’s voice was thunderous now.

“You’re not resigning. You’re not leaving. You will stay, and you will do your job. Because if anything happens to Y/N, it will be on your head. Do you understand me?”

Akaza’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Muzan's words crashing down on him. He couldn't argue with the man because, quite frankly, he did have a very valid point.

Not just you, but Muzan also has a target on his back solely because of the elections, and this is not the time for any big changes, especially with everything so volatile. His resignation could create a significant gap in your security, jeopardizing not only his safety but yours as well.

Any disruption could have far-reaching consequences. 

“I understand, sir,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Muzan’s anger slowly dissipated, but his gaze remained stern.

“I'll let you go once the election is over and only once the coast is clear. But until then, I expect you to do your job and maintain the highest level of vigilance and dedication. ”

Akaza nodded solemnly. “Understood, sir.”

Muzan took a deep breath, his voice softening but still carrying a sharp edge. “I know this isn’t easy for you, and I appreciate your commitment. But I need you to understand that this isn’t just about personal preference. It’s about the safety of everyone involved, especially Y/N.”

Akaza met Muzan’s gaze, feeling the weight of his words. “I get it, sir. I won't let you down."

Muzan nodded, though his expression remained serious.

“Good. Remember, this isn’t just about duty. It’s about trust. I trust you to handle this responsibility, and I expect you to honor that trust.”

Akaza straightened, his resolve returning to his stance. “Yes sir."

As he turned to leave the office, Muzan watched him with a mixture of frustration and reluctant respect. The door clicked softly behind Akaza, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Muzan sighed deeply, turning back to his desk, though his gaze lingered on the door where Akaza had just exited. The mounting pressure was more than he could handle, and in a moment of frustration, he struck out.

Against his will, the weight of exhaustion and doubt crept into his veins. He had always prided himself on his strength and capability, but the constant pressure of running Obelisk Kibutsuji, combined with the relentless demands of his political campaign, had worn him down.

The accumulated fatigue was making him question his ability to keep everything under control, and Akaza’s sudden resignation attempt pushed him to his breaking point.

It felt like a slap in the face, and Muzan simply couldn’t afford the added stress.

The fatigue was beginning to overwhelm him, while imposter syndrome whispered doubts that he was failing and couldn’t manage the responsibilities tied to his ambitions.

“Ah, this isn’t good,” Muzan said to himself, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of any unwanted distraction.

But the frustration was too much.

With a surge of anger, he brought his fist down hard on the table, leaving a nasty dent in the furniture and a painful bruise and cut on his knuckles. He winced at the pain, clenching his jaw as he tried to regain his composure. His heart raced, the pain amplifying his frustration, and he felt a moment of regret for not finding a healthier outlet for his emotions.

Just then, you appeared at the doorway, your face etched with concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

At the sound of your voice, Muzan forced a small smile onto his face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your timing always amazed him, even in moments like this. He turned to see you standing there, your worry evident on your face. You gasped as you saw the blood seeping through his clenched fist, your heart sinking.

His gaze fell to his injured hand, still throbbing from the impact.

"You’ve hurt yourself," you said, rushing over to him with a frown. "What happened?"

Muzan tried to downplay it. "I'm fine. It’s nothing. Just... got caught up in the moment."

He tried to brush off your concern with a wave of his hand, but his pained expression betrayed him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your touch tender and soothing. The sight of his injured hand and the distressed expression on his face had alarmed you.

"Oh, God, your hand is swelling." You winced as you examined his injured hand, and then you turned to him with a disapproving frown, but more than anything, you were hurting for him. "Care to tell me what happened?"

He quickly covered his hand with his other, though the damage was evident. "It's nothing, really. Just a moment of frustration," he explained, his voice calm but with a hint of weariness.

"It's nothing, but you look like that? Muzan, what if you got seriously hurt?" you scolded him, your voice laced with concern. "You know I worry about you."

He sighed, avoiding your gaze. "It’s just... the stress. The campaign, Obelisk Kibutsuji, everything. It’s been a lot, and I didn’t handle it well."

You gently cupped his face with your hands, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

"I understand that you're under a lot of pressure, but hurting yourself isn’t the answer. If you need to let out some steam, you can vent to me, you know?"

Muzan closed his eyes briefly, savoring the comforting touch. The warmth of your presence helped ease the tension in his shoulders and the gnawing stress that had been building.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just been overwhelming."

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I know, and I’m here to help. But please, stop resorting to things like this, my love. I wouldn't know what to do if you seriously get hurt."

Muzan opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you. I really appreciate your support. It means more than you know."

You leaned in and kissed his forehead softly. "I’ll always be here for you. If you need a break or just a moment to breathe, let me know. We can go for a walk or just spend some quiet time together."

Muzan wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "I’m grateful for you. I promise to take some time to rest and not let the stress consume me."

You held him a little longer, feeling the weight of his stress ease slightly in your embrace. "Good. And remember, if you ever need to talk or just want to escape the chaos for a bit, I’m always here for you."

"Thank you, Y/N," Muzan said wholeheartedly, his voice reflecting the sincerity of his gratitude.

You smiled, feeling the depth of his appreciation.

"Well, I’ve got a few errands to run today, but if you need anything, just call me." Your voice sounded anything but resolute as you hesitated, glancing at the dented desk and his swollen hand.

The pang of reluctance to leave him alone in this state was evident. 

“Actually, maybe I should stay a bit longer and help you get settled. I’m really not comfortable leaving you like this.”

Muzan shook his head gently, a reassuring smile returning to his lips. "I appreciate it, really, but I’m fine now. I don’t want you to miss your commitments because of me."

You looked at him with a mixture of concern and understanding. “Alright, but promise me you'll be careful and take it easy. If you need anything or just want to talk, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I promise,” Muzan said, his voice steady.

“Thank you. I’ll call Aoi to help you treat your hand,” you said, with a last, lingering look at him before turning to leave.

“I’m fine, darling. I have a first-aid kit here in my office. You can have her bring me ice instead.”

You nodded, smiling at your husband before giving him a kiss on the lips, hoping it would somehow relieve some of the burden he’s carrying on his shoulders. “Alright.”

With a final, affectionate glance, you gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading towards the door. As you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to stay longer, but you trusted him to handle things.

Muzan watched you go, feeling calmer and more grounded. As the door closed behind you, he gingerly walked to the corner of his office where he kept a first aid kit for emergencies.

With a determined sigh, he bandaged his hand, mentally steeling himself to face the rest of the day with renewed resolve. After treating his hand, he returned to his desk, ready to tackle the tasks ahead with renewed clarity and determination.

-

taglist: @bffrrufr @unadulteratedhandsbanditdreamer @unlikelybananawerewolf

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Arcana Brainrot: Blog Rules, Masterlists, Playlist, & Requests Guidelines

Come chat on the Discord server!

Current MC ask game

BLOG RULES:

My inbox is always open for anybody to share their thoughts or ideas! This blog is largely archival now, though, so prompts will likely not get written.

I don't think it needs to be said but hate isn't welcome here. Of any kind.

Please also keep in mind that this blog is PG-13, so whatever comments you make on it will likely be seen by minors. I take their safety seriously, so if there's anything grossly X rated in the comments (I don't see why there should be) I will delete it. If you continue to comment things like that you will be blocked :)

With my older brother rant out of the way, please enjoy the results of me trying to cope with a truly Vesuvian obsession :D

MASTERLISTS: oldest to newest, I'll do my best to update as I post.

All quotes for Arcana characters sent in have this tag: #arcana brainrot quote collection

Because of the link limit for posts, you can find the masterlist for all full headcanons below:

The Arcana HCs : Brainrot's Masterlist

The Arcana HCs : Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 2

And here is the masterlist for all my mini-prompts, answered ask arcana style:

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot’s Masterlist, Pt 2

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 3

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 4

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 5

The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 6

A masterlist for drabbles, with an explanation at the top for how they work!

The Arcana Drabbles: Explanation and Masterlist

The Arcana Drabbles: Masterlist, Pt 2

All the recipes posted by the originals devs from the Arcana universe, with pictures of my own creation attempts and descriptions of how it went!

The Arcana Food

Worldbuilding/character analysis essays ^.^ (not a comprehensive list atm, unfortunately)

The Arcana Essays: Brainrot's Masterlist

Finally got around to fleshing out my self-insert enough to make him a proper MC/ OC!

Bainrot's self-insert MC (Drue)

Vesuviella: my first fanfic. don't get your hopes up (updated sporadically)

Summary: Julian decided to write his own version of Cinderella to be performed in the Community Theatre, and then recruited MC to help him cast the rest of the M6 in the leading roles. Chaos ensues. (There is no determined love interest, MC is friends with the M6 and M6 are all thirsty for MC.)

Vesuviella: All Parts

Arcana Brainrot Playlist: a compilation of all character song suggestions in one Spotify playlist, kept up to date!

Arcana Brainrot Playlist (Spotify)

Arcana Brainrot Playlist (YouTube)

REQUEST GUIDELINES - NO LONGER TAKING REQUESTS

Generally, I pick from what's in my asks and write what sparks inspiration. If there's an idea you'd really like to see written, you're welcome to message me directly about it! ^.^

I don't write about toxic/abusive relationships or dynamics between MC and the M6 (I get the appeal, I'm not judging, but it's not for me)

I don't write for M6 x M6 ships - side character ships are on the table, though!

All of my work is PG-13. (yes to romantic/sensual themes and references to painful experiences, no to explicit matter or glorified violence/pain/death/toxicity)

I'm willing to do research for topics I'm not familiar with, but there are plenty of things I can't write about just because I haven't lived it and I know an hour of research wouldn't be enough to be accurate (and respecting other people's experiences is important)

I am unfortunately very familiar with what it's like to have trauma/mental illnesses. That said, while I'm very happy to explore how that impacts MC and their relationships, there are some prompts I may take a very long time to do or just not write at all because they would mess me up

In general, keeping the prompt relatively short (a sentence to a paragraph) helps me organize them better! The same goes for asks sent with a visible blog - if I have questions, I can reach out to you for more details! ^.^

Both my asks and messages are open because I love hearing from new people! If you abuse that you will be blocked :)

All of the above points have reasons for them, and are therefore subject to change. If you have an idea that you'd really like to see and you're not sure about, just message me! I can either tell you why I can't do it or I can make an exception depending on the case

RELEVANT FANDOM HAPPENINGS

(I don't do drama on my page, but these are some posts that provide transparency and accountability for some of the things I've been caught up in)

To the Arcana Fandom, From Brainrot

An update on Rai/Kip

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Two

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5145

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warnings: 18+ Blog; talk of drug use (no actual using), absent parents, mention of food and alcohol, slow burn, brown fuzzy coat, self doubt, break-up mention, annoyance towards actors, cursing, 2nd POV, that should be it but if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: It’s here!! I’m really excited for this chapter, lots of little things I love about that I’m so excited for you to read. This chapter is where we meet reader and learn a little bit about her. I wanted to also note, there will be an eventual nickname used, we just haven’t gotten to it being used yet so for now I’m not mentioning it. The response to this series has been so amazing and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful feedback!! Another big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for taking the time to beta for me!! You’re a champ for putting up with my spelling errors. Update: adding link to mug that is mentioned -> etsy shop

Series Masterlist / Sweet Creature Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

“Diem, you can’t really be considering this?! Did you forget, he was literally doing drugs off of your toilet!” 

You pour another glass of a sweet sparkling wine you’d picked up before heading to Diem’s for your weekly chat session, then settling back into the array of plush couch cushions— a night to decompress a bit, vent and just catch up on the week’s happenings. 

“Well, I’ve already considered and told him yes.”

“What?” You nearly spit your drink out in shock. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I kind of called it when you invited him to Wren’s party. I just— I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Look, I know you’re just being protective, and I’m so grateful for that, I truly am— but you have to just let me make this decision and trust that he’s going to be clean like he says he is. This is his longest stay in treatment, that’s got to be a good sign, right?” 

The one thing you loved most about Diem was her big heart and her constant need to mother everyone around her. 

She had literally taken you under her wing when you’d decided to uproot your entire life and move to a random city you had zero ties to. 

A chance meeting in the halls of your new employer, Ojai Valley School, while rounding the corner and bumping into each other. Your stack of lesson plans scattering about the concrete floor and her basket of snacks toppling over— a dozen or so clementine oranges rolling around the haphazard mess of papers. 

In sorting out each other’s disarray, you’d learned she was a parent of a kindergartener, to which you shared being the new first grade teacher. 

Somewhere in the midst of an over abundance of apologies for the mishap and swapping mini life stories on the walk together to your classroom, her daughter’s class coincidentally next door, there was an exchanging of phone numbers and a no pressure invitation for drinks and appetizers at her place— she dubbed it as a proper ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’ 

A week later you found yourself in Diem’s living room bonding over similar interests with wooden platters of too expensive crackers, hard to pronounce cheeses, thinly sliced deli meats paired with quickly mixed and shaken cocktails over ice. 

She shared her struggles being a single mom who was embarking on a new business adventure all while co-parenting with her ex-boyfriend. You learned her family didn’t live close, parents usually traveling through some part of the world or staying in one of their many extravagant vacation homes, while her brother was some big name movie star— Dieter Bravo, whom you’d seen plastered on the covers of gossip magazines. 

There was an instant friendship between the two of you that flourished as the months went on— a sisterly bond you’d never had being an only child. 

Weekly chats developed into spending not only more time with Diem, but with Wren as well. Dinners and movie nights became a regular thing, rotating hosting duties while Wren always had the final say in the movie. You shared your love for art with them as much as you could, making sure to invite them both when a new artist had their latest installment showing at one of the many galleries in town, Wren always so captivated with your interpretations of the art on display, encouraging her to seek out her own. If Diem ever found herself in a pinch with the hotel, you were more than excited to spend more time with Wren, especially on the warmer days where you both could take advantage of the pool and soak up the California sun. 

You felt like an instant local and less of a transplant after a few months, building your own connections with merchants and finding your own niche outside of teaching within Ojai— you were a welcomed presence. 

“I’m sorry Diem, I just have flashbacks to seeing him slumped over on the bathroom floor, high out of his mind— That look on your face ate me up inside.” You sigh at the recollection of your first meeting of her brother Dieter, all disheveled and extremely inebriated. Diem had cried on your shoulder for hours after everyone had left the party, but you did your best to comfort her as time went on. “I’ll be here for you if you need anything.”

She reaches over to you and gives you a hug, reassurance that she appreciates you always having her back. 

“Thank you. I promise, any little inkling of something being off and he’s out. Just try to be a little nice to him, give him a chance to prove himself. He said he’ll be here in a few weeks and I’d love for you two to get a proper meeting, so let me know what your schedule is looking like.”

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” You playfully roll your eyes at her, but you would really try to be as open as you could be, especially for her and Wren. 

“Okay, enough about me and my stuff. What’s new with you?? Any hot dates??”

Your dating life was near nonexistent. Yeah, you dated, but that was as far as things went. 

Your last relationship had ended in a breakup before your move. Both of you wanting different things, you wanting him to move with you and him wanting to stay rooted, while also refusing to try the long distance thing, deciding a clean break was best for the both of you. 

“Ugh. I went on one the other day. One of the teachers cornered me in the break room and insisted on setting me up with her neighbor.”

“And?”

“And, it was a disaster. He was late to the restaurant and then he was excusing himself every fifteen minutes to go to the bar to watch some sport’s playoffs. He also ordered for me off the kid’s menu, said he thought the restaurant was overpriced— he picked it mind you. Safe to say there was nothing ‘hot’ about the date. I literally give up. I’ll live the rest of my life alone— maybe I should get a cat or two.”

Your body slinks back amusingly into the couch cushions. 

“Oh my god. Stop!” She swats jokingly at your limp arm. “You’re so dramatic. Firstly, don’t accept any dates from colleagues— those are always bound to be disastrous! Secondly, you won’t be alone forever. You just have to open yourself up to the possibility of something just happening organically— like fate! Thirdly— no cats! Wren’s allergic and I can’t deal with that mess of meltdowns from her wanting one of her own.”

“Why do you always have to be my voice of reason?!”

“Because that’s what friends are for… Babe!”

“I hate you!” You’re both in a fit of giggles as you toss a pillow across the couch at her. 

“Oh! I do have some good news though! The gallery said they’re holding one last artist showcase before closing the doors and they offered it to me.”

Reverie Studio, a cute little art gallery and workshop space, had become a sanctuary for your creative imagination to live freely. They offered classes throughout the year to varying types of artists, novice to well seasoned, in their workshop space in the back of the gallery. 

The gallery itself was spacious and washed in white, perfect for featuring painted canvases, framed photographs or ceramic sculptures. Giant bright windows facing Main Street, allowed for ample viewing for visitors. 

You’d taken a few classes as a way to submerse yourself into the community, hoping to build some connections with like minded individuals. At one point you’d noticed the bulletin board that held a plethora of business cards, class schedules and other various information about town happenings, had a help wanted flier for the studio itself looking for someone to teach a few classes. You, being a teacher already, as well as an artist, decided to seek out more information. They hired you on the spot and allowed you to decide what classes you wanted to offer. 

The latest flier was informing that the owners decided they would be closing their doors soon. If you had the means, you would have put an offer on the business to keep it open, unfortunately with your salary as a teacher it wouldn’t be feasible. While you were sad you’d be losing Reverie, you were grateful they considered your art to be shown as their last installment. 

“What?! That is amazing! Finally people can see the amazing things you paint— I’ve been dreaming of this moment for you!! Also, I told you my brother’s an artist right?”

“Like, ‘I’m an actor, art is my passion’ while having zero idea how watercolor works…” Air quotes adding emphasis to your mockery.

“I thought you said you were going to be on your best behavior?” She tosses a pillow right back at you, nearly knocking over your empty glass in the process. 

“Sorry, I had to get it out.” Thankfully she could sense your campy tone. 

“I’m going to head out, there’s a stack of papers calling my name that I need to grade.” You state, grabbing your purse and making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you at drop off.” Throwing her a wave as you walk down the path leading to the main sidewalk. 

“Oh! Before I forget, Wren asked if she could come paint sometime. Told her I’d run it by you first and see if there was any space for her.” 

“Of course— Anytime!”

“Perfect. We'll chat more about it later then. Text me when you get home!” Diem leaning into the door frame, practically shouting as you cross the street, knowing you live a less than five minute walk down the block. 

“Oh! And I want to have you over for dinner when Dieter gets here!!”

“Goodnight Diem!” Throwing a lax wave back at her. 

*

Dieter can’t remember a time he’d slept so well. Could be the comfortable pillow top mattress, or it could be due to the fact this is the most relaxed he’s felt in years. 

There’s clanking coming from what he can only assume is the kitchen, followed by the strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Diem is awake, still the early bird that she’s always been. 

He begins to extricate himself from the cushy bed, swinging his legs over the edge, his body following suit into a somewhat hunched over sitting position. His fingers pick at the tiny sleep crystals embedded in the corners of his eyes, a few blinks to adjust to the light, his sight still a bit blurry. 

An audible lazy yawn works its way through his mouth, sleep still ruminating within him for the time being. He reaches over to the side table to grab his black framed glasses, a few swipes over the lens glass with the crumpled top sheet before he’s lifting them to the window for a quick smudge inspection— passable and now snug to his face. 

He convinces his body to rise to his full height, joints and muscles adjusting to their proper positions after several hours of a sedentary vacation. A quick roll of the neck and overhead arm stretches ramp up his alertness. 

Stepping over yesterday’s clothes still plopped in the middle of the floor, he digs through his bags in search of something to cover his boxer clad body with the intent to make the trek through the house to a cup of rich amber heaven. 

The air has a slight chill to it, not an uncommon occurrence being tucked in a valley on a California morning. He pulls on his favorite lounge pants, dark stripes pair with a thin cottony fabric worn in from years of wearing— a security blanket of sorts. Throwing his giant fuzzy overcoat over a wrinkled shirt while taking a few deep breaths, schooling his trepidation and the fact that a new life awaits him on the other side of the door. 

*

Sure enough, Diem is busy moving about the kitchen. A mom through and through multitasking her way through the morning— coffee made with mugs set out, breakfast of eggs and toast plated waiting to be eaten,  and a million other little tasks that seem to keep her attention focused. 

“I can’t believe you still have that damn coat, I beg you don’t wear it in public.”

“Good morning to you too!” That first sentence a bit gravelly as he looks down to inspect the coat Diem had just insulted. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

“It makes you look— a little tacky and less ‘I’ve finally got my life together.’” He shakes his head at her remark, deciding he’ll leave out the part that it’s just a house coat these days. 

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Best sleep I’ve had in awhile. Gonna need to know where I can get one of those beds for home.” Grabbing one of the mugs and pouring himself a decent amount of coffee, then positioning himself onto one of the barstools in front of his awaiting breakfast. 

“That would be a “we’re so proud of you, here’s a bed” gift from mom and dad.” He can sense her somewhat sore tone as she wipes up the counters. 

“You hear from them lately?” 

“Aside from the gifts they send regularly for Wren and a few emails updating on their whereabouts, they seem to be living up to the absentee status quite well.” 

He doesn’t expect the weight of her response to hit him so fiercely, knowing his own presence had been equally lacking as well. 

“I’m sorry.” It seems like the only adequate answer. 

“For what? It’s not your fault our parent’s decision to be unavailable the majority of our lives. I mean, I love them and I know they love us, but they sure have a weird way of showing it.”

“Yeah— well, I can’t say my track record has been any better over the years.” He wishes he could omit the guilt, but acknowledging and accepting his own absence seems like a more appropriate approach to mending the past. 

“Hey, no! I’m not trying to project any of my thoughts onto you.” Her movements halted, giving her full attention to the conversation. “You made an effort, regardless of your— your situation through the years, you still made time for us. We see them maybe twice if we’re lucky. Sometimes they surprise Wren with a FaceTime call, probably so she doesn’t forget what they look like.”

His fork scrapes through his runny eggs, taking his anger out on them seems like a better alternative to a seething phone call to his parents. He’s not sure they’d even answer if he did call. Communication between him and them was tenuous, having sent them a few emails while in rehab, their only response was “That’s great. We love you!”

“Plus, you’re here now. Look at it as a second chance to make up for lost time.” 

Before he’s able to give much thought to the prospect of a second chance, the trotting of tiny footsteps is heard coming from the hall. 

“Uncle Dude!!! You’re here, you’re here!” Wren’s tiny little body launched into his chest as he tried to squat down to her level. 

Uncle Dude. When Wren was younger, she had trouble with his name when her vocabulary started to expand, certain letter patterns fairing more difficult than others. Dieter joked around with the idea of her calling him ‘The Dude’, The Big Lebowski being one of his comfort films. Diem tried everything in her powers to make it not happen, but it only took an entire weekend of Dieter coaching the then 3 year old and Uncle Dude came to be. 

“Hey Birdie! Gosh, you’ve gotten so big!”

“I know, mama said I hafta eat all my vegetables ‘cause they will make me grow and grow and grow.” She wraps her little arms around his neck, squeezing him tight before pulling back and fully inspecting him. “You brought teddy jacket wiff you!!” Her little hands running through the brown sherpa fabric of his coat, which she claimed felt like a teddy bear— Teddy Jacket. 

“Brought it just for you.” He shoots a sarcastic smile over to Diem, who is doing her best to not make her eye rolling obvious, then plants a kiss to Wren’s tiny forehead.

“Okay Miss Wren, you’ve got to eat breakfast and get dressed for school.” Diem pulling out the mom voice, making both him and Wren exchange a brief scrunched expression. 

Wren climbs the legs of the barstool and settles into its seat. “But I wanna stay wiff Uncle Dude! He always gets me donuts for breakfast!” Her little voice floats through the air and wraps itself around his heart, clenching over how much he’s missed her. 

“Uncle Dude is actually taking you to school today, so you’ll have plenty of time before school to hang out. And we can do donuts a different time, eat your eggs then go get yourself dressed.” 

“Are you gonna be here when I get home too?!” Looking at Dieter with pleading eyes. 

“Heck yeah! I’ll be here for a while!” Dieter leans in close enough so only Wren can hear. “If you hurry up, we can get donuts before school, our secret!”

“YAY!!!” 

Diem looks over her shoulder at the two of them, an eyebrow cocked at Wren’s abrupt excitement, then looking at Dieter and only getting an innocent shoulder shrug from him. 

“I’m going to head out then if you’ve got this under control.” Dieter nods in agreement, finishing off the remainder of his coffee. “Perfect! I already left a message with the school you’d be dropping her off. No need to worry about picking her up, she has a wellness check with her doctor, so I’ll take her to that before we head home.” Diem scurrying around, grabbing items from different areas of the room and tossing into her oversized tote, before giving a kiss to Wren and quick hug to Dieter. “I’ll see you both later. Love you, bye!!” The door shutting quickly behind her. 

There’s a beat of silence as Wren and Dieter exchange looks, as if they know what each other is thinking. 

“DONUTS!!” Both announce in unison, high fives and uncoordinated movements as they both flail about. 

“Alright Birdie, let’s get dressed and go!”

“Let’s go!!”

*

As promised, donuts were a designated stop on the way to school. Wren’s excitement was written all over her face as she peered through the bakery case deliberating on her choice. Dieter missed this, moments spent with her as she explored the world around her. Thinking back to his conversation with Diem, this instance is proof second chances exist. 

“Thanks Uncle Dude for the donut!” He glances back at Wren in the rear view mirror, buckled securely into her booster seat, flakes of pink donut frosting smeared around her mouth, curls slightly bouncing as she bobs her head to the music she requested as Dieter buckled her in. 

“No problem Birdie. Here, why don’t you wipe your face— hide the evidence.” He hands her a napkin, hoping she can manage on her own— she seems to do a good enough job of it. 

“Donuts make me happy.” 

“They do, do they?”

“Yeah! They make me smile. Mama says being a movie star makes you happy.”

“She did?” 

“Yep! Does it?”

He thinks it does, or it used to at least. There was a time when the love he had for acting was limitless— he would eat, sleep and breathe acting. Getting sought after roles, memorizing pages worth of lines, stepping into character the instant the director said action. Acting filled a void in him that had been vacant for years. 

“It used to make me really happy.”

“But it doesn’t anymore?” 

“I don’t know, still trying to figure that out.”

“Mama says your heart knows when it’s happy, so just listen to your heart Uncle Dude!”

“I’ll do that, thanks Birdie.”

*

Most of your school mornings ran the same way. You tend to wake before your alarm ever has a chance to alert you, you’ve made such a habit of it you’re not sure why you bother setting one. You read somewhere about how cold showers at the start of the day help wake your mind, could be total bullshit but for some reason you believe it works— they’re the longest 2 minutes of your day. Being a private school teacher, the attire on school grounds tends to lean more conservative than your ‘normal life uniform’ of sundresses, distressed jeans and comfy band tees, but it makes for a quick selection of dark slacks and a comfortable top. 

The coffee machine has already run through its cycle by the time shoes are on and your school tote is securely placed on your shoulder. Grabbing your favorite coffee mug that reads “Let It Gogh”, a gift from a student last year, you fill it with an adequate amount of coffee and a splash of cream before you're out the door. 

The local bakery is your only stop before work, offering a good selection of breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and an enticing selection of donuts— you may or may not add one to your order of an egg and cheese sandwich some mornings. 

You tend to breeze through your class preparation before the bells ring for the start of school. 

The day's lesson plan already looked over, worksheets separated and ready for the students, and the whiteboard cleaned and daily tasks written out— you find it helps deter your students from having to ask “what are we doing today?” more than necessary. 

There’s usually a good 30 minutes of quiet before the first student arrives, and if there’s no need for you elsewhere on campus, you take the time to read your latest book you picked up from Bart’s Books and hope you can get through a good amount of it the short time you have. 

Like clockwork, your students trickle in with their ‘good mornings’ and vibrant stories about their world. 

Some parents opt for a quick ‘drop and go’, while others linger a bit in the back of the class until you’re ushering them out when the bell rings. You enjoy the parent interaction. It’s usually spent answering homework questions or sharing upcoming events happening in the class, with the occasional non-school related discussions when Diem swings by with Wren— you both getting caught up in some story that is not really relevant to anything school related. 

There’s a quick flash of a familiar little face, Wren placing her purple backpack on its assigned hook, then running back to where you’re standing at your desk. 

“My Uncle Dude brought me today!”

“Your Uncle Dude?” Diem hadn’t mentioned not being able to bring Wren this morning, and you’ve never heard of this “Dude” person before. 

“Yeah! He’s a movie star!!” Her little frame is buzzing with excitement, not able to stand still as she bounces on the balls of her feet. Before you’re able to question her further, she zips off towards her table, waving to someone over your shoulder. “Byyyyye Uncle Dude!!! See you later!!” 

You’d been so wrapped up in your brief conversation with Wren, you hadn’t noticed the man standing at the door to your classroom. 

He doesn’t seem to notice you staring as he leans against the door, watching Wren getting herself situated with her fellow classmates. 

Dieter Bravo. Or at least you think it is. No it definitely is.

The images of your first encounter with him flood your mind. You’re not really sure what you expected when Diem said he was clean and sober now, but you definitely didn’t expect to find him attractive on any level. 

He looks healthy and like he might actually sleep regularly, his eyes seemingly less sunken in from what you can see with his glasses perched perfectly on his face. His hair slightly shorter and still a little bit of a mess but purposefully, it seems to suit him though. 

Your eyes roam a bit further down, noticing he seemed to have traded his disheveled clothes for a more put together yet laid back style. A white t-shirt under a black blazer that seems far too formal for school drop off and a snug pair of dark wash jeans. 

You shouldn’t be ogling him like this, but your brain is having a hard time controlling itself. 

“Hello?”

You must have zoned out pretty hard because you didn’t realize he was standing so close now, and attempting to get your attention. 

“Oh— H-hi! Sorry, I was lost in thought there for a second.” You can feel your face heating up, trying to get your thoughts together. 

“Hi, I’m Wren’s teacher—“

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle—“

You both attempt to introduce yourselves, speaking at the same time, hands knocking into each other awkwardly before properly situating for a shake. 

Heat begins to rise in your body, you’re completely flustered by his subdued energy and the way he’s looking at you with his soft brown eyes. 

“Sorry— you first, please.” 

“I’m Dieter, Wren’s Uncle. Diem asked if I could drop her off, said she already had it called into the front office.” 

“Yes— yes! Sorry, I must have not looked over my notes thoroughly this morning and missed that message.”

“I like your mug.” Pointing to your Van Gogh mug you forgot you were holding, he laughs as he reads the message on the front. 

As if you didn’t know what was already on it, you instinctively lift the mug to view it, like it was your first time seeing it. 

“T-thanks, a student gave it to me last year and it’s kind of become my favorite one to use for school, I’ll be sad if something ever happens to it.” You internally cringe at your tendency to over share, words just aimlessly falling from your mouth, trying to mask your nervousness. 

“Keep it safe then. Anyways— I’m an actor, as Wren so kindly informed you. I normally live down in LA when I’m not shooting movies, but I’m—I’m taking some time off, no movies or anything at the moment, going to spend a few months with my sister and Wren, help out however I can.” 

Ah! There it is, the “I’m an actor” spiel making the attraction you felt towards him flee instantly. While he may be a new cleaned up version of the Dieter Bravo you met a year ago, he’s still just a typical Hollywood actor who likes to talk about himself at any chance he can get. Having had your fair share of run-ins with actors before, they’re all the same as far as you’re concerned— his career holds zero significance to you in any way. 

Releasing a heavy sigh as you remember Diem’s plea to be on your best behavior, you school your annoyance at his mentioning of it.

But unbeknownst to you, he can sense your lack of interest in what he’s saying and decides his introduction is over. 

Thankfully, you’re literally and figuratively saved by the bell. 

“Well, I better let you get to your class then.”

“Yeah— I’m sure I’ll see you around Mr. Bravo. Have a great day.” 

You turn towards your desk hastily placing your mug down in exchange for a stack of worksheets, then making your way to the front of the class to get your lesson started. 

“1-2-3, eyes on me! Good morning everyone! Please get a pencil while I pass these papers out.” 

Dieter stands in the doorway, observing your interactions with your students, a stark contrast to the coldness you’d given him at the end of your conversation. 

*

The rest of the day flew by once it started, the short interaction with Dieter unfortunately flitted through your mind more than you'd have liked it to. But you didn’t let your aversion towards him have any effect on your day. 

After closing up your class and dropping off attendance sheets in the front office, you made your way home, looking forward to an evening of drinks and gossip. 

A quick change out of your school clothes into some jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops, you filled your canvas tote with a chilled bottle of white wine and the cheeses you’d told Diem you’d bring over. 

Being that it’s roughly a 5 minute walk from your house to Diem’s. The neighborhood is quiet most days, giving you a chance to really enjoy the ambiance of everyone’s front gardens and a few neighborly ‘Hello’s’ as you stroll down the sidewalk.

Nearing Diem’s house, noticing her car in the driveway, a sense of relief washes over you at the thought of Dieter being out and the chance of running into him would be slim. You were ready to unwind for the evening. 

Front door unlocked, you let yourself in— both of you exchanging keys early on in your friendship in the off chance there was an emergency or one of you showed up to a locked door. 

Hearing Diem rustling around in her pantry, not hearing your arrival, you decide to start unpacking your tote and announce your presence. 

“You have no idea how much I need this tonight Diem!”

Not hearing a response from her, you continue placing things on her counter and continue to spill to her. 

“Also! Would have been nice to have a heads up that your brother would be dropping Wren off— was not prepared for that. But what a difference a year makes, he looks good, definitely was attracted to him for a split second— sorry I know you don’t want to hear that, but honestly such a difference from my first interaction with him being when I was yelling at him for being strung out in your bathroom.”

Still no word from her as you open the bottle of wine and unwrap the cheeses in preparation for the evening. 

“You’d be so proud of me too! I was on my best behavior despite how much I was annoyed with listening to him talk about himself— Hey, did you happen to get those crackers with the figs and olives?? I grabbed that honey goat cheese that we like to eat with them.”

The silence carries on from the pantry. No more movement. No sign of Diem. 

“Diem? You okay? Hey, I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have mentioned your brother being attractive— and I honestly was really nice to him. I mean, at least I think I was.”

You can hear Diem finally making her way to join you in the kitchen. 

Only when you look up, prepared to give her a big welcoming smile, your face immediately fades into a look of surprise when you realize it’s not Diem at all— it’s her brother, Dieter. 

“Diem’s not home.”

“Oh fuck—”

Next

[tgmsunmontue]

Team Player 3/7

Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.

PART ONE PART TWO

THREE

                “Where am I going to take him?”

                “You really need to calm down.”

                “Nat, I asked him out and he said yes.”

                “Mmm. A complete surprise. Shocking. Truly.”

                “What?”

                “I’m sorry, he’s sort of the type that thinks poking fun of someone is a way of letting them know he likes them… most boys outgrow it before they leave high school.”

                “What?”

                “He likes you. Has liked you for years. Just… you never seemed to like him back. And now… you do.”

                “I want to fuck him, I think liking him back might be stretching it a little.”

                “You want to do more than just fuck him. You’re lying to yourself and it isn’t making you look good. You only wanted to fuck him when you saw him plastered with your call sign. You want him to be yours. Like, locked down and married type shit.”

                “What?”

                “I know, I know. You’re going on your first date, but just let me call dibs on being your best man when you get married.”

                “What?”

                “Are you broken? You seem broken. You’re saying what a lot.”

                “I’m not broken. You’re talking about me and Hangman getting married.”

                “Just calling it like I see it. Feel free to try and prove me wrong, although I think you’ll be happier if you just go with my prediction.”

                “Can we focus please! Where should I take him?”

                “Dinner? Movies?”

                “Wow, really original…”

                “I can leave.”

                “No! Sorry. I’m just…”

                “Nervous. I get it. You like him.”

                “I do. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?”

                “Well, did you want a list or a pie chart?”

                “Nat!”

                “Sorry. You’re allowed to like him. Apart from his justifiable large ego, he’s actually a decent guy.”

                “Okay, yeah. I know. Okay. I think I might take him to Belmont.”

                “I thought you said before that you didn’t want anything competitive?”

                “We can just do the rides.”

                “You both fly fighter jets for a living and you’re going to go thrill seeking at Belmont? Huh. That’s actually not a bad idea.”

                “Yeah? You think he’ll like it?”

                “Seriously, you could suggest watching infomercials and getting pizza delivered and he’d do it, and like it…”

                Bradley pulls a face, because he fucking doubts it, but he feels like Belmont Park will be okay. Fun. He lets Natasha leave, insists he doesn’t need her help anymore. He’s decided, even if he’s a little jittery thinking about the fact that he didn’t leave himself more time between asking Hangman out and them deciding the next day was a good day and time. He showers and dresses, pulling on his darkest jeans and oh fuck… maybe he should have kept Natasha here after all. He picks up his phone, opens it up to send her a message and there it is. A message telling him what to wear and he laughs. God she knows him so well. Not a Hawaiian shirt, he can manage that.

                He blasts his rev me up playlist on the way to pick up Hangman, hoping it might fill him with some confidence, and it all slips away anyway as Hangman walks down the steps toward him. He looks relaxed, also wearing jeans though his are lighter colored, and he’s wearing a hoodie, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hangman wear.

                “Am I dressed okay? You’re wearing a proper shirt…”

                “Uh, you’re fine. Thought we could go to Belmont.”

                “Oh cool, I haven’t been to Belmont in years.”

                “Yeah, I thought we could do some rides, eat overpriced food, maybe do some games. I didn’t want to pick anything solely competitive…”

                “Afraid of losing to me?”

                Bradley rolls his eyes, but Natasha’s words from earlier and running through his head, that this is Hangman’s way of flirting.

                “Already got a date with you, pretty sure that’s all the winning I need.”

                Jake blushes. Fucking blushes and Bradley looks away and grins, realizing he can throw Jake off with sincerity. He can do that, especially because Jake is even more gorgeous when he looks a little flustered. He reverses back onto the road and heads out, wonders if it’s going to be awkward but Hangman is filling the silence, asking questions about what he’d done with his day off today and talking about what he’s done. The twenty-minute drive goes by quickly, easily, and it makes him feel better about the date ahead. He parks the car and gets out, locking it and then looks up, Hangman has his back to him, is staring up at something, he can’t look because his eyes are fixed on the back of Jake’s back, the word Roosters stretched between his shoulder blades.

                He is so fucked.

PART FOUR

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 9 Part 2 - Honey I'm Home

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

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Childhood memories entwine with the rest of the month spent in Lafitte as the pieces fall in place for the grand debut of Buggy's new show.

Warnings: Explicit smut, dubious consent, child abuse, violence/blood,

Word Count: 20.9k

Notes: "I didn't want to post a 20+k word chapter" lol. Part of me wishes I didn't have that bad week so this could be a cohesive but huge chapter because I think last week's was pretty weak, but hopefully this makes up for it. If you don't like the backstory thing and only want clown, ctrl+F the words 'days earlier' to read those sections+the final section.

"Father said that this world isn't for me I tried to pray for a new reality "So, come to me, we can change night into day." A tied-up moth seemed to know a different way (Don't remember it Don't return to it) Oh, Father tore out the umbilical cord There's nothing left in the bottle keeping me scored We'll abandon the scenery in the (Don't remember it Don't return to it) Rear-view mirror"

xx

23 Days Earlier

“What are you doing out here?”

“Crina!” you said, smiling despite your gloomy mood. In the sunshine, she was a radiant figure, her tawny skin practically glowing gold with its light. 

She raised an eyebrow in lieu of any greeting, sitting down on the sand next to you. 

“I’m waiting for Captain Buggy,” you told her, looking around the stretch of beach claimed by the pirates. A few members of the crew lounged around drinking or playing cards or whatever else it was that they did, but the captain was nowhere to be found. He had mentioned getting something to drink, but you weren’t sure. 

“He left you here alone?” Crina asked. 

“I think I upset him,” you told her. “I don’t really know how, though. I only asked if he wanted to go swimming.”

“Ah,” Crina said, nodding. “He probably assumed you were making fun of him.”

“Making fun of him?” 

“Because he can’t go in the water.”

“Why not?” 

She gave a confused look. “Anybody who eats a Devil Fruit is cursed. The sea rejects them. Even a splash of seawater can be debilitating. Captain Buggy didn’t explain any of this to you?” 

“No,” you said softly, taken aback. “Captain Buggy really is cursed then?” 

“Yes.”

You looked down at your feet, half buried in the warm sand, reaching up to pull down a bandana that wasn’t there. Buggy said you needed to get used to going without it, or at least wearing an eyepatch like a proper sort of pirate. Your hands dropped lamely into your lap, restless as the word ‘cursed’ pounded around in your head.    

“I’m sure he’ll get over it. How are you?” Crina asked, breaking the silence. Well, relative silence. The sea had a lot to say, whispering and roaring all at once. 

“I’m fine,” you said instinctively. “How are you?” 

She stared hard at you. In the sunlight, her dark eyes became the warmest shade of brown you had ever seen. “I heard about your dad.”

Your shoulders tensed up, curling inward. “What did you hear?”

“That he’s an infamous Marine and now you’re a valuable asset.” Crina scoffed, shaking her head. “Only Captain Buggy would accidentally find himself in a position like this.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Most people are predictable,” she explained. “You can predict their future based on their past and accounting for things like skill and experience. For Captain Buggy, it’s like… His luck is a dice roll, the only thing he’s truly reliable for is capitalizing on opportunity. I assume that’s what you are. A lucky roll.” 

You shrugged, unable to look her in the eye. “Does everyone know, then? About my dad?” 

“The senior officers do, but it’s only a matter of time until the rest find out. They already suspect. The target on your back keeps getting larger, and he leaves you here all alone.” She looked back, her brow furrowing. You followed her line of sight, shocked to meet the eyes of a familiar blunt-featured man. You looked away quickly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

“Is he staring at me?” you asked softly, hunching forward as if that would protect you from his gaze.

“Ivo’s never gotten over his little grudge, and this hasn’t helped.” 

You sighed, pulling your legs up so you could put your head on your knees. 

“Are you okay?” Crina asked, her voice very gentle. 

“I’m fine.”  

“I don’t know Captain Buggy’s plan,” Crina told you, “but you know that this will end in a confrontation with your father.”

“I know,” you said, hugging your thighs tightly for some sense of stability. “Captain Buggy said he wouldn’t let Dad take me back. It will be okay. It has to be.”

Crina scooted closer to you, leaning in so she could speak very, very softly. “There are other options.”

You sat up a little, frowning. “What do you mean?”   

“It might be nice to settle down for a while,” Crina said. “I can make a living practically anywhere. You could come along and help me. I would pay you, and you could learn how to live independently.”  

“I… Um, I don’t think Captain Buggy would go for that.” 

“I’m not asking about Captain Buggy,” Crina said. “You and I could leave. Disappear. I know people who could make that happen, and you wouldn’t have to be a pawn in either man’s scheme.”

“I… don’t, um… understand.” 

“Has he apologized for what he did?” Crina asked rather than clarify, staring at you with an intense gaze.

“What did he do?”

“Sending you here alone, keeping you in the brig. Has he apologized?” 

“He doesn’t… doesn’t need to-to apologize,” you told her, drawing back into yourself. “I was the… I lied. Everything is okay now, Captain Buggy told me it is.”

“What about next time you upset him?”

You shook your head, outright refusing to think about that. “No, I won’t. I won’t lie to him ever again.” You exhaled shakily, bowing your head. “He promised he wouldn’t send me away. He won’t do that.” 

“You need to consider having a backup plan,” Crina told you. “Pirates always have one. Captain Buggy undoubtedly has several in case things with your dad go wrong.”

You nodded, trying very hard to swallow the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to think about that. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Crina muttered. You looked over your shoulder. Captain Buggy had a piece of paper in one hand and a bottle in the other, calling everybody over to where he stood. 

“Heya, babydoll, get over here,” he shouted at you. You stood up, brushing the sand off your butt, and approached his chair. He handed the bottle to you, motioning for you to open it up. “Check it out.” He held the paper up to show everybody, flicking the back for extra emphasis. It was his bounty poster, a photo you were very familiar with. Except, something had changed.  

“Oh,” you said, realizing the key difference. “Your bounty went up!” 

As soon as they understood what they had been called over to do, the pirates began cheering, raising bottles and whooping excitedly. The sudden assault of noise startled you, but Captain Buggy accepted their excitement and praise as if it were expected, rolling his eyes and waving it off.  Wanting to join in, you tried to open the bottle. The foil came off easily, but the cork was tough.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Buggy finally told them, bringing the cheers to a stop. “This,” he held up the poster again, “is proof that my star is rising. And you,” Buggy waved his hand in a circle around the crowd, “have all been given the very special honor of enjoying my light. Imagine it. If you’ve got the talent to make the cut, you’ll end up serving royalty.”

Everybody cheered again, toasting to Captain Buggy, King of the Pirates. 

 When the cork finally came out, it was with a loud pop that caused you to yelp in surprise, and then a fizzing stream of what you assumed was champagne. The silence that followed was the worst of it all. Nobody was going to laugh unless Buggy did, but he was just staring. You held up the bottle with a forced smile, which was much lighter given how much of the drink had ended up on your dress. “To Captain Buggy.”  

He broke, cackling at the display. Everybody else followed suit. You looked to Crina for help, but she just shrugged. 

“Alright, you’re all dismissed,” Buggy said when he was done laughing, waving everybody away. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” Crina said before departing, giving you a comforting smile that almost helped soothe your crippling embarrassment. 

“You know, babydoll,” Buggy said, grabbing the bottle out of your hand and taking a swig, “most people drink the stuff, not wear it.” 

“I didn’t know it would explode,” you said in your defense, cringing.

“Are you wearing polka-dots under there?” Buggy said, staring at your chest. Now that it was wet, the wrap dress was practically see-through. “That’s bold of you.”

“It’s a swimsuit,” you said, going around him to grab a towel, trying to clean up a bit. 

“No way,” Buggy said. “Show me.” 

“That’s… I mean, it’s for going into the water, otherwise…” You pressed the back of your hand to your cheek. The flush wasn’t going away, maybe you could pretend it was just sunburn. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“Yeah, and?” He asked, raising his eyebrows tauntingly. 

“Captain Buggy,” you said, frowning. “I… that’s really, really embarrassing. Especially after…” You looked around. Nobody was looking, of course they weren’t, but you could imagine what they were thinking. You couldn’t do anything. When you tried, you were bad at it, and embarrassed yourself. They knew the reason you were here, stripping down into glorified underwear would not help with that perception. 

He took another big drink out of the bottle before setting it on the table. 

You realized he was going for you a second later, jumping away with a yelp of surprise. You were fast enough to evade him, somehow. Which didn’t matter because Buggy just detached his hands, grabbing onto the bow’s tail keeping your dress tied and pulling hard.

“When will you quit falling for that?” Buggy asked, laughing. 

“Captain Buggy!” you exclaimed, swatting his hand away and trying to fix the dress. 

“Wrong one,” he said. “On your left.” 

You turned left, over-compensating for your blindspot, but his other hand was behind you, dragging the back of the dress to get it off. You circled around, trying to fight that one off, but something else flew past you. Another part of his arm?

“I meant on my left,” Buggy clarified. You turned right, but you tripped on what you thought was his wrist. With a squeaky cry, you fell into the warm sand on your hands and knees. When you tripped, he dragged the dress off of your shoulders, and Buggy laughed as all the pieces of his arms reattached, your dress like a white flag he waved above your head. 

“Captain Buggy!” You exclaimed, standing up and throwing yourself towards him to try and take it back. He held it up, easily keeping it out of your reach, laughing at your fruitless attempts to try to get ahold of it. Out of breath and knowing it was pointless, you gave up with a huge, unhappy huff.

“What, that’s it?” Buggy asked, lowering his hand enough to taunt you to lunge for the dress. 

“It’s too late now,” you told him, breathing hard. You thought that you were getting stronger, but the old exhaustion was always so quick to set in. Maybe it would never go away. When you nervously looked over your shoulder, nobody was looking. Nobody would. Not only was there nothing worth looking at, but Buggy would get mad if they did. 

Embarrassing. Then again, you had already done about as much damage as you could. It wasn’t going to get worse.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Buggy relax, his arms dropping as he followed your line of sight. 

You blew a raspberry at him, snatching your dress out of his hand and running as fast as you could as soon as you got it, giggling madly.

“Oh, real mature,” Buggy called.

“What?” you asked innocently, stopping about ten feet away to look at him. “That’s it?” 

“Are you sure this is the kind of game you wanna play?” he asked, taunting you. Daring you.

“You started it!” 

“S’long as you don’t cry about losing,” he said. 

You grinned, turning around and taking off. Running was not something you were very good at, and especially not when you were laughing and out of breath. You didn’t expect to get far. 

Buggy caught you about halfway down the beach. Instead of using his ability at all, he stooped down and tickled your bare sides. Which was worse. Way, way worse.

Squealing, you rounded on him, trying to slap his hands away. “No! Stop!” you told him, the words ineffective when you were laughing uncontrollably. “You can have it!” You held up the balled up dress as a peace offering. “I give up!” 

“You think I did this for that?” Buggy asked, not accepting peace in favor of continuing the attack. “This isn’t that type of game.” He finally stopped, grabbing you around the middle and pulling you close so he could talk softly in your ear. “It’s more like the kind of game where I win and we go into that changing booth over there so I can enjoy my prize.”

You, the you that lived in the world, the you that seemed so other compared to the rest, finally recognized where you were. It was the smell. His smell, that was the thing that really stuck with you. You were on Buggy’s ship, in his cabin. Although the details were too dark to make out, you understood enough to figure you were in the dining area.

Why? How? You could almost remember, faintly, from a far away place. But the world heaved and churned and your head fell back against the hard floor and you succumbed to the washing tide and the painful memories gushing out of your unguarded subconscious. 

Out of it emerged the hazy memory of another adult conversation. Even now, that’s how you thought of them. Them, not us. Mom and Dad thought you were asleep, laid out with a fever, but you weren’t asleep. Sometimes you pretended. 

“This is your fault,” Dad said. “Your lack of faith has cursed her. How can you not see that? If you were faithful to me, truly faithful, she wouldn’t be forced to suffer.”

“I am faithful,” Mom argued. “I have done everything for you, for her—I have given you everything.”

“No, you haven’t. She burns with proof of your faithlessness.”  

Mom didn’t say anything at first. All you could hear was the crackling fire and the ticking clock. Eventually she muttered something, but the only word you heard was cellar. 

You hated that word, hated it enough that you almost forgot to pretend to be asleep, hated it so much that your drug-addled brain tried to break itself out of the memory. Cellar meant rats in the dark, it meant the scent of wet rot, it meant shivering in the dank cold, it meant alone. It meant you had done something wrong and were being punished. You remembered each detail of cellar with wicked clarity. 

“What did you say?” Dad asked.

“Nothing.” 

There was silence, and you wondered if they were done talking. 

Finally, “It is your fault I have to punish her, your sin, your curse. Teaching her right from wrong is the only way to keep her pure and clean,” Dad said. “And you deign to judge me for it, but everything I do, I do because I want to save her from becoming like you. All of you—hysterical, inept, faithless women. I married an innocent, beautiful girl, and now look at you. It disgusts me to know that she may meet the same fate. I was too late to protect you, but I will not let our daughter fall as you did. If you don’t see that, you’re even less of a mother to her than I thought.” 

“It’s your hatred that poisons us,” Mom said, her voice trembling but, somehow, defiant. You knew enough to know what kind of reaction that tone of voice received. It was always the same. Thunder, and fire. Rage. 

But instead there was another long silence.   

“Hatred? No, birdie, no. I love you,” Dad finally told her, and he sounded gentle. “I love you both more than anything. That you would see my actions as hatred proves the sickness of your mind. As husband and father, it is my responsibility to do difficult things. You have no idea how much it pains me to see you suffer. I take no pleasure in punishing you—either of you, but I have no choice. I wouldn’t ask for you to understand, but you must trust me. You must have faith in me.”  

That was your mistake, wasn’t it? The reason for your suffering. Was it possible that you could try so hard to take Dad’s warnings to heart yet still make the same mistakes? Still let yourself fumble and fall, still disobey him when you shouldn’t? You didn’t want to become like the women Dad spoke of, you didn’t want to be like Mom, or to be cursed. You wanted to be good, and to be clean. You wanted to please him. 

But you didn’t. Not then, and certainly not anymore. Why? You didn’t understand that. Your actions and intentions never seemed to line up.

It didn’t begin on that day, but it was one of the first times you became aware of the filth that Dad spoke of. The taint of womanhood, the creeping intrusion of the unpleasant truths Harper had revealed to you so many years before. 

How old were you on that day? The day you had your first kiss. You weren’t sure, but you knew it was during the in-between period of your life. Possibly the only time you really felt happy, or hopeful. Dad occasionally took you out on the ships with him as a sort of helper to boil bandages or send messages or help look after basic injuries. When you were home, you snuck away as often as you could to go northside. Whenever you could, you were mapping uncharted territory in the overgrown, crumbling ruins. Finding bridges that could take you from roof to roof without having to climb down, traversing the dangerous tightropes of rusty metal beams and scaling sheer cliff sides of faded brick. It was the one thing you could do that nobody else could. Even when you got tired, or felt too weak, or realized you were too short to reach anything, you found a way. Dad forbade it, but that didn’t stop you. He struck you sometimes, or put you in the cellar, but you didn’t stop. It was the only thing in the world that actually belonged to you.

You remembered sitting on top of the old butcher building with your feet hanging three stories up from the overgrown road. The brick wall below you used to have ‘slaughterhouse’ painted on it, but the second part had faded. You dubbed the building the Slaughter, and that was where you had your first kiss.

“There you are,” he called from below. You looked down, startled and fearful it might be Dad, only to immediately melt. Randall was tall, broad shouldered, and the most handsome boy you had ever known. He smiled in a way that made your stomach explode with butterflies. “Do you mind if I come up?” 

“If you can,” you said, your voice echoing oddly in the empty streets. Sound carried in an eerie way northside. Randall didn’t blink at the taunt, easily scaling the first set of old metal stairs, and then the rusty ladder, and then the final set of steps to the top where you waited. 

“I was worried I’d find you out here,” he said as he took the final few steps up.

“You were looking for me?” you asked, trying to sound casual. To a girl in the awkward phase of life—the phase where you stagnated even after most had grown—and especially one who had yet to significantly develop in the ways that other girls had, even the handful of years between you and Randall made him seem unattainably mature. But he was nice to you, always, and he made you feel little butterflies in your stomach. You liked him. You liked him a lot. 

“It’s gonna get dark soon,” Randall said, sitting on the edge of the rusty old fire escape grate beside you. “You know how much the Major hates it when you come out here.”

Randall’s dad, Harmon, was a carpenter and since Harmon worked on the docks sometimes, he was friends with Dad. Randall didn’t want to be a carpenter like Harmon, he wanted to be a Marine, and so he took Dad very seriously. Dad liked Randall too. Sometimes you thought that he liked Randall more than you. Sometimes you wished that you could do the things Randall did. But you couldn’t. At that point in your life, you were barely out of childhood. Too small for your age and underdeveloped from a lack of healthy growth in your youth. Dad said it was normal, it only meant you were a little more frail, a little less healthy than other girls. It meant there were a lot of things you couldn’t do. 

“You won’t tell on me, will you?” you asked, trying to be casual, to seem cool. You had no idea how to talk to or impress boys. You weren’t entirely sure you even wanted that type of attention, it seemed too dangerous. But you wanted Randall to like you.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he said. “But you owe me.”

“What do I owe you?”

He thought about that for a second, his eyes rolling up to the late afternoon sky. 

“A kiss,” he finally declared.

You smiled sideways at him, struck with surprise, before giggling nervously. “Do you… Do you mean that?” 

“Yes. I like you,” he said, as if it were easy. Your heart nearly stopped, blood rushing in your ears, burning your cheeks. 

“I-I like you too,” you said, but your brain was swimming with filthy words like sex and slut and you were a little confused because you barely even needed a bra yet so you weren’t sure why Randall would want to kiss you and maybe that meant he wanted other things too but those weren’t things you knew very much about and there was nobody in your life you could ask for advice so you were certainly going to disappoint him at some point and also if Dad found out he would be furious because you weren’t allowed to date boys let alone kiss them and—

“Unless you don’t want to kiss me,” Randall said. 

“I do!” you told him quickly. It didn’t matter if that was true or not, or what you wanted. If Randall thought you were worth kissing, you would do anything to keep that. You didn’t want to disappoint him. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”  

“I don’t mind,” he said, turning to face you. “It’s easy, I promise.” You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds at a time, and your nervous smile wouldn’t go away, but you felt a buzzing sense of anticipation all the way from your toes upward. Excitement. Fear.

“Okay,” you said softly. 

He held your cheek in a hand that smelled like the ladder rungs he used to climb up the Slaughter and pursed his lips in a way that you thought looked a little silly before they met yours and then you realized you were supposed to close your eyes too and that was that. Eyelid filtered red-dark and the scent of old metal and dry lips pressing against your mouth and a pit of sickness in your stomach because you knew you were doing something you shouldn’t. 

Until he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips which felt very strange and wrong and you pulled back with another nervous giggle, opening your eyes. 

Randall frowned, but let you go. “You’re supposed to open your mouth,” he told you.

“Why?” you asked. 

“That’s how you kiss.” 

“Oh,” you said, feeling very stupid. “I’m sorry.” 

“One more, and then I’m taking you home,” he said. “Okay?” 

Was it? Probably. You swallowed down the sick feeling in your throat and nodded. Girls liked to kiss boys. It was okay and normal and fine and you liked it. 

When Randall walked you home—at least part of the way, not close enough that your dad would see you were together—neither of you talked about the one kiss that had become three and a hand on your hips, and then your waist, and then your chest. It made your skin crawl, but he treated it like it was normal and so it probably was. You had no reason to be weird about something he liked. 

You were so preoccupied with trying not to think of what happened that you didn’t immediately notice the tension in the house when you got in and removed your boots and jacket. 

“You’re home late,” Dad said, standing in the doorway into the den. Your heart crashed into your stomach. 

“Sorry, daddy,” you told him, your chest clenching. When he looked at you like that, you worried that he could see everything. See that you had been northside, see that you had let a boy kiss you, see the imprint of a hand on your body in places it shouldn’t have been, of lips on your own. 

“Where were you?” he asked. 

“I took a walk,” you said. “The weather is nice.” 

Dad exhaled heavily, closing his eyes. “You’re lying to me. You were out northside, weren’t you?”

“I was just walking,” you told him again, your voice weakening. 

Dad didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched on and on and on and he just stared at you, his eyes dark. 

“I’m worried about you,” he said, approaching you with heavy steps. You resisted the urge to shrink away, trying very hard not to look guilty. “If you keep lying and sneaking around, I won’t allow you to go out anymore. You’re too sick to put that sort of strain on yourself.” 

“I’m fine, daddy,” you told him, shaking your head. “I feel good, really.” 

“You’re delicate,” he said, his voice hard. “My sweet little girl.” You flinched when he raised his hand, but he only tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Where were you?” 

“Walking,” you said in what amounted to little more than a whisper. 

“You were with a boy, weren’t you?” he asked. 

You shook your head fast, guilt and shame filling up the hollow in your chest like liquid lead. “No, daddy. No.” 

He looked down at you. You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“You’re lying,” he said, slamming his fist against the wall behind you. You yelped, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He forcibly composed himself, breathing deeply. “Every day, I feel like I’m losing more and more of my sweet little girl. All I want is to keep you safe, and you throw it back in my face.” He heaved out a heavy, hot sigh, his eyes boring into your own. “Where were you and who were you with?”

He already thought you were lying, he already assumed the worst, but you couldn’t tell him the truth. Dad liked Randall, you would be the one to bear the sin, the blame. The curse. Maybe it was your fault. Why else would Randall want to kiss you? 

“I was walking, daddy,” you said so softly that it was almost inaudible. “By myself.” 

He struck you quickly and precisely, a single blow that knocked you back into the wall. Your ears rang and roared with the whooshing of blood and Dad grabbed you by the arm, pulling you towards the kitchen. Towards the cellar. 

You couldn’t hear yourself begging, but you were. You couldn’t hear him talking, but he was. You could practically feel the force of words like liar and filthy and disobedient. Everything else was a blurred mush of fear and shame.  

When you tripped on the stairs, he jerked you upright by the arm and pushed you past the door and into the dark. When you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, you barely had enough air to properly sob, nausea swelling up in your throat. You looked up a final time before he shut the door and locked it and saw a cruel god. The figure of justice and punishment. And then you were alone and it was dark. The sour taste of Randall’s kiss lingered on your lips, and the scalding imprint of his hand burned into your skin, and you knew you weren’t Dad’s sweet little girl anymore. That only made you cry harder. 

With some vague notion of what you were now, the things you had done and let happen, it was almost laughable that an awkward first kiss was enough to make you feel so disgusting. 

Randall kissed you a few more times after that, and you held hands, and he made promises he never had any intention of keeping, and each moment of it forged a horrible conflict within you. Being wanted by him was the most potent and intense happiness you had ever felt, it was giddy and new and bright. Being intimate with him made you want to burn your skin and never look anybody in the eye again for fear of what they might think when they looked at you. 

You were afraid that they would look at you and see a woman. Dad said that word like it was dirty. Women were impure. 

But it wasn’t Dad who told you that you were what you feared, it had nothing to do with kissing or breasts or sex. It was blood in your underwear, and Mom telling you that it meant you were a woman now. 

You remembered the ice in your stomach, the way your hands shook. You looked at her with tears in your eyes and told her, “I don’t want to be a woman.” 

“You don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” she told you. “Neither does your father.” There was a cool bitterness in those words, but also disgust. She looked so much older than she was. Her beauty hadn’t faded, not entirely, there were moments where the canary shone through her dull eyes, but right then she looked ancient. The weight of the world and a million little cuts had torn her down to the bone. Sadness etched into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth but, most of all, she looked guilty. “Don’t tell him about this. Menstruation is women’s business, men don’t want or need to know about it. All it will do is upset him.” 

You nodded, swallowing hard. Dad got upset more and more those days. Mom was almost always nursing some sort of bruise, becoming increasingly distant by the day. Her medicine made that worse. She didn’t even sing very often. She didn’t do much of anything. 

So many things happened in your life that were regrettable or scary or bad, and you had done even worse, but for what it was worth, you did love her. Mom was a woman of incomparable beauty, and she had the voice of an angel, and she tried. You knew that now, in hindsight. She did her best. 

That’s what you remembered. 

But you also remembered the day everything changed. The two of you had taken a ship out of Barley. Dad was gone, and she said you were meeting up with him somewhere else, hastily packing up as much as possible and getting out of town without any other explanation. 

You should have been with her at the inn, but you had wanted to look around the town.

Sometimes you thought you remembered telling a stranger who you were, and where you were staying, but you weren’t sure. Sometimes you remembered a man with her, but maybe that was nothing more than the power of Dad’s suggestion. The truth was that you didn’t remember much of anything until the world ended. You were almost inside the inn when it happened. Any further and you wouldn’t have been shielded enough to survive the explosion. You remembered thinking that it smelled funny, and that you were worried about Mom, and that you were a little hungry. 

And then. 

Brighter than the sun, sharper than any blade, the light exploded the universe apart. Effulgent, radiant, deafening, and then it resolved into endless, terrifying black. An abyss of nothingness and panic and fear because you couldn’t see anything, and it hurt. That was all you were aware of. A sticky, sickly, blazing hot pain that you couldn’t understand, it was utterly incomprehensible to feel such agony. Your hands went to your face, but it was covered in plaster and bandages. Even though they were only wrapped around your eyes, you felt as if they were suffocating you. 

“It’s okay,” Dad said as he had several times before because every time you awoke, it was from the same confused nightmare. Then you were conscious and you realized that the nightmare was real. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

“Daddy?” you asked, your voice hoarse from screaming and smoke. That taste, acrid and foul, coating your throat in soot, was familiar, and you remembered. You were in the hospital. There had been an accident. “Daddy, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” he told you, taking your hand as it groped across the blankets in search of him. 

The pain was incomparable. It was difficult to understand anything outside of it. Dad said that’s why he waited so long to tell you that Mom hadn’t made it out, because he didn’t want to hurt you further. 

By the time you returned to Barley to bury an empty casket, your right eye had at least partial vision back. The left was ruined. It hurt, and it remained as a hideous reminder of what happened. Randall was there to help Dad, but he didn’t even look at you. Nobody did. All they could do was whisper. Whisper about Mom, about you, about what happened. 

You remembered stumbling to the hole with a fistful of dirt in your hand, nearly toppling into it with how unsteady and uncoordinated you were. You remembered looking at the empty mahogany box. You were glad Mom wasn’t there because Dad was too drunk to say anything and you were still having problems putting together full sentences and you dropped that handful of dirt into the ground with the vicious, agonizing thought that nobody in the world except you loved her. 

You really, really did.

14 Days Earlier

Around the time that the silence of the streets became noticeable, you realized that you had maybe taken a wrong turn somewhere. Lafitte wasn’t a large place by any means, but the winding structure of its layout and your poor directional skills were a bad match. According to the directions you were given, it was a straight shot to the western side of the island where you were trying to meet up with Captain Buggy. Now you were wandering amidst blocks of grungy old buildings that were closed for the day and more than a little creeped out by how dark and isolated it was. 

Maybe you should have asked if someone would walk with you. 

Maybe you had gotten off track somewhere.

Maybe you were hopelessly lost. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” somebody called from your blind left. You squeaked, startled, and whirled around to face two men that had been loitering in an alley that cut between two dark buildings. The smell of garbage and old metal and stale smoke emanated even stronger from the impenetrable shadows.

“Hi,” the other one said, smiling. It was too dark to make out almost any other feature than the glint of a gold tooth. Your heart seized up, panic flooding your system. For all that Dad had warned you of a situation like this, you didn’t ever think it would happen. You didn’t know what to do. “You lost?”

“Um, I’m…” you stammered, smiling out of an anxious habit. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Where’re you trying to go?” the first man asked. He was taller and lankier than his companion. In the shadows, he looked like he’d been stretched out unnaturally. 

“I’m fine, really,” you said, taking a step back. “Thank you. I just have…” You gestured to the side, meaning to walk away. 

The lanky one was faster, easily closing the distance between you and grabbing your arm before you could get away. You should have run, but by the time that occurred to you, it was too late and he was dragging you into the dark. 

You yelped, trying to yank your arm free. He pulled something out of his pocket, flipping out the blade of a knife. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, m’kay?” he asked, holding it up so you could see the silvery gleam in the sickly yellow light of the single streetlamp. 

“Make sure it’s the right girl,” gold-tooth told him. “Scar on the left eye.” 

The lanky one pressed the blade to your cheek, turning your face towards the light. You whimpered, a little sob heaving in your chest. “Mmm, ‘s her,” he said. “That’s an ugly one.” Clicking his tongue in disgust of your scar, he removed the blade to grab your waist and push you towards the other man. You stumbled, almost falling. 

“Please don’t do this,” you begged, looking between the men desperately. It was too dark to see them as anything other than hulking shadows. “Please. If you want money, I’ll—I’ll give you anything, just don’t take me back, please-”

“Can you shut ‘er up?” the lanky one asked. “He said to make it look like an attack gone wrong. Something random or, y’know, accidental. Yeah? Like we was try’na mess with her but she got too rowdy.”

You whimpered, shaking your head. Your ears were ringing so loud you could barely hear yourself beg. Gold-tooth grabbed you, stifling your pleas with a sweaty palm over your mouth and nose. You shouted, clawing at his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“He wants us to rape her?” he asked.

“Nah, just rough her up a little. Rip her clothes, make sure she’s got bruises. ‘s called staging.”

“Staging,” gold-tooth repeated, turning you around and shoving you back against the alley’s brick wall. You pulled in a deep, ragged breath and screamed. Despite your dry mouth and throat, it was a good one, so loud and piercing you could hear it blurring and ringing in your ears. 

Gold-tooth stopped it fast, punching you in the face. The world erupted into stars and the next thing you understood was that you were on the ground. Blood gushed out of your nose like a spout, your eye watering enough to blind you completely. 

“I told you to shut ‘er up!” the lanky one said, grabbing you by the hair to drag you back onto your feet. You were too dazed to struggle, leaning against the dirty brick to keep from falling. All you could taste and smell was your own blood. It flowed into your mouth, your throat. You gagged, coughing, sobbing, crying.  

“Woah, woah, woah, shhh. Someone’s…” gold-tooth’s warning trailed off. He was looking at the mouth of the alley. 

The lanky one grabbed you, pressing the knife against your throat. “Not a sound,” he told you softly, digging the knife into your skin enough to cut a shallow line. Gold-tooth stepped in front of you, almost like a shield. With the alley’s opening on your left, you couldn’t follow their line of sight, and you didn’t dare try to turn your head or make a sound, practically holding your breath.  

“What kind of lame ass party is this?” a very familiar voice called. You sobbed, relief flooding your system. “No booze and only one girl? Borrrrring.”

“We’re not sharing,” gold-tooth told him. 

“You know what you need? Entertainment. Lucky for you fellas, I’ve got a killer act.”

“Hey, friend,” gold-tooth said flatly. “Walk. Away.” 

“Hold on, he’s a pirate,” the lanky one said softly to his companion, significantly more trepidatious. He relaxed the hand holding the knife to your throat, letting you get in a good breath. Everything tasted like blood. “Look at ‘im, he’s that clown. He’s, um... Buddy or something.”

“Buggy,” Buggy said loudly, emphatically. “Buggy the Clown. My name is on the poster, why does nobody…” He huffed in frustration, you could imagine him composing himself. “Okay, here’s the deal. You give me the girl, and I let you live. Sound good? Actually, wait a sec. Hey, babydoll, you’re still alive, right?”

You groaned weakly.  

“I’ll take that as a yes. Great. You boys wanna see a magic trick?”

“Last chance, clown. I mean it.” The lanky one grabbed you, holding you in front of himself like a proper hostage with the knife at your neck again. Finally, you could see Buggy. Not much of him. The light hit him at a quarter angle. What you could see was a sharp cheekbone, the recognizable curve of his nose, and, when he moved his head, a faint glint where the light hit his eyes.

“I guess you’re up, friend,” Buggy said to gold-tooth, his smile evident in his voice even if you couldn’t see it clearly. “Show me your moves.” 

Gold-tooth pulled out a knife from his jacket, rushing towards Buggy. It was going to hit, Buggy wasn’t even trying to dodge.

“Captain Buggy!” you shouted, struggling against your captor despite yourself. The knife dug deeper into your neck, and you whimpered, going limp.

Buggy’s body separated at the last second, coming apart right where the knife would have landed. Gold-tooth had the wherewithal to try and execute a follow-up attack, but Buggy detached those parts of his body as well, letting gold-tooth rush right through him. When the sections of his torso snapped back into place, he tilted his head back to display the manic smile he wore. 

It left you feeling very, very cold inside. Your attackers might have been villains of the night, but Buggy was an unhinged madman cursed by the Devil. 

The lanky one swore, releasing you. Whether he meant to escape or attack Buggy, you couldn’t tell, but he rushed towards him. Knowing it was your only opportunity, you didn’t hesitate. Blood rushed a violent tempest in your ears. You scrambled forward, desperate to escape the alley. 

Too late, you realized gold-tooth hadn’t run away in fear of Buggy’s power. You couldn't stop your momentum, you didn’t have enough traction on the gravel. It slid out under your boots, carrying you forward even as you tried to rear back. 

He caught you with an arm like an iron bar, his other arm winding up and punching you in the stomach. The blow knocked all the air out of your lungs, leaving nothing but pain. You crumpled onto the ground with a broken gasp, a death rattle. 

All that existed was ringing in your ears and pain and confusion and you couldn’t breathe. The world went very, very dark. You squeezed your hand into a fist, feeling the painful stretch of your skinned palms, and let that stabilize you enough to open your eye. You had to blink over and over and over to clear it, coughing globs of bloody phlegm as your body tried to restart the whole breathing process, and then you raised your head to look at the scene. 

Captain Buggy was distracted with the lanky one, cackling wildly as he fought him. Even though you were accustomed to it, the sight of a shadowy man pulling himself into pieces and reforming over and over again was disturbing. Gold-tooth stood above you with his knife out, intending to try and get the jump on Buggy.

“Captain!” you shouted as loud as you could. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very. But Buggy seemed to hear you, finally turning to notice gold-tooth. The lanky one capitalized on his distraction, jumping forward with his knife. Gold-tooth moved at the same time, their movements impressively synchronized. 

You did the only thing you could think of and lunged for gold-tooth’s ankles, grabbing onto one and hanging on with all your remaining strength to trip him. He tried to kick you off, but all that did was destabilize him further. 

The men dropped at the same time. Buggy’s opponent went with a pained howl, his front criss-crossed with countless painful slashes as he stumbled and fell back into the darkest pit of the alley. Gold-tooth fell forward, going heavy and hard onto the ground. He let go of his knife. It skittered forward, stopping only when Buggy stepped on it, kicking it to the side. 

“I’m afraid that’s curtains for you, friend,” Buggy said to the downed man, approaching him with slow steps. Gold-tooth began cursing at him, scrambling to get up. Buggy beat him to it, jauntily kicking him in the head.

It was over.

You collapsed, braced on your skinned forearms, just trying to breathe. Everything, everything hurt. 

Buggy kicked the man again for good measure. And then a third time.

“Just so you know,” Buggy said, his footsteps crunching on the ground as he approached you. “I didn’t need your help. That was a test. You passed. Good job, babydoll.” 

You opened your eye to watch his boots get closer and stop. After a moment, you figured out how to get your arms beneath yourself. Buggy held out a hand for you to take, which you gratefully did. 

As soon as you were on your feet, you realized it was a mistake to move so fast, your head spinning. You stumbled sideways to lean against the brick. For a moment, you worried you would vomit. The taste of blood and bile coated the inside of your throat, the metallic tang mixing with the heavy, ripe stench of garbage that had been marinating in the humid Lafitte heat for far too long. 

Desperate to avoid that, you spit out a mouthful of thick, bloody saliva, coughing out as much of it as you could. You could breathe through your nose, luckily. The punch had landed more on your left cheek than dead center. 

“You’re not gonna pass out or throw up or something, right?” Buggy asked, nonplussed. 

“No, sir,” you said, the words scraping unpleasantly against your raw throat.

“Okay, good,” Buggy said. “Well, now that the show’s over, let’s chop chop get the fuck out of here.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Probably realizing you weren’t going to move on your own, Buggy grabbed your elbow, tugging you out of the alley and onto the street. Rather than going back the way you came, he pulled you across to cut through to the next road over. This one ran parallel to the seawall. As soon as you stumbled into the open night, a heavy wave of humid air slammed against you. The scent of trash wasn’t as intense, replaced by the stench of rotting seaweed and sulfur and acrid oil.

“What did they do, offer you candy?” Buggy asked as you tried to keep up with him, huffing and puffing and wracked with strange little half-sobs that came as much from the adrenaline pounding in your system as it did from leftover fear and pain. “I guess pops never taught you about stranger danger.” 

There were more people here, although not many. This part of the island was mostly filled with those unfortunate enough to call such a place home. Nobody paid you any mind as Buggy pulled you across the road, towards one of the sets of crumbling concrete steps going down to the beach. Well, ‘beach’ was a kind word. That would imply sand and an enticing, lapping tide and a hint of romance. The beach on this part of the island was a strip of silty grit, a thick band of seaweed clogging the tide like hair ratting up a drain, and the greasy churn of foul brown water. It was to its benefit that the night was too dark to see anything other than the gleaming sliver of a moon draping silver over the top of the water, nothing but deep shadow stretched out in between. Once the two of you reached the bottom of the steps, you were lost in the endless dark. 

“Captain Buggy,” you said, your breathing harsh and fast, your heart pounding mean and hot where you had been hit in the stomach. “Ss-stop.” 

“Really?” Buggy asked, annoyed.

Under any other circumstance, his irritation would have been reason enough for you to push yourself, but you couldn’t. “You can… go on without me,” you said, your voice distant and ragged. “I’ll catch up, I just need…” 

“Don’t be stupid, dipshit. I didn’t go through the hassle of saving your sorry ass just to abandon you here. You’d probably walk right into the ocean and drown.”

You drooped back against the grungy wall, unable to think of a response. 

“Why were you wandering on your own anyway? I gave you one rule, and you broke it. You know, I’m starting to understand how daddy dearest must have felt. If you weren’t already busted up, I think I’d go after you with a belt too.” 

You whimpered, your head rolling back.  

“This isn’t a bad look for you, babydoll,” Buggy said after a moment of nothing other than the ocean’s distant roar, tilting your chin up towards the moonlight. “Not at all. How about a little sugar for your savior?” 

You couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, he was just a shadow. Numbness permeated your body, even though you were aware of everything. Everything, everything. The soreness of your feet. The pain pounding furiously against your face, the smell of blood mixing with the briney scent of the ocean. All of it, and nothing. 

“Okay,” you said softly.

Buggy grabbed you, pulling you up and against him. Kissing hurt bad, as if it wasn’t hard enough to kiss him standing up. He had to lean down and you had to tilt your head up, holding onto his shoulders. Buggy didn’t seem to care that it hurt, or that you probably tasted like blood. He kissed you like he always did, like he was hungry, groaning into it when you whimpered helplessly. 

You didn’t fight him when he grabbed your hand to press against the front of his pants, grinding your palm against his hardening erection and moaning into your mouth at the feeling. Entranced, you mimicked the motion, getting an even rougher noise out of him. Buggy bit your lip before pulling your head away with a fistful of your hair. 

“I know last time didn’t go so great,” he said, “but whaddya say to giving the blowjob thing another try?” 

“I… um…”

“You… what?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on,” he said, irritated. “I just saved your sorry ass from two guys. I deserve more than a little peck on the lips, don’tcha think?” 

Your ears were ringing. Or maybe that was the ocean. “Okay,” you said. 

“Try that again, but with a little more gratitude,” Buggy told you. “Actually, you know what, I don’t care right now. On your knees, honey buns.”  

Since your knees were already skinned, you crouched down on your haunches rather than kneel, bracing yourself against the slimy seawall to keep from topping over. Buggy got his cock out so quickly it was almost surprising. Based on what you felt before, he was already halfway hard. With your eye slowly adjusting to the faint moonlight, you could somewhat make out its shape. 

“Say ‘aahhhhh’,” Buggy told you, swirling his cock around in front of your face like a mother with a spoonful of baby food trying to feed a difficult child. Some part of you, way deep down inside, was rightfully disgusted by that approach. But it was like trying to make out the words of somebody trapped at the bottom of a depthless well. All that you could hear was the echo. 

Unable to think of any other way to handle the situation, you did what you were told. Let it happen. Don’t think. With a palm scratched up and bloody, you reached up to guide his cock, opening your mouth. In a way, it was better like this. Nothing else in the whole world made sense, why should this? You were already free falling and helpless and confused, at least this was direction. 

Buggy groaned when you closed your lips around the head, sucking lightly like you would on his fingers. Shamefully, the scent of cock wasn’t all that unfamiliar by now, and the taste was just an extension, almost overpowered by the tangy flavor of your own blood. 

Your mouth was already overproducing saliva, slicking up his dick as you bobbed your head forward. It was easiest to brace yourself with your left hand on his thigh and one of your heels propped against the wall. Buggy released his cock so he could replace it with your hand, closing your fingers around him. He guided your fist down to pick up some of the excess saliva, easing the friction as he pulled your hand back up the shaft. Like Pippa said, a handjob. 

Thinking of that seemed so surreal, doubt of reality infecting your mind now that the numbness really set in. Everything that led you to this point in your life was some weird dream, or maybe more of a joke. A disturbing, horrible joke. Now things were quiet, and that was better. 

Buggy groaned, his hips impatiently pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You choked a little, slurping around him. Saliva dripped from the seam of your lips. Confused, your tongue raised to slide against the underside and you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth so you did that again. 

“Good girl,” Buggy told you in a heavy, hoarse voice, continuing to guide your hand up and down the base of his dick.

When he let go of your hand to let you take care of it, you didn’t stop. This ended in Buggy coming, that was the way it was. Even you knew that.

At least until something—or somethings—got beneath the band of your panties, worming against your pubic bone and down. Your yelp of disgusted surprise was stifled by his cock. Panicked, you pulled off, and Buggy didn’t stop you. A flood of saliva followed, splashing onto the sand.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” Buggy said, laughing and holding up his ungloved hand. Or, what was left of it. A curve cut around the squishy part of his palm and to his pinky. Everything else, you assumed, was between your legs, working under the confines of your panties, he wasn’t even using his whole hand. “You didn’t think I was just gonna leave you out to dry, did you?” His disembodied fingers dug a little deeper, curling into your pussy without any warning. You shuddered, clenching hard around them. “I guess not dry. You’re soaked. Is this from earlier?”

You shook your head, completely lost. “I don’t…” 

“I bet you get off on being saved. That'd explain why you're so damn pathetic.”

The ocean roared. Sweat gathered in a sour line down your spine, beneath your bra, along your hairline. You should have worn it up, strands that had gotten in the way of your mouth were now coated with spit, sticking uncomfortably to your cheeks. “What?”

“One more time, babydoll,” Buggy said theatrically. “With feeling.” 

That was, as he often said, a laugh. You had no idea what to feel. The well only got deeper, the quiet spreading. Even the pain seemed so inconsequential, the agonizing ache from where you’d been punched in the face a mere background drone as you opened your mouth wide to take his cock. This time, you had a feel for it. He didn’t need to guide your hand along the base, which was for the best because his hand was busy in your panties. 

It kind of seemed like you should have been disgusted by the idea of Buggy using his cursed powers for your sexual pleasure, but you were cursed anyway, and sin didn’t compound, it was a flat rate to be paid in full at the Devil’s convenience.

For now, you could just accept that it was good. 

Everything was too disconnected and disjointed for there to be any coherence to the scattered sensations in your body, but the friction of his fingers drove the far away part of your living self wild. Unobstructed, they could easily curl against your g-spot, his thumb on your swollen clit. It was kind of like a choice. If you wanted yours, you would have to take it. And of course you did. If it was from Buggy, you always did.  

So you slurped and sucked and bobbed your head, striving desperately for some release from the straitjacket hold of the quiet and the pain and the sickness and the fear and the dark. If you could just feel that fast fizzle and let it consume you for a moment, that was enough. That was all there was. 

“Fuck, babydoll,” Buggy swore. “I knew you’d catch on quick.” 

The muscles of his thigh tensed and trembled against your hand, his hips thrusting restlessly against the pace you set. It was messy and unsteady and disgusting and his fingers kept hitting your g-spot in a way that had your pussy weeping around them, your hips trying to roll into a body that wasn’t there, to get more solid friction. More and more. His thumb ground down against your clit, the calloused pad catching against a spot of raw nerves that had you seeing stars.

Time didn’t really exist, so you weren’t sure how long you were held in that hellish limbo of almost. Pleasure curled and tightened around his fingers inside of you, and you held onto it with a death grip, knowing that it was the only way you could make any of this okay. Or maybe you were just selfish.

Now it was like you were the one at the bottom of the well, feeling your body finally give in to the tension stoked to a steady burst beneath Buggy’s fingers. Your body took over automatically, squeezing him so tight it hurt, your clit pulsing under his thumb, your hips rocking back and forth in a way that threatened to topple you over. 

He had to pull your head back and forth by your hair to keep you moving on his cock, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except for that exquisite flash, that sparkling sizzle of warmth, that moment of invulnerability. 

Too soon, it was over. You sobbed hard around his cock, feeling like the sensations had been cut short, like it wasn’t enough in the first place. Ruined. You were still falling, still quiet, still trapped at the bottom of a pit in the dark. 

“That was it, wasn't it,” he said, pleased with himself. “It totally was!” He laughed hoarsely, and then groaned. “You know, it—ah, fuck it. Get up.”

Buggy pulled you off his cock, scooping you onto your feet. He shoved your panties down your thighs to release his fingers, reattaching them at the same time he was picking you up and scraping you up against the seawall, scrubbing you into the grime. Your panties dropped down past your knees, falling to one ankle before he grabbed your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist.

His cock was coated in your bloody saliva, and your pussy was soaking, he slid in easy and smooth. Buggy groaned low in his throat, but you just gasped, and then whimpered. The way his cock filled you now that you were already sensitive and needy was almost more than you could bear, too much and yet unattainably distant. You writhed helplessly, your inner walls tightening around him to pull him deeper, to keep him with you in the only way that mattered. 

“You’re so lucky,” Buggy told you harshly, his voice like a growl. “I mean, with a pussy like this, who needs talent? My little mattress actress.” He punctuated those words with especially hard, wet thrusts. Whining, your fingers dug hard into his shoulders, grateful for the stability of his body against yours. 

Your head fell back against the wall, light as air. Buggy clearly wasn’t trying to savor the moment. This was hard and fast and sweaty and filthy and nothing but sickly need and animalistic gluttony. He pressed his nose against the side of your jaw, breathing hard into the hollow between your neck and shoulder as he fucked you. Each thrust pushed you up and down the wall, knocking your empty head against the hard surface, punching whimpers and moans out of your sore body. 

Your eye rolled up over his shoulder to the little silver curl of the moon. It blurred into a pale smear in an endless sky. You closed your eye, your mouth falling open as you moaned helplessly, holding onto Buggy as he fucked you hard and fast. 

With an open mouthed groan, he seized up, pushing his cock as deep as he could, grinding his hips against you as he came. 

Rather than pull out and release you right away like you expected, Buggy kissed your jaw with an open mouth, licking your feverish skin. Then your neck, sucking as he pulled away as if to relish in the obscene noise. Your pussy unintentionally spasmed around his cock and Buggy inhaled sharply through his teeth, pulling out and letting you drop. 

“Good lord, you're a horny little shit,” he said, fixing his pants. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but there were no words. 

He stepped back, leaving you to lean against the seawall. “Aren’t you gonna… Fine, I’ll do it.” Muttering about how he had to do everything himself, Buggy crouched down to get your ankle back into your panties, pulling them all the way up and giving your pussy a little tap. “There ya go, kiddo. Now c’mon.”  

You weren’t exactly aware when Buggy finally half-led and half-dragged you into a bar. The walk along the beach, a shortcut to get to the docks, had been a dizzy stumble in the dark. You let it happen numbly because that was easier than trying to argue. 

The light of civilization shocked and blinded you, like an unwelcome alarm pulling you from a feverish dream. The sleep wasn’t especially comfortable, but it was better than being awake. The bouncer tried to stop the two of you as soon as Buggy pulled you past the door. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow…” He looked you up and down, concerned. “Is she alright?” 

Buggy threw an arm around your shoulders, smiling widely. 

“She’s clumsy. I’m just looking for my—Oh, hey, Crina!” he called. “Get over here.” 

You watched dully, trapped beneath the weight of Buggy’s warm body, as Crina came over. She looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “What did you do to her?” she asked Buggy.

“Whaddya mean?” Buggy asked defensively. “I rescued her from two idiots with a death wish. Can you just give her a quick little look-see to make sure nothing's broken? I’m fine with the eye thing, but any other disfigurements would be overkill.” 

Crina sighed, giving you another look. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” she told you gently. 

“Great, I’m gonna go get us a drink,” Buggy said, releasing you and walking towards the bar. You watched him go, feeling very, very cold. Actually, you felt like you were going to pass out. Or throw up. Throw up, and pass out, and probably die.   

Crina cursed under her breath, turning to the bouncer. “Get me some rags, ice, water, and… The bar should have something like simple syrup, she needs sugar.” 

“That’s not my job,” the man said. 

Crina cursed even louder, not under her breath, and pulled out a wad of money. “Now it is.” 

The man pursed his lips, but accepted the money. “Rags, ice, water, and simple syrup. Are you gonna pay for that?” 

“Yeah, put it on Captain Buggy’s tab.” 

He nodded, turning towards the bar. Crina had to support most of your weight as she took you to the bathroom. Your head spun, your body wilting and drooping. It was hard to stay upright, and you felt sour and cold. The world trembled. 

“My… my dad's a doctor,” you told her. “If you get him then… he's a doctor, he can…”

“Hey, focus on me,” Crina said. “What’s my name?” 

“Crina,” you mumbled. 

“Okay, good. You’re gonna have to get onto the counter, can you do that?” It took an impossible amount of effort, but you managed to scramble onto the counter with her help. You fell against the wall, your body impossibly heavy. She tilted your head towards the light, but you kept your eye closed. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, you just wanted to sleep. 

“You have to stay awake,” Crina said, tapping your uninjured right cheek. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I dunno,” you muttered softly. The world swayed. That’s right, you were on a ship. “I wanna… can we go home? We’re almost there…”

“No. Hey, open your eye.” 

Through a tin can, you heard the door open. “Don’t mind me, ladies,” Buggy said brashly. “I got all the shit you asked for and one of those Dirty Sunrises you like.” You heard him set the supplies on the counter by you, but you were too tired to look. “Oh, oof. She looks rough. You hangin’ in there, babydoll?”

“She’s in shock, she can’t have alcohol,” Crina said irritably, wetting one of the rags in the sink. “This might hurt a little,” she warned you before starting to dab at your face. It hurt, but you didn’t care. You would be home soon, and Dad would help you, and then you could go to bed, and everything would be okay. “This blood is dried, what were you doing that took you so long to get her here?”

“Oh, you know how she is, I could barely get her to walk ten feet before she was whining about being tired.” 

Crina scoffed. “And you helped her with that, Captain?” 

“What?” Buggy asked, his tone thin like ice and unnervingly flat. “Is there something you wanna say, Crina?” You opened your eye to look, anxiety spiking you alert. He was smiling, but his eyes were dead. 

“Captain Buggy?” you asked weakly. 

His glare broke when his eyes flicked to you, that hard smile replaced with a smug smirk. “See? She likes it.” 

Crina shook her head, grabbing the bottle of syrup and squirting a healthy amount into the cup of water. “This is gonna taste weird, but you need to drink all of it,” she told you. 

“Don’t worry, she’s getting pretty good at the whole not choking thing,” Buggy said dryly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.  

You opened your mouth obediently when Crina raised the cup, drinking all of it without complaint. The cold water and the sugar were more of a wake up than anything else, and it cleared the sour taste of blood and cock from your mouth. You cleared your throat, coughing again, spitting more blood and saliva into the sink. 

“Okay,” Crina grabbed your jaw, wiping at the dried blood again. It hurt enough to make your eye water, but you accepted the pain. “It looks like he caught her left cheek. Her…” She paused before saying the word, stopping herself by clearing her throat. “Everything else is fine. It’ll bruise some, but the tissue around her eye is already so damaged, you probably won’t see the worst of it.” She raised your chin more, wincing at the shallow cut along your neck.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy,” Buggy joked through a mouthful of food. He was slicing off pieces of an apple, eating it right off the blade. “You’ll know it's him when you see the guy walkin’ around with his guts hanging out.”

“Is there anything else?” Crina asked you, ignoring Buggy. 

“I dunno,” you said, frowning. You felt a little more alert, but that wasn’t better. 

“She’s fine,” Buggy said. “A little pain is good for her, maybe it’ll teach her to listen to me.” 

Crina’s lips pressed into a line, but she nodded. “Maybe. I’ll get her cleaned up and then you can take her back to the ship.” 

“Great,” Buggy said, tossing the apple and putting his knife away. “I don’t know about you, babydoll, but I’m beat.”

You remembered that, after the funeral, Dad fully retired. At first it was to help you recuperate, and then it was for your safety. You were hurt because of him, because of who he was. That’s what he said when he was sober. You were hurt because of Mom, because she cursed you. That’s what he said when he was really drunk. Due payment. The price was her life, and your eye. The truth, you thought, laid in between. You were hurt because you deserved it, it was a consequence of who you were and what you had done.

Losing an eye worsened your health significantly. Not only the headaches, and the unsteadiness, and your ability to read and write for any length of time, but it also intensified the exhaustion that plagued you. You always felt cold and weak, so much that simple tasks took all of your energy.

Even something as simple as going shopping had become a laborious and tiring undertaking. People looked at you sideways, avoiding your left eye. They whispered about you. People who had once been friendly now smiled tight, polite smiles and excused themselves from conversation. And yet, somehow, the worst part of going out was coming up the hill and seeing your house, knowing you would have to go inside. No matter how warm the weather, or how merrily the sun shined, the house had an iciness to it. The walls absorbed the cold and held it there, bleeding out any warmth or noise that entered. Dad would say that was fanciful thinking. Dangerous thinking. And yet he so readily staved off the chill with liquor. 

You walked through the silent hall and put away the groceries, setting aside ingredients for supper, before taking a moment to compose yourself. The world, and everything in it, was so, so tiring. You were tired. Worn out all the way to the marrow of your bones, your flesh itself becoming as heavy as a thick winter coat. And your head ached. Always, it ached. You began to scratch at the scar beneath your eye before stopping yourself, pulling the bandana down instead.  

No matter how tired you felt, the day was not yet over. You stood up and smoothed your hair, taking the stairs with dragging feet. Dad spent most afternoons sequestered in his office. It was the coldest place of all. The hall leading to the heavy door stretched for miles and miles. 

You walked its length and knocked lightly, opening the door at his barked invitation. 

“Can I get anything for you, daddy?” you asked, peering into his dark office. He sat in the large, imposing leather chair, a mess of documents on his desk as well as an open bottle. He didn’t bother with a glass anymore. But his eyes were sharp enough, fixing on you in a way that made you want to shrink back. 

“Come in and sit down,” he instructed. You did so slowly, thinking quickly to figure out what he was going to say so you could get ahead of it, apologize or explain or whatever he wanted from you. When you were sitting, he looked at you, folding his hands beneath his chin. He stared and stared and you squirmed, pulling your bandana down.

“You’ve gone and grown up on me, haven’t you?” he asked.

You blinked, surprised. “What?” 

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I’ve been too preoccupied, I suppose, and now you’re becoming a woman.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his face. “I saw the blood in the laundry,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Your heart sank, your thighs pressing tightly together as if you were trying to hide evidence of your shame. “Yes, but I’m not hurt,” you tried to explain. “It’s… the blood, it’s not… it-” 

“I know what it is,” he said irritably. You closed your mouth, folding your hands in your lap. “How long?”

You struggled for the right answer, your confusion worsened by the embarrassing topic. “I… I don’t understand what you mean, daddy. I’m sorry.” 

“How long have you been menstruating?” he clarified. The more he talked, the more you could hear the intoxicated slur in his voice. “I assume it began before your mother died.” 

“It did,” you said, wincing at the reminder. He was so casual about the event, like it was merely something that happened. “I guess it was just… a few months before.” 

“How often do you bleed?”

“Not often,” you said. “Every few months. It’s okay, mom told me how to take care of it.”

“It’s not healthy for a girl like you to bleed,” he said, “it’s not healthy at all. It’s a filthy thing.” 

“But mom,” you began, having to clear your throat to speak properly. “Mom said it’s normal.”

“Your mother was wrong, and she should have told me,” dad snapped. “She never appreciated how frail you are, the sensitivity you must be shown. Your body can’t handle the stress of that muck. My sweet little girl…” He looked at you mournfully, dragging his eyes over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I just don’t know anymore. Your body is changing, you’re changing.” 

“I’m not changing, daddy,” you said. “I’m the same as always.” 

“I saw you talking to a boy out there,” he said. 

“The butcher’s son?” you asked, confused again. And scared. The interaction had been polite and short, but you never knew how dad would interpret things. “That wasn’t anything, daddy. I forgot something and he was kind enough to take it to me, that’s all.” 

“No, that’s not it. You know it’s not, that’s why you look so guilty.” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. You were confused, and your head hurt, and this conversation was making you feel sick. 

“You’re old enough now that men notice you as a woman. They can’t help it,” dad said. “It’s your responsibility to shield their attention, otherwise you’ll give the wrong impression. Purity is the most vital trait in a young woman. Without it, you have no value.” 

“I’m sorry, daddy. I understand,” you said quickly, bowing your head, wishing very badly to climb out of your skin. 

“I only want to protect you, sweet girl,” he said. “Your mother… There was nothing I could do for her, but I will keep you clean and healthy. I’ll keep you pure, so you never go through what she did. The hysteria, the madness… No, not you. I’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded. “Thank you, daddy.” 

For a minute, a long, long minute, he merely looked at you, and you couldn’t look at him, preferring to stare at the floor. Finally, he broke the silence. 

“Come here.”

You braced yourself and stood up to circle his desk, knowing what he wanted. He tilted his head and you pressed your lips to his cheek.

“I love you, daddy,” you told him, just like always. 

He caught your hand, squeezing it to the point of pain. His eyes were bloodshot but sharp, and he stank miserably of alcohol. “And you know that I love you. Everything I do, I do because of how much I love you. That’s why I worry so much. You’re my sweet little girl. My precious girl.” 

Your medical treatment changed after that. Things you could and couldn’t eat and in small portions, the medicines you had to take, the examinations to make sure you were healthy. He said it was for your health, but you only got sicker. Weaker. And dad drank more and more, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation because of the stress. 

After the funeral, you hadn’t seen Randall almost at all. Whatever fling you had was long dead. He hadn’t become a Marine after all, instead taking up his father’s business. Dad was the one who broke the news to you.

That’s how you ended up in one of Mom’s ill-fitting dresses sitting at a corner table with other guests invited only out of familial obligation.

Even nearing fifty years old, and looking older yet because of his affair with the bottle, the Major cut a fine figure in his Marine uniform standing at the front of the room. People began to hush, anticipating that he was going to speak. Dad had that effect on people, a shroud of command. Just by seeing him, a person got the impression that what he said was important, that there was extra value in the words of a man like him.

“It would be remiss of me if I didn’t start by pointing out the obvious. I am not the man who should be standing up here,” he said. “This honor has been granted to me in the stead of my dear friend Harmon, as today it is the marriage of his son that we celebrate. He is not able to be here, that is true, but I can speak with authority on how proud he would be of his son. I know this because, although Randall is not my son by blood, he is a treasured member of my family. The pride I feel seeing him on such a joyous day as he takes this step forward in his life is immense.”  

He paused, giving that sentiment an appropriate amount of respectful silence. Randall’s mother—Harmon’s widow—dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Dad gestured to the newlyweds, wearing a rare smile. 

“Melody, you are one of the finest young ladies I have ever met,” he continued. “When Randall first told me of your breathtaking beauty, I could hardly believe him—and I was right not to. You are even more beautiful than his descriptions led me to believe. There are few women deserving of Randall’s love, but I suspect there are even fewer men deserving of yours. Melody and Randall, congratulations to you both.”

Everybody raised their glasses, applauding Melody and Randall. The beautiful couple.

Dad went to Melody and offered his hand for the first dance, as he had practiced. She went gladly, taking his leathery old hand and standing as the first notes of the song began to play. There was a stiffness to dad’s movements from the life he had lived, an unsteadiness from drinking too much, but she made up for it with her fluid grace. When she moved, it was as if she were floating. You stared at Randall, wishing that he would look at you for just a single second, but he didn’t. It was silly to expect him to, considering the vision that was twirling around the dance floor with Dad. 

You turned towards the table, unable to keep watching. Other people were joining in to dance, but not you. Even if you had the inclination to do such a thing, you wouldn’t know how, and dad said it would be too tiring for you to try. 

It had been a bad week. He said it was the stress that was making you sick. Excitement and change, he said, were not good for your system. Only you knew the truth. It wasn’t stress of the mind or body, it was your broken heart. That was your most precious, and most painful secret. Dad knew nothing of your brief relationship with Randall, and you hoped he never would. It likely wouldn’t affect his opinion of Randall, but you knew what he would think of you.

Slut. Even after years and years, you remembered the way that Harper said that word. Dad called mom a slut a lot, and had even accused you of being one, but it was the dismissively casual voice of a child speaking about things she didn’t quite understand that remained in your mind.

A month or so later, you remembered getting a note, and you also remembered the one you sent in response. 

Northside hadn’t changed much, although it had been years since you sat on the old metal fire escape of the Slaughter. It was the only one of the buildings you dared to climb, since it was the easiest. 

‘Easy’ was a relative term though. You remembered how to navigate your way up safely, sure, but it exhausted you in a way it never had when you were young. Even just a few years ago, you had been able to get up here without a problem. 

Sometimes you could almost forget about your eye and frailty, sometimes you got to thinking about other things so intently that it faded into the background. But then you remembered that you were weak. That you could not do things that you used to do, or things that other people could do. That hurt. It hurt really, really bad. 

So you tried not to think about it. 

From your vantage point, you spotted a familiar figure round the corner, looking around for you.

“Hello there, stranger,” you called to him, waving. Randall looked up, squinting past the low-hanging sun.

“I don’t s’pose you’ll come down to me?” he shouted.

“Nope.” 

His shoulders slumped in exasperation before he approached the building, taking the first set of rusty stairs up to the second floor. From there was a ladder, and then more stairs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you said as he reached the top of the second set of stairs, unable to stop from smiling. Randall didn’t match it, too busy frowning, a line forming between his eyebrows. 

“I saw your message and got worried. Are you sure it’s okay for you to be out here climbing around?”

“I’m fine,” you said defensively. “I’ve been feeling better lately. Dad says it’s okay for me to be outside.” 

“Not here, though. He’d have a heart attack if you knew you were out here,” Randall said, frowning. “There’s been rumors that strange people have been hanging around.” 

“Dad said that’s not true,” you told him. “And I haven’t seen anybody, either. Have you?”

“Okay, fine,” Randall allowed. “But what would happen if you lost your footing and fell? You could seriously hurt yourself and nobody would know. What would your dad do then?” 

“You won’t tell him, will you? Please promise you won’t, Randall,” you begged. You couldn’t imagine what Dad would do if he knew you were going northside again, but you knew it would be bad.

Maybe you could imagine, you just didn’t want to. 

“I won’t,” Randall told you, “but you have to promise me you won’t come out here anymore. I mean it.”

“I promise I won’t. I just thought, when you said you wanted to talk to me, that it would be nice to come here. Like we used to.” 

Randall sighed, finally relaxing enough to sit down next to you, his feet dangling over the edge. 

“I’ve missed you,” you told him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been so busy with the business and settling in with the new house and Mellie.” He hesitated, shooting you a concerned look. As much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t exactly blame him. You hadn’t taken the news of his engagement very well. But that was a while ago, and you were fine now. It was fine. 

“How is she?” you asked, forcing yourself to sound pleasant. “Is she adjusting to life in Barley?” 

“She is, I think,” Randall said, clearly relieved by your mild reaction. “She’s a lovely woman. You and your dad should come over for dinner some time, I think the two of you would get along very well.” 

“I’m sure Dad would love that,” you said. Realizing the bitterness in your tone, you quickly added, “I would too, of course. I just mean… You’ll probably have to ask him. You know how he is.” 

“I will,” Randall said, nodding.  

You couldn’t think of anything to say after that, so you didn’t. It was strange, you had spent the better part of the last month imagining this conversation, but now that it was happening it was completely lackluster. There must have been something he wanted to talk to you about, but you couldn’t tell from his expression. 

“How are you?” Randall finally asked. 

The question took you by surprise. It shouldn’t have. It was the only thing people ever asked anymore. You dragged your bandana down, making sure it was covering the scar. “I’m fine.”

“The Major seems like he’s doing much better.”

“Yeah, I think he is,” you said, glad for the easier topic. “Dad picked up a new project he’s working on with, um, with the trade routes and everything.”

“He mentioned it when he came by earlier. He asked for my help.”

“Oh?” 

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I would like it if we could be friends, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when I’m around.” 

“It’s not… discomfort,” you said softly. 

“Whatever it may be, I want to settle it. Not only for my sake, but for yours.” 

“I love you,” you told him, unable to meet his eye, looking down at the ground instead. 

Randall stiffened up, you could feel it. “You can’t say things like that. I’m married.” 

“I know,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know that. Just… May I ask you something?” You looked up at him, seeing his uncertain frown, his awkward posture.

“If you feel like you need to.” 

“Did any of it mean anything to you?” you asked softly. “If what happened with my mom and my-my eye, if that hadn’t happened, would you love me still? Would we—would you and me be together now?”

“No,” Randall said.  

Even though it was the answer you expected, and maybe even the kindest answer given the circumstances, the single word was a knife into your heart. The pain of it struck you so profoundly that it took the air right out of your lungs. You nodded, your throat too swollen to even attempt speaking. 

“I would like to make it clear that nothing that happened has anything to do with my feelings towards you,” Randall quickly explained. “I do love you, just not in the way you wish I would. You and the Major have been like family to me. I would do anything to protect you, and to see that you live a happy life.”

“You don’t have to explain anything. It’s okay,” you whispered, talking softly so your voice didn’t crack, forcing an agonizing smile to try and smooth things over. You didn’t know if it was worse to see his pity or his guilt. “It was a stupid question.”

“There’s somebody out there for you,” Randall said. “Somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, who can give you so much more than I ever could.” 

You nodded, looking down at the ground so far below. “Yeah, maybe.” You cleared your throat, pulling your coat closer around you like an empty hug. “I’m not… I don’t want to make anything difficult with my dad or Mellie. I’m sorry you thought I might.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked, always so concerned. 

“Of course,” you said, forcing another painful smile. You’d rather be chewing glass, but you hated to think that you were making things more difficult for him than they needed to be.

Randall nodded. “We should head back. I need to get home to help Mellie with dinner, and the Major will get nervous if you’re out too late.” 

“Not yet,” you said. “I’m still a little worn out from the climb up. You can leave, I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll stay with you.” 

“I just need a minute. I’m sorry,” you said, focusing on steadying your breathing. “When I was little, I could climb these buildings and run around like it was nothing.”

“I remember that.” 

“It’s strange to think about. I can’t imagine what it was like to have that much energy. Even on my best days I’m so—so tired. Everything is exhausting, no matter how much I rest, or what medicine he gives me. And sometimes it’s… it’s more than I can take.” 

“Have you told the Major about this?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head and smiling. “He worries enough already, I don’t want him to think that I’m…” Insane. Sick. Weak. “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for saying anything. It will all be okay.” You sniffled, wiping your nose and fixing your bandana. Your body was still weary from the climb, but you didn’t want to be here with Randall anymore, so you stood up and brushed off your butt. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”  

13 Days Earlier

Your body hurt, covered in bruises and scrapes, and if you thought about the attack too hard you felt fuzzy and vague inside, but when Buggy let you lay your head on his warm chest, you didn’t feel as bad. 

He saved you. Every time you started to feel too bad, you thought about that.

“Why were you out there yourself anyway?” Buggy asked, absently tracing patterns on your back. 

“I was asking where you were so I could meet up with you, like you said,” you told him. “And they said you were at the Cove and then I asked for directions and… The guy said it was easy to find, that there was no way I could get lost.” 

“Who said that?” Buggy asked. 

“I don’t know his name, he heard where I was going and gave me directions and…” You frowned, realizing your mistake. 

“I swear, the jokes write themselves with you,” Buggy said. “I wanna say I can’t believe you fell for that, but it’s not surprising. The only thing that’s surprising here is how you managed to live as long as you have.” 

You sat up so you could look at him. “How did you find me?” 

“I got pissed that you were taking so long so I went out looking for my missing midget. Then I heard a scream and I knew. There’s only one girl in Lafitte who could make such a god awful sound.” 

You frowned at him. 

“Seriously, I’m shocked that their ears weren’t bleeding when I got there.” 

“You’re mean,” you said, dropping your head back onto his chest as it shook with laughter. 

“I saved you, didn’t I?” he asked testily.

You sighed. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, raising your head enough to kiss his chest before laying your cheek back down. That seemed to placate him, his fingers returning to tracing aimless patterns on your back. 

“I’m surprised pops was ballsy enough to send thugs like that,” Buggy said.  

“I don’t think it was him,” you said. “Those guys… I really think they were going to kill me. They mentioned somebody else, but Dad… Dad wouldn’t want somebody else to kill me.” 

“Clearly, they were trying to bait me out so he could collect my bounty.” 

“Maybe,” you allowed, “It’s just that, they really seemed surprised that you were there.”

“Why would anybody want to hurt you if not to get to me?” 

There seemed to be several answers to that, none of them that you much liked, but his tone of voice made you think that it was better not to argue with Buggy. 

“You’re right, Captain Buggy,” you told him, holding onto him a little tighter, affection and gratitude and relief swelling in your chest. 

“Of course I am. Trust me, babydoll,” Buggy said. “I know exactly how he thinks.”  

You remembered the dress you wore. It was heavy and black and unappealing. You wore it because being a shapeless lump was better than risking Dad’s disgust, or inviting any amount of attention. And yet he still looked at you with scorn curling his lip, commenting on how unfeminine it was. You told him that nothing else fit you anymore, which only made him unhappier. 

You remembered the door opening, and the woman who stood behind it. Melody was a tall woman. Not tall comparatively—everybody was tall compared to you—but tall. Rather than seeming bulky, her height accentuated the elegance of her lithe limbs and slender build. And she was beautiful. On her wedding day, she had been radiant. Now she merely glowed, but even that was entrancing. 

She invited you inside warmly, giving Dad a hug and kiss and accepting the pan of rolls you made for dinner to take to the kitchen. Randall came out to greet you both, inviting you into the sitting room for drinks. Dad had a bottle of whiskey for the occasion, and you poured them all a glass. You weren’t allowed to drink on account of your health. 

“You have a lovely home,” Dad told Melody. “Do you think your husband will lend you out for an afternoon so you can help fix up mine? It’s been sorely lacking a feminine touch.” 

Melody had the grace to laugh off the comment while giving you an apologetic look, shrugging off the praise. “I can't take all the credit, Randy’s mother has been a great help.”

“Yes, she has,” Randall agreed. “You know, I heard all these horror stories about the wives and mother-in-law’s not getting along, but the two of them are practically inseparable.” 

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Melody said. “Somehow, I found the perfect husband and another mother.”

“Do you think you could spare one?” you asked, wanting to make a joke to establish your existence. But the comment came out off-beat and awkward, too sharp to be funny. Everybody looked at you. 

Dad was the first to think of a response to break the awkward tension, forcing out a laugh. “You’ll have to forgive her manners, we don’t go out very often.”

The couple also forced laughs and Dad gave you a look. A very stern, very uncomfortable look. 

You didn’t say anything after that, only faintly listening as they spoke and joked and enjoyed the company. You were enthralled by the ring on Melody’s beautiful, manicured finger. It sparkled and flashed and winked with every gesture. Her lipstick left a pretty pink imprint on the rim of the glass. Everything about her was so softly and viscerally womanly. 

Eventually, she declared that dinner was ready and you were ushered into the dining room. 

“Oh my, this is wonderful,” Dad said as he sat down. “Are you sure you're not intending to host a king?”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Melody said. 

“Mellie is too humble to brag,” Randall said, “so I'll do it for her. She went to a fancy finishing school in the city before we met. You won't find a finer hostess in all of the East Blue.

“Randall, how in the world did you manage to find this woman?” Dad asked. “You’ll have to invest in a good beating stick to keep the men away from her. Hell, I'm half tempted myself. Perhaps she could teach this daughter of mine some proper manners.”

“Come now, Major. You’ve done a remarkable job. She's a far cry from that scrawny little scamp who was always scurrying around northside.”

Did he mean that to be funny? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a barbed insult, and you weren’t sure which intention hurt worse. Dad laughed at it, but you felt something inside of you wither away. 

“I’ll get our supper,” Melody said.

“Would you like help?” you asked, desperate to escape the room.

“If you would be so kind.”

You followed her into the kitchen, which was as warm and inviting as the rest of the house. Perfect. Everything was perfect. 

“I just need to prepare the plates,” Melody said, bringing a tray of steaming food to the counter. “Randy said that the Major likes fish, so I made a seafood casserole. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“I won’t be eating,” you told her. “I’m… Because of my health, I can only eat some things.” Her smile froze in place, awkwardly stuck there as she tried to think of something to say to that. “It smells delicious,” you said, hoping to smooth things over.  

“Thank you, do you mind preparing the plates while I get the peas?” 

“Not at all,” you said, picking up the spatula. The casserole steamed enticingly as you began cutting into it, the scent of creamy seafood washing the kitchen. “What’s a finishing school?” you asked to distract yourself, setting evenly shaped squares on each plate.

“A school that teaches etiquette and manners and such,” Melody told you, setting the bowl of peas on the counter. She frowned. “It seems like a bit of a waste now that I live in a tiny little town like this.” There was a distinct hint of disdain in her voice, a sharp turn from the cheery tone of before. 

“Do you want to live somewhere else?” you asked, setting a roll on each plate and then finishing it with a hearty scoop of peas. 

“Hopefully. Randall might be convinced to move after his mom passes,” she said casually, oddly cold about a woman she called a second mother. “I don’t want to raise children here.” 

“Oh,” you said. As painful as it was to see him around, the idea of Randall completely leaving Barley hurt worse. 

“I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older,” Melody said, picking up two of the plates. 

“I’m sure I will,” you agreed passively, taking the third. You wondered if she knew you were the same age, or if she even suspected that you had once been so close with her Randy. 

“It smells divine,” Randall said as the two of you reentered the dining room. She set her plate and Randall’s and you set Dad’s. 

“I hope you like it,” Melody said as you took your chairs. “I tried a new recipe and I may have misread the numbers. I swear, I'm half blind sometimes.” She froze, looking at your covered left eye. “Ah, I didn't mean-”

“It's alright, my dear,” Dad said. “She doesn't mind.”

You smiled, nodding in polite agreement, and then you stared at the table while they ate, thinking about the purpose of going to a dinner where you couldn’t eat and nobody wanted you to talk. You understood why Dad limited your diet to keep you healthy, but not why he was so eager to involve Melody in the conversation. It wasn’t adult conversation, it was fluff. Nothing stories and overly jovial laughter. 

So what was it? Why wasn’t he offended by the way her dress hugged her curves, or the way she flirted with Randall, or her drinking liquor or eating. She even swore once, covering her mouth and apologizing demurely after the fact, and he didn’t look even slightly displeased. He called her charming and beautiful. 

Why?

When they were done eating, you were eager to get out of the room. Nobody wanted you there anyway. 

“I'll take the dishes,” you said, standing up.

“Let me help,” Melody told you.

“Nonsense,” Dad said. You could hear the slur of intoxication in his voice, making it louder, brassy. “She's glad to repay you for this fine meal. Besides, surely you wouldn't deprive an old man of such enchanting company. Genuine ladies are hard to find these days.” 

You took the plates to the kitchen and stood there, listening to them talk and laugh. Nobody minded that you weren’t there, you doubted they noticed. Choices were rarely ever made as a result of one event or feeling, you often felt as if you didn’t make choices at all, but the cold, hollow way loneliness gnawed at your heart as you stood alone in that kitchen was undoubtedly one of the many chained dominoes that led to finding yourself tied up in the dark in Captain Buggy’s cabin, swimming in a drugged stupor of sentimentality and self pity. 

The next domino of significance fell while you were at the docks. There were two reactions you usually got. Either people were hyper aware of your presence and avoided you at all costs, or you were utterly invisible. On the docks of Barley, you were invisible. Since dad was there so often, you became a familiar fixture, and over time you blended into the scenery. The Major’s poor little daughter. Or, less charitably, his one-eyed freak of a girl. 

You were not spying on the sailors, or eavesdropping. You were nearby, and you happened to hear their conversation. Sometimes you did that. You liked hearing about the world outside of Barley. 

“It was a weird Jolly Roger though,” one of the men was saying.  

“All pirates are weird,” the other countered, obviously bored with the conversation.

“No, this one was really… Here, let me show you.”

You peeked over your shoulder to see what he meant. He was sketching it out on a napkin. 

“Yeah, wow, a skull,” his companion said sarcastically.

“No, look, it had a big red nose. Like this.” 

“What is that, like a clown?” 

“Guess so, I didn’t get a real good look at it in the mist. But it was close. I’ve heard all sortsa weird stories about pirates in this area, and I’ve seen quite a few ships that shouldn’t be there, but you never hear about raids or nothing.” 

“Ah, that’s all bunk. They’ve been saying we got pirates hanging northside for years and I’ve never seen any of ‘em.” 

Feeling something very hot and anxious bubble up in your chest, you stood up to leave. And, just by happenstance, you glanced at the picture of the ‘weird Jolly Roger’ as you passed by.

And then you went out into the blinding daylight with some giddy feeling that you knew something they didn’t. It wasn’t just that the Jolly Roger was weird, but that the captain who flew that flag was a freak. That’s what Dad called Buggy. The Clown. A freak.

The risk of breaking into Dad’s safe was very, very high. He didn’t know that you knew how to do it, and you hoped that he never would. He kept lots of boring things in there, but it was also the only place you could look at pictures of Mom. Maybe they were too painful to be left out otherwise. He kept something else in there though, which was files of pirates. Retired or not, Dad hated pirates. 

You found the wanted poster with a relative amount of ease, stealing it and folding it into the waistband of your leggings, relocking the safe and setting the security so he wouldn’t know you got into it. 

That night, you looked at the wanted poster underneath your blanket and you made a list. A mental list, you didn’t really like to write anymore. Pros and cons. 

Pros:

The pirate Buggy’s wanted poster. Dad said he was a clown—Buggy the freak. That’s what dad called him. A freak. His didn’t look as scary as other pirate wanted posters you had seen, he looked younger too. Maybe a little scary. You had to fold the paper to avoid looking him in the eye. 

People didn’t mess with pirates. Marines did, but that was different. Regular people, the people who lived in Barley, would never treat a pirate like they treated you. Pirates got to talk in all conversations, even if they weren’t wanted. Who was going to stop them?

It was your best chance at getting out of Barley, at getting away from dad and Randall and the cold, awful house. If Randall was leaving soon anyway, what was the point of staying? And you had no delusions about being able to run away by yourself. You wouldn’t know how, you didn’t even know how to book passage on a ship out. And then where would you go? Where would you live? What would you do to get money? 

Cons:

The chances of the Buggy Pirates actually being nearby was incredibly low. You could go northside after dad left and check, but, really, what were the odds? Even entertaining the possibility was dangerous, fanciful thinking.

You were too weak to be a pirate, too frail. Too sickly. You refused to think you were crazy, you couldn’t believe that, but dad said you were, and maybe you wouldn’t know if you were crazy.  

Captain Buggy probably wouldn’t take on a crew member who had no skills to speak of, no talent or experience other than maintaining a household. Not unless you could think of some really good reasons.

Dad would be alone. Nobody would take care of him when he came home drunk, or make his food, or clean up the house. Nobody would fix his clothes or shave his beard or love him when he missed Mom. 

Oddly, out of all the problems you thought of that night, you didn’t think that one of them would be the simple truth that Dad would never, ever let you go. You didn’t think about the time and effort he put into your medical treatments, or the way he kept you cosseted up in the house. You didn’t think about how protective he was, how combative he got whenever you tried to be independent. Now, with a bit of space from the situation, you could recognize those things as odd. But, that night, you were only worried for him.

1 Day Earlier

There had been a fight. A mercenary sniffing around looking for a one-eyed hostage. Although you had your doubts about Dad sending the attackers from the other night, that man definitely was someone Dad sent. Ivo said it was your fault, that you were bringing all of this misfortune on them, that you were cursed from the beginning. 

Buggy said you shouldn’t worry about it. He laughed it off. 

But you couldn’t. 

So you snuck away during dinner. It was a plan you had come up with laying wide awake while Buggy slept soundly next to you. You worried. You really, really worried. There wasn’t much you could do for him, no way to repay the debt you owed him, but maybe you could help. Maybe you could do something useful, something only you could do. Lafitte was as shady as they came, but it still had law enforcement, and you knew they had a Den Den Mushi that could contact Marine lines. After you slipped them a little bribe, of course. 

The guy seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. People in Lafitte weren’t really the types that called Marines. He left his office for you, but the door hung open. You wouldn’t have expected privacy anyway. It didn’t matter.

Taking a deep breath, you dialed the number and waited. As soon as you heard it connect, your posture straightened out with a zip of electricity, your heart thundering hard in your chest. 

“Daddy?” you asked. “It’s me.” He didn’t say anything at first, and you wondered if the line was dead somehow, or maybe the number was different and it wasn’t him. “Hello?” you asked, confused and nervous that this had all been for nothing. 

“Is it really you?” he asked. His voice, even like this, was enough to make your heart ache. The feeling ran counter to your nerves, something painful and mushy and filled with longing. You missed him. 

“Yes, daddy. It’s me.” 

“Is he there? The pirate—that clown. Is he with you?”

“No, it’s just me. I wanted to talk to you. I…” You weren’t sure what to say. Tears burned in your eye, the conflict of love and fear choking you. It wasn’t the first time you regretted running away, but right then the feeling was more intense than any you had ever felt. It hurt. Physically, it hurt you. “I miss you, daddy.”   

“Does he know where you are? Are you safe?” he asked. “If you can, hide. I’ll have men there to rescue you as soon as possible and then I’ll get you home. I’ll murder that bastard for what he’s done. I need you to tell me everything.”

“No, that’s not why I called,” you told him, shaking your head. Nausea swam unsteadily in your stomach. Your hands shook violently enough that holding the mouthpiece took both of them. “I wanted to tell you that I’m safe, I’m fine. I-I love you, daddy. So you don’t—you don’t need to look for me anymore.” 

There was a long, long moment of heavy silence.

“Did he tell you to say this? What does he want?” 

“Captain Buggy doesn't know I’m calling you, but I need you to know that you don’t have to look for me anymore,” you said. “Please. I just want to… Please stop looking for me. I know you think I’m sick, but I’m-I’m not. I’m fine, I’m happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated. His tone of voice shot ice water all the way down into your gut, every single alarm bell in your head ringing at full volume. A cold sweat broke out on the back of your neck and you looked around, anticipating violence even though you knew he wasn’t actually there.

“He hired me,” you said. “I’m on his crew and-”

“A pirate crew.” 

“They’re my-my friends,” you explained, shaking your head. “And Captain Buggy is… He’s not like what you think.”

“He’s a pirate. An egotistical overgrown child with delusions of grandeur. He’s exactly what I think. Whatever he told you, whatever promises he’s made to you, they’re a lie,” Dad said, his voice hard. “He’s using you. He’s taking advantage of your weak mind. Once he’s done enjoying and exploiting the fruits of my labor, he’ll throw you away without a second thought. I imagine he’ll try to ransom you back to me, or perhaps sell you off to the highest bidder. All you mean to him is money and a warm body.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head fast. “No, that’s… No.”

“What else do you think would make you worthy of his attention? I have tried to mold you into a good, useful girl, but you’re sickly and you’re weak. You’re not smart or capable or beautiful. You’re practically a child. You need to be taken care of and given strict direction. The only reason a man would want a girl like you is because you’re easy and because you’re my daughter, don’t you understand? That’s why I’ve tried so hard to protect you. I never should have trusted you to be left on your own.” He sighed. “Help me arrest them and I will do what I can to protect you.”

“What?”

“Your Captain Buggy will be caught, and I’d wager it will happen soon. Give me information about him, and I will ask that you’re spared execution and released into my custody for treatment.” 

“I can’t do that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to come home?” 

You blinked out a single tear, staring hard at the desk. “A little,” you admitted weakly. “But I… I can’t. I made a promise. I’m sorry, daddy.” 

“My sweet girl, you’re not capable of surviving out there without me. You know that you’re sick, you know that you need me. This is the only chance you will have to beg for my forgiveness and help. Give me a reason to speak on your behalf. I’m ordering you to, as your father.” 

Your stomach turned painfully. “Daddy, I know that I’m… I don’t want you to be mad at me, really. I never wanted that. I love you. But I made a promise.” 

“When that man is caught and tried, you will be prosecuted right along with him. Has he told you of his crimes? He is a killer and a thief.” 

“I know.” 

“He killed Randall.” 

You froze, your heart stopping. For a moment, you could smell the blood and the old wreckage of the crumbling building. You could hear the way he screamed, the sickening sound of the blade getting caught in his neck.  

“I know,” you said again, barely audible. “Daddy, I’m begging you to stop trying to find me. Please. I love you, I will love you forever and ever, but I can’t live like that again.”

His facade broke with a noise that barely translated, a growl like sound. You flinched hard, whimpering. 

“After everything I did to keep you clean and pure, you turned out just like her,” Dad said, almost like he was ranting to himself. “Perhaps it was inevitable after all. You still belong to me. No matter what you have allowed that man to do to you, he cannot have you. I will find you, no matter what. You are mine.” 

With those words hanging like the final, solemn condemnation of an executioner, the line went dead. 

Slowly, so slowly, you hung up the mouthpiece. 

The man who let you use his Den Den Mushi seemed significantly less amused by you after having heard the interaction. You didn’t know what he might have taken from that conversation. You weren’t sure what you took from it. Disgust? Dread? Fear? Despair? You left the office with a brick of anxiety in your gut, the slow, sinking realization of what you had done setting in. It was all true. Dad was looking for you. He would find you. Calling him like that told him exactly where you were.

The sun was setting on Lafitte, you needed to hurry back to Captain Buggy. You had no idea what you were going to tell him. Overcome with sour nausea at the thought, you stumbled into an alleyway to violently dry heave, gagging on the sour bile that you squeezed out of your empty stomach. 

“There you are,” somebody said. You stiffened, turning fast with fresh terror making your heart race. It was not the kidnapping mercenary or Marine you feared, but a familiar round, red face. 

“Newt,” you said, relieved. 

“Hey there,” he greeted you awkwardly. “The Captain wants you back on the ship.” 

“Right,” you said, nodding and wiping your sweaty palms on your thighs, trying to hide the obvious evidence of your guilt. “Lead the way.” 

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m real sorry about this.” 

The last thing you were aware of was a sharp sense of betrayal, and then the cloying scent of some powdery mist Newt sprayed in front of your face.

The rest of it, sneaking northside with the vague idea that you were going to join the circus and be a pirate, converged with the last time you woke up dazed and confused and tied up. 

And just like last time, Captain Buggy was the one to pull you out of the stupor. He opened the door and flicked the light on, blinding you. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he called, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table that was pushed aside, swinging it around so he could sit on it the wrong way with his arms crossed over the back. “Sorry about the,” he gestured around. “I was hoping to get a cage up here, but it was a bit of a rush job. Maybe another time.”  

“Captain Buggy, what’s going on?” you asked, the words coming out mushy and heavy.  The light was too loud, too violent. Your head ached with each agonizing pound of your heart. You weren’t entirely sure this was real. Maybe it was another memory, maybe you were still lost. Maybe nothing ever was real because you felt awfully disconnected and confused. “Please untie me.”

“Only if you’re good,” Buggy said. “We need to have a little talk first. You’ve been a naughty girl.”

“You… you drugged me.”

He shrugged glibly. “Technically, that was Newt.” Oh, right. You remembered that part.

“Did he tie me up?” 

“Oh no, that was me. Couldn’t risk letting you make any more stupid decisions. Although,” he leaned forward to speak conspiratorially, “between you and me, it’s hotter than I thought it would be. If I weren’t so pissed right now things would be going very differently.” 

“What?” you asked. 

“Exactly, I’m glad you asked, babydoll. Because of your little stunt, we had to leave Lafitte early.”

Stunt. That one took you a moment, but the grief and despair was quick to rush back in right alongside the fear and uncertainty. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head in denial of it. “I’m sorry, I-” 

“Do you know why your dad only told a few trusted mercenaries and Marines that his daughter had been kidnapped?” Buggy asked, cutting you off. “Because, unlike you, he’s not a moron. Plastering your name and face on missing posters would be an advertisement to all of his old enemies that he misplaced most of his most valuable assets. If the Surgeon really wanted to save you, he had to do it quietly.”

“You’re… It’s because I called him, right? I just wanted to ask him to stop looking for me,” you tried to explain, although you could hear how cheap that excuse sounded.

“Did you now?” Buggy asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well, dipshit, what you actually did was let him know that you left because you wanted to. Now daddy dearest doesn’t care one bit if his little girl gets roughed up, she’s used goods and he’s got a bigger prize in sight.”

“What prize?” 

“Me,” Buggy emphatically answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you,” he pointed at you, “are nothin’ but bait.” 

You frowned, your mind lagging behind trying to keep up with what he was saying. The anesthetic still gunked up the insides of your head, made your body all heavy and uncoordinated. “I don’t… understand,” you told him. 

“The news is that the Surgeon’s beloved daughter had been kidnapped by the Buggy Pirates. I’ll give it to him, that was bold. He’s trying to get everybody else to do his job so he can come in during the third act and collect my bounty. I can see it now—” Buggy raised his hands as if to showcase a marquee. “Past his prime has-been Marine takes the stage for the final time to stop one of the most infamous pirates in all of the East Blue.” His hands dropped. “Unfortunately, it’s a tragedy. For him. Sure, we’ll have to premiere sooner than I would like, not great, but it’s gonna make waves, babydoll. All this is just free marketing.”  

“Is that…” 

“Is that what?” Buggy asked. 

“Is that why you're mad at me, captain?” you asked, hating the feeling of embarrassed, pained tears pricking the corner of your eye, making your chin wobble. 

“Oh no,” Buggy said. “I’m not mad at you for that, sweetheart. I mean, I’m a little mad, but I’m not exactly surprised that you would run off and call home. I’d even say it was convenient if you had waited a day or two. No, I’m worried about you—about your loyalty. I heard your conversation with pops and I’ve gotta say,” Buggy clicked his tongue in disapproval, “yikes.” 

“You were spying on me?” you asked. “How? Why?” 

“Because I’m not stupid. I knew I couldn’t trust that you’d be honest with me about your conversation with him, and now I see why. Seriously, I did not expect it to be that bad. Shit’s nauseating. I knew you were a little stunted—mentally and physically—but hearing it firsthand... Bleh. You know what you sounded like? Daddy’s little princess. There’s something weird going on there and since you were a virgin when I got you, I can only think that maybe you’re not nearly as dedicated to me as you keep saying you are. That’s what this is, right? You’re playing both sides, waiting to see who comes out on top?” 

“No, I’m loyal to you, Captain Buggy,” you said. 

He gave you a flat look. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I called him because… Because I thought it would make him stop. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, right. Because you didn’t believe me when I told you that I’d take care of you, right? That’s what you’re saying. But you trusted that daddy would do what you asked if you said it real sweet. Is that it?”

“I wanted to help,” you said, trying very hard not to cry. 

“You said you love him, was that supposed to be helpful too?” 

“No, that’s… He’s my dad, Captain Buggy.”

“You chose to come to me. You wanted to leave him.” 

“He’s still my dad.”  

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Buggy exclaimed, standing up and kicking the chair away. You yelped, curling in on yourself. “You know who takes care of you now?” He demanded loudly. “Captain Buggy.” 

“He’s the only family I have.”

“What,” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not enough?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“If you think about it, I’m a way better dad to you than he ever was.”

“No, he…  it’s different, Captain Buggy,” you said, struggling to get the words out because you couldn’t fight the tears anymore.

“I feed you, clothe you, look after you. I keep you safe and I let you come every single day. What did he do? Beat you? Make you feel like shit?”

“Captain-”

“Why don’t you love me more than him?”

“Please-”

“What more could you possibly expect me to do!? I swear, you’re just like the rest of them. Ungrateful, miserable little—”

“Captain Buggy, please stop yelling!” you cried desperately. “I’m so-so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, really, I’m-” Your words cut off with a broken sob. You couldn’t even wipe your eye or nose, having to hide your face against your knees to clean up some of the mess. “You know I only want you, you ha-aave to know I do. I would do ah-anything for you. I thought if I—if I could help you, then… I’m so so-” You couldn’t finish the apology, your words cracking over one another in your incoherent, blubbering haste to get them out.

He didn’t respond right away, leaving you to sob pathetically in the ensuing silence. Now that you were crying, it was like everything was flooding out. Every memory your brain saw fit to replay, every feeling of despair and sadness and misery and pain and loss and the acute ache of disappointing the only two people in your life who had ever really mattered, all of it gushed out all at once. 

“Aw, shit. Hey,” Buggy finally said, crouching down next to you. When you looked up at him, he pulled a face. He didn’t look angry though. “Eee—yikes, that’s… Okay, look. Let’s just take five, okay? Cool down a little bit. I didn’t mean that thing I said before about you being… You know. So, um, can you just… Not do this,” he gestured to your face, “anymore.” 

You sniffed, looking up in an attempt to stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice breaking. 

“Yeah, I got that part. Okay, here, let’s…” Buggy flicked out his knife and sawed through the ropes around your wrists. You sniffled, trying to mop up your face as soon as you could use your hands. “Jeez,” he said, “that is a lot of snot.” 

That just made you sob more, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“No, hey, I don’t even mind,” Buggy said quickly, clearly trying to placate you. “C’mere, you snotty lil brat.” He grabbed you, forcibly pulling you against his shoulder. Without any hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Buggy grunted, rocking back before stabilizing himself and awkwardly patting your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “There, there.” 

“I’m ss-oo, so sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice muffled by the way your face was squished against his chest. 

“I know,” Buggy said. “This really is a disgusting amount of—you’ve only got one eye that can actually cry, where is this all coming from?”  

He settled his arm around you like a hug. Even awkward and not at all comfortable, Buggy was holding you while you cried. When was the last time anyone did that? You couldn’t remember. Every other pair of arms you had sought refuge in had been cold or hard or unwelcoming, but Buggy wasn’t. He was warm and solid and scary and cranky and cruel and funny and handsome and he was all you had and-

“Captain Buggy, I love you,” you said. 

“Aw, babydoll,” Buggy cooed. “I know you do.” 

“No—oh.” You sniffled, wiping at your face as you pulled away to look at him. “I don’t mean kissing or holding hands love, it’s…” You grabbed at his hand, pulling it up and pressing it against your chest, above your heart. “I love you. Before I talked to him, I guess I still thought that Dad was… That some part of him would—would care about me, but…” You choked down another sob, hating how hard it was to get those words out. “The Surgeon is our enemy, that’s all.”

“Do you realize what that means?” Buggy asked. 

“I know,” you said, forcing yourself to harden against the soft part of your heart that shied away from that. “I know that. But I’m a pirate, and he’s a Marine.” You looked up to meet Buggy’s eyes. “And you are my captain, so… So whatever you think is best, Captain Buggy. I trust you.” 

[solarwynd]

I've been living that solo life for almost 2 years now, but sometimes I will listen to my old 'Top 20 favorite BTS songs' playlist or check my 98 GB 'BTS Live Performances' folder (I'm truly not exaggerating the size, though 30GB of those are just from a folder titled 'Jimin' which includes not only live performances but also his MVs and all the Production Diary stuff. I also download everything in the highest quality I can find which increases the size) and watch one of their pre-2020 performances, specially their tours, and I'm like "Man, there was a reason I was a fan of these guys". I almost forgot after the past almost 5 years of no proper group albums or tours and instead only a few mediocre songs here and there and concerts that were 60% pre-2020 songs they already performed a thousand times and 40% their new meh music that either doesn't have a choreography or does but it's kinda basic (I have beef with PTD on Stage, the only good parts were ON and Black Swan. Why did they ignore 85% of MOTS7? They finally had the opportunity to perform those songs in a live concert and instead of doing that they decided to do Fire again for the billionth time).

If they're really going to insist on coming back with the group they could at least go back to the version of the group that was actually worth being a fan of. But if they're gonna go back to their Dynamite, Butter, PTD, YTC, Take Two bullshit then they're just wasting the members. Cause Jimin and the rapline have solo music they want to make but won't be able to if they're stuck in the group. It would be specially a waste of Jimin, cause unlike rapline people care about his music (rip to the rapline, my grandpa would've loved your music Namjoon) and there's also no guarantee that Jimin is going to be invited to the exclusive 'Members Who Make The Group's Music' club. Jimin is the only member making music and having performances fans actually like and they're gonna sit in him a chair and give him two lines in a mediocre songs he didn't write. That shit should be considered a crime, genuinely.

Like I said, there was a reason I used to be a fan, and while I don't think I will care about those six like I care about Jimin, well, I never really did in the first place but I still managed to like the group cause I liked them as a whole not individually, so I could care about the group again if they simply give me a reason to. I'm not like armys, I can't stay a fan based on the love I felt years ago. I need to feel that love again in the present otherwise I'll just have to find something better to be a fan of.

.🎯🎯🎯

[xreaderbooks]

The Shadows of Our Love |11|

Chapter 11 | In the Shadow of Duels

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Sebastian are on speaking terms, finally, but at what cost?

Warnings: language, violence

Word Count: 3k

Links: Wattpad - AO3 - Playlist

Chapter 10 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 12

“You seriously believe your parents are behind this?” Ominis nods his head slowly in response to you.

“Behind what, exactly, in case you both forgot I was late to whatever this is.” Sebastian inquires with a bitter tone. You share the details you told Ominis and not a shred more in front of the boy who sits in the middle of the both of you in clear distress. You didn't linger on the fact that you once would have trusted Sebastian with the full story.

Sebastian lets out a rather hearty laugh, you beheld a bewildered expression on your face. This wasn't a joke. “Would the Gaunts really go that far?”

“You haven’t met them, Sebastian, from your knowledge of my family that ought to give you a well-versed idea of their ethics.” Responded Ominis gravely. You then asked what he proposed you all do. “We alert the authorities.”

“Already done, I’ve sent a letter to Officer Singer anonymously- she can’t know I’ve been out of Hogwarts grounds.”

“Then we wait and see how she responds.”

Sebastian raises his hand like he’s in a class, “May I just say, that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. I’m sure this is just a phase those purebloods are going through and once they’ve had their fill, all will be as it once was.”

“I’m not going to just sit around to find out whether or not the Aurors are going to do something about this,” You exasperated. Sebastian wasn’t affected by this, it wasn’t his problem therefore he doesn’t care but you made a promise. “I’m going to do what I can to help the Hamlets.”

Ominis suspired with a hand to his forehead, “I sometimes wonder if you’ve been placed in the right house with your lack of self-preservation.”

“I’m clever enough to be where I am and obviously ambitious, no need for self-preservation when I’m confident.” Fake it 'til you make it and all that, it was a new philosophy you adopted in order to overcome the serious imposter syndrome you feel.

Sebastian snorted.

"Amused?" Not like there weren't people's lives at stake.

"Very."

~~~

You are up the steps of the DADA tower steps and in the hallway with portraits, two knight armor statues placed on both sides of the small alcove where a cat lay behind a plant, gazing at the stained glass window when you heard an obvious cough meant to grasp your attention.

Your look over your shoulder and to your surprise it was Sebastian. You fully turn to face him, waiting for whatever abusive comment he was surely about to make. When in the next second he didn’t speak you opened your mouth, “Talking to me now, are we?”

He scowls, “Were we not earlier?”

“I assumed that was for Ominis’ sake not to vex him any further.”

“Seeing as you are persistent in engaging in conversation with me, I see no point in keeping my mouth shut when you are around.”

You attempt to bite back your bitter laugh and fail, “You truly are arrogant. It is you who intrudes on my every venture, Sallow, you followed me out of the Undercroft.”

“Do not fret, this will not last long,” He flattens his green vest and corrects his posture. “Lucan has given me the task of informing you about the Crossed Wands meeting.”

You gaze up at him with a fiery attitude, “When exactly is it being held?”

“Wednesday at 6.” Tomorrow. Brilliant.

“You can tell him I’ll be there.”

He gives you a curt nod, “You can tell him at the meeting how he can inform you about future meetings himself after tomorrow, good day, Ms. L/n.”

Lucan had owled you before, you weren’t sure why he didn’t just do that now, and what did he just call you?

“Ms. L/n?” Your face scrunched at how he addressed you, and you had to admit that it stung.

“That is the proper way to address each other,” He replied with indifference.

“With formalities?” You said still in disbelief and wondered if he can hear the hurt in your voice. “Sebastian, please.”

You note how he winces lightly at the sound of his name, “Witches and Wizards, especially at our age are not confined to those rules and after all we’ve been through?”

“Need I remind you that last year meant nothing, that we are nothing.”

A complete and absolute tosser, you thought “You’ve made that quite clear, however, if you are to speak to me from now on, I do not wish to be called by my last name.”

“Good day, Ms. L/n.” He said with finality and walked away to leave you with your thoughts in the middle of the hall.

“Awkward,” You heard the Knight statue sing behind your back. The other knight left its post and swung its sword, beheading the one who spoke. It bowed before returning to its stand.

You were unsure if it could see you but gave the Knight who defended you a half-hearted smile, “Thanks.”

~~~

It was Wednesday half past 5 when you began walking to the clock tower courtyard. It was a fairly peaceful day, transfiguration was interesting, Beasts class always made you feel better when interacting with the creatures, and in potions, you learned the wound-cleaning potion that would certainly come in handy.

Despite the new status of now talking to Sebastian, there was no conversation. You had nothing to say to him, and if you did it was kept short, you didn’t want or need his rancorous attitude. Especially since you were going to see him at Crossed Wands.

You met Natty outside of the faculty tower where the bridge leads to the Clock Tower courtyard. She greets you with a grin as you walk down the steps, the doors open to an abundance of Samhain decorations.

Pumpkins with faces carved in them were placed in the corner of the interior of the courtyard, torches and floating candles lit as the evening grew darker. Most of the castle has been decorated to fit the season, especially as Samhain was this Saturday.

The group organizer, Lucan, who was newly a fourth year still hasn’t shredded his boyish face but grew to be your height- an inch taller, you realize as you come closer.

A couple of members in the club are spread out in their preferred groups, only a few new students have joined but there were mostly familiar faces. No sign of Sebastian yet.

Spectators sat close to the gate that was still open to students.

“Excited?” Natty asked, observing the crowd. “First match of the year for you.”

“For me?” You peered at her quizzically, as far as you were concerned this was the first match of the year.

Natty appeared puzzled by your question, “The first meeting was last week. The Brattleby boy said he sent someone to tell you, I thought you wanted a break from fighting so I thought nothing of it when you weren’t here.”

You ground your teeth together as you pieced what could have happened together. Sebastian must have conveniently forgotten to tell you, so why did he tell you now? “I never received the message.”

“How odd, you are here now which is what matters,” She bumped her shoulder against yours. You gave her a side smile as you stretched your arms and neck, beside you she did the same.

“We could be a team if you’d like?” Natty offered, you considered for a second but told her that you wanted to go solo. Internally you had something to prove to someone in specific. You didn’t care to win this time, you had your victory being the Dueling Champion. Unfortunately, that was one you had shared with Sebastian as your partner.

This time you only cared to beat him.

As soon as you saw Lucan had ended his last conversation with Leander, you went in to tell him how you’d duel this round.

“Hello, Y/n!” He immediately brightened as he saw you approach.

You gave him a warm smile, “Lucan. Quite a lineup you have this year.”

“Oh, yes, it’s amazing isn’t it.” He nodded eagerly, “Tons of bets have been put in, loads have been on you. Shame you weren’t here for the first of the season.”

“I’m afraid your message got lost somehow, but I’m ready now.”

He hissed, “Merlin, I- You see since you weren’t here for the first, you don’t qualify for the competition.”

Fuck.

“But,” You held onto your hope as he spoke. “You are allowed to duel against other competitors, your win is yours, it just won’t count for the title.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and hugged the boy, “Thank you.”

“Will you be dueling with Sebastian?” He patted your back in the hug, his cheeks flushed.

You released him and stepped back firmly on your feet, “No. I’d actually like to compete against him.”

He blinked in surprise, “Oh. Well, alright then.”

“Does that interfere with the way you have it set up?” You didn’t want to inconvenience him. “I can back out if anything, we just haven’t been… in sync as of late.”

You knew that your dueling against Sebastian would fuel the rumors of drama between you and him but frankly, you didn’t care.

“No, it’s not a problem, singles duel last so you have time to prepare.” He gave you a look you couldn’t decipher, “Good luck. Not that you need it, you’re bloody amazing, Sebastian’s a formidable opponent. Ruthless if I’m being honest, you’ve only fought with him, being on the other side of his wand.”

He took a second to think and shivered, “Good luck, Y/n. I’m rooting for you.”

So much for that, you caught a glimpse of red and short brown hair, both in their casual clothing. You turned your head to spot where Natty was and saw she was prepping with Nellie. You went over to the pair that was cornered to the right door that leads up to the clock tower, this was a safe zone, for now.

“Come to see the show?” You placed your hands on your hips as you stood behind Garreth who whirled around at the sound of your voice.

He picked you up and wrapped you in a tight hug, “Y/n/n!”

You giggled, hugging him back, he set you down next to Poppy who asked you if you were dueling.

“I go on later.”

“Solo,” Poppy stated more than asked. “Against…”

“Take a wild guess,” You told her.

“Sallow?” Garreth chimed, suddenly gone pale. “Sebastian Sallow?”

“Well him and a few others of course but yes, he’s one of them.”

Poppy gave you a concerned stare but said nothing of it, “Best of luck then.”

Garreth gulped, “Prayers. Lots and lots of prayers.”

Poppy gave him a stab in the ribs to which he winced and switched spots with you, now standing next to her as you backed away from them.

“Never been the religious sort but since you insist on getting killed,” He muttered. That earned him a smack in the back of his head from your Hufflepuff friend.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but kissed his cheek affectionately as a way to cheer him up and gave his cheek a slap, “Chin up lad, I’m the bloody Hero of Hogwarts.” The title you didn’t care for slipped from your tongue and though it didn’t give you extra powers for being named that, it did give people hope.

Sallow wasn’t that good.

Okay, maybe he was. However that didn’t mean shite, you could also be ruthless when you fought. Granted, this had not been your lucky year so far, but when you won this it would surely give you that boost of confidence you so desperately needed.

“Alright, everyone!” Lucan's voice paused everyone's conversations. Once he got everyone’s attention he explained that groups will go first, those who lose are out and the remaining with duel in pairs, pairs will end in singles. Winners of the second round will go on to the final where they will be crowned champion.

And so it went, until there were 4 left, not including yourself and Sebastian who had shown up just as Charlotte Morrison had finished Natty off with a swift speed of spells. Oh, how she agitated you. Charlotte had a sickly sweet tone in her voice every time she bested people, and had the audacity to pretend to be humble when it was obvious that she was not.

You disliked her the way Ominis dislikes Duncan Hobhouse. Natty took her loss amiably, she strode over to you after they had shook hands, slightly out of breath.

“Natty,” You drawled out her name sympathetically.

She shook her head, “No, no. It is alright, it was a fair game.”

You grumbled for her with arms crossed, the entrance of Sebastian had whispers and bets going around. It started as soon as they had heard that you would be dueling against him. You wondered how many people betted for you and how many shared Garreth and Lucan's sentiments.

Lucan announced your name, then Sebastian, informing you both to step in the middle. He counted down, telling you both to get into position and begin.

Sebastian had a twinkle in his eye and a smirk that pulled his dimple out of hiding. You swiped your wand left then right, and finally pulled back your arm as if you were holding a bow.

Quiet conversation and deep stares were heard and felt as you and Sebastian circled each other. Neither of you struck first.

“Scared, Sallow?” You taunted him.

He didn’t budge, “L/n, we both know that you haven’t been a threat since the beginning of the year. You even need your boyfriend here for moral support.”

You sent three casts his way, all of which he blocked with ease. “I seem to be doing just fine.” Though you missed, you knew that he had to use some strength to block the spells you used. You have been practicing after all.

“A bit defensive don’t you think?” Confringo was shot at you, blast after blast, you didn’t have time to retaliate.

You blocked and blocked and blocked until you were almost backed into the metal gate that held stored items. You took your chance and cast Depulso, rolling away and bouncing back up to your feet. While he was down you hit him with one of his favorite, Incendio.

He got back up with a singed shirt and attacked, it was never-ending, the duel had to have been longer than 30 minutes. Neither of you had given up, it was an intense dance that both of you were used to doing side-by-side. This was the first time your wands were pointed at each other.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

You couldn’t remember the moment when you’d heard him say that before, but you knew it infuriated you. You wouldn’t admit it but Sebastian was tiring you out a little- only a little.

You pushed and struck, swiped, and jabbed. He mirrored as if he was only playing along like he wasn��t even trying. Was he?

“Sallow,” You growled. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever do you mean?” He parried and slashed Diffindo. He was caught, he was putting on a show and he was going easy on you. Sebastian knew you were catching onto his game and upped his ante. “You can do better than that, actually, can you?"

You performed a spell combo that you had been practicing on but he just laughed it off even as it hit him.

“It’s like you’re not even trying,” He then spoke to the crowd. “Is this your hero?”

“You’re getting weaker, L/n, you realize you come to school to actually learn.”

Your nostrils flared, his comments awoke something animalistic inside you that only wanted violence. “I’ve had enough!”

He sent a barrel, after barrel your way, you used the vanishing spell to wave them away with your wand.

You were fed up, you abandon your wand letting it fall to the ground as you pounce. You charge forward, tackling Sebastian to the ground, letting your hands punch and slap wherever they land. Not once did he stop you.

“Fight back!” You yell, “Fight back, you bastard, fight back, fight back, fight back!”

He didn’t block a single blow, it pissed you off even more. Your fist went in on his face and you heard a crack. You knew you felt pain in your knuckles where they landed but you were almost positive that it was just your hand that crunched from the impact.

This was absolutely not allowed in the dueling club, muggle fighting was seemingly more violent and frowned upon but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. This was much more satisfying.

You saw red, not feeling the arms that attempted to pry you off of the boy who lay under you. It wasn’t until strong arms had listed you off, along with the others who had struggled to get you off themselves.

Nellie and Natty were on either side of you with arms hooked around your elbows, the only other person you can think of that would lift you like this had to be Garreth. He lets you go once you were done kicking and screaming.

Sebastian got up and touched his fingertips to his nose where blood had dripped onto his lip.

“You're the foulest loathsome being that I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting” You shout. You pick up your wand from the ground and in your fury, you conjure 12 birds with the spell Avis and send them spiraling his way, “Oppugno!”

“Ms. L/n!” The tone of a strong male authoritative figure came up from the left door that goes up to the clock tower. The crowd, you now noticed, was scattered. Someone must have alerted him, Professor Sharp. Lucan ran the moment he saw Sharp, as did the other members of the club. “What is the meaning of this?”

No one spoke, Nellie, Natty, Garreth, Poppy who was just around the corner and as quiet as a mouse. You and Sebastian stood staring each other down with silent words you only knew that in your mind you were shouting how much you despised him.

“Saturday, Detention.” His words broke you and Sallow out of your hate-induced trance. “All of you, including you Ms. Sweeting.”

~~~

If anybody would like to be tagged comment or send me a message

Chapter 12

Taglist:

@vanivivs - @aqueennia - @wt-fxck - @therealppboy - @boysmedia - @stuffyownswrld - @maddsinthemoon - @dreamshot - @lostgirl-28 - @scrambled-eggs-y

[luvmagician]

Ok, I'll be the one, Fubuki!!

you didnt say which number so i answered all 30 of them

1. My first impression of them

me and GX really had an enemies to lovers arc i could barely sit through the first episode after finishing DM the guitar stings were too much. i did not care much for any of the characters. it grew on me though we are besties now obvs

2. When I think I truly started to like them (or dislike them, if you've sent me a character I don't like)

i think i realized how much i liked S1 nightshroud first bc i love campy and ostentatious femme villains and then my love spread to regular fubuki around the time i got to s4 and then he graduated to a proper Blorbo and well the rest is history…

3. A song that reminds me of them

go fish by cub (ask me no more questions / ill tell you no more lies / about my sweet little trip to the other side) also obligatory fubuki playlist link

4. How many people I ship them with

off the top of my head 4 (ryo yusuke reggie manga!jim) but my interpretations tend to stretch the definition of “ship”

5. My favorite ship of them

idols hehe ^_^ lh4wds couple (lighthouse 4 wine dark sea)

6. My least favorite ship of them

theres not any i particularly dislike to be honest. hes a charismatic guy.

7. A quote of them that you remember

WHEN STAGE LIGHT HITS YOU THAT WHICH IS BEHIND YOU IS SACRIFICED TO SHADOW ! 🌟

8. Your favorite outfit of them

first i have to come out as an turn 60 austin powers cosplay enjoyer so sue me the purple looks nice on him secondly HIS LADY OSCAR OUTFIT!!! I WISH I COULD PICK THE BRAIN OF THE ANIMATOR WHO PUT HIM IN HER OUTFIT SOOO BAD ITS EVERYTHING TO ME

9. Your least favorite outfit of them

nightshroud outift but only when its lit by cool lighting and looks gray thats when its ugly when its lit warm and looks brown its flattering!! see theres a stark difference here!!

10. Describe the character in one sentence

11. What's the first thing you think about when thinking about the character?

“BUKI!!! :)” <- too happy to formulate coherent thoughts

12. Sexuality hc!

little bisexual weirdo

13. Your favorite friendship they have

manjoume and him are so sweet and funny thats his little guy. thats the chihuahua to his valley girl

14. Best storyline they had

season 4 makes me screammm its about absence as a presence its about how running from something only gives it more power over you its about confronting the horrors and chosing to live with them instead of dying to escape them…

15. Worst storyline they had

the jokes around his treatment of asuka in the show proper arent Great but i have a thick enough skin to slough through it… that being said the flanderization he endures in the spinoff games especially cross duel SUUCCKKK the “trying to marry off my bitch sister” jokes werent funny in 2004 they arent funny now STOP TRYING TO BRING THEM BACK. even more of a bummer bc i think his love for love and romance are such endearing parts of his character seeing them flattened down into bad jokes makes me -___-

16. childhood headcanon

regularly held concerts for an audience of his stufffed animals drew flyers to hand out and everything it was a whole production.

17. What do you think their first word was?

he needs attention. something attention grabbing like “HI” or “HEY!” or “ME!” something like that

18. How do you think they were as a kid? (Like, were they shy, noisy, wild, etc)

he was just as outgoing and chipper but also.. yk he was an emotional feminine kid with long hair who didnt like conflict and kids are mean.. but i think asuka looked out for him a lot and beat up his bullies

19. The most random ship you've seen people have with them

fubuki/shoji (manjoumes older brother) is so funny. i love it btw i think its such a serve and there are interesting ways you can spin it like yess fubuki chase the childhood you barely got to live by hooking up with a man who looks eerily like your highschool protege and maybe gold dig while your at it

20. A weird headcanon

i think him and asuka grew up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (nowhere near the ocean he just picked up surfing really fast his freshman year) and them and the marufujis have a lil country mouse city mouse thing going on. and i draw him with rubber bands on his fingers to help with his memory issues :)

21. When do you think they were at their happiest?

freshman year of duel academy he was on top of da world baby

22. When do you think they were at their lowest?

the almost two years he spent in the nihilism nightmare depression hell dimension or the day he found out Prince died

23. Future headcanon

he does acting and entertainment dueling and shows up on variety shows and keeps teasing his album but refuses to release it until he he can get asuka to feature on a song. if he did ever release music all his music videos concepts would have a rich interlocking story ala the loonaverse

24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?

he dodges questions about the darkness BIG TIME and even lies about like the time he lies to judais face about how oh im fine :) the darkness isnt in me anymore :) he really doesnt want to worry people i think he goes to his grave with just how much his time there sucked and how he suffered afterward. i dont think he would ever tell ryo or asuka how bad it really was

25. When do you think they acted the most ooc

this is hard hes on screen like 4 times

26. When do you think they were being "themselves" the most?

fubuki is always himself even at the absolute height of his performance and apparent detachment from reality because the act of performance is so baked into his character he would not be truly “himself” without it. he is both the mask and the wearer.

27. If they could meet a character from another show/movie/etc, who would be the most fun for them to meet?

HE SHOULD MEET JOEYYY i think joey wheeler is his personal hero… also him and ryan akagi from infinity train book 4 could absolutely kick it. two dudes who want to become rock stars and were trapped in hell/purgatory for a while

28. The most unnecessary thing they ever did?

the pensive ukulele strumming to punctuate his revenge monologue to kagemaru

29. How do you think they would be as a parent? (and if they are a parent, how do you think they would be if they weren't?)

I THINK HED BE A GREAT PARENT !!! a bit overbearing and doting but only bc he loves so so much.. hed be so good with young kids until they grow into teens and realize hes cringe

30. The funniest scene they had?

gotta be dropping down from the ceiling to call gay people “taboo and thrilling” and his sister homophobic

if you made it this far.. thank you for indulging my craziness 💖

[gabriellerudessa]

Arrival Celebration

I finished typing at 2 in the morning for Brazilians. Then things happened and I couldn't post it.

Now I can! Happy Arrival Celebration, Vyn Fandom, and Happy New Year to everybody else! Be with my watercolor and soft fanfic Prophetess x Tharaêl (almost 3k words, it was supposed to be short! *cries*)

This happens around nine months after the Rhalata questline, with Tharaêl and Arelyel already having found their way around each other. Hopefully I'll manage to write a longfic about these in detail lol (I started. Let's see were I go lol)

Anyway, hope you all like it! Cheers!

EDIT 5 Jan 2023: At my desktop, thank God. Corrected some typos and spacing and the wording of a phrase I hadn't noticed was weird. (posting this on my phone was crazy) You can read it on AO3 now if you prefer too.

Also, because of AO3, Titles! The one I choose comes from a line from the song "Taste" by Sleeping at Last.

(I almost named it Ricochet after the Starset song because it came up on my playlist as I started thinking of a title but TOO SAD)

What Light Tastes Like

The wood creaked and groaned and the wind howled outside the cave, sometimes overpowering her humming; still, the fire remained steady, illuminating the camp and her work, hands flying through the embroidery in progress.

She had to finish that night.

Barring a crippling injury, she would reach Ark the next day and it wouldn’t do for the gift to not be ready. Or she to lose for the second time the Arrival festivities. She was late enough as it was reaching the city on Arrival Day instead of before.

Cassiopeia, Sirius’ mother and a grandchildren of endraleans, would’ve had pulled her ears if Arelyel was late for Arrival in any of her ten years before the woman’s death.

Or finishing a gift so late.

As Arelyel understood now, gift giving wasn’t really a part of the Arrival Celebrations in Enderal, but she had loved the tradition that Cassiopeia had made a part of their lives. A spiced wine for Jespar, a treatise about the Order’s history for Calia, a scarf for Esme, even a dagger for Arantheal and herbs treatise for Yuslan… And some carefully chosen gifts for Constantine and Lishari and Sirius, buried by the side of a well-traveled path to be found by someone in need  –all dead, Sirius at the year before, but she had been unable to do the proper rite Cassiopeia had taught at the first Arrival she had spent in Enderal.

Only Tharaêl’s gift wasn’t ready. It took her ages to think properly of something, and obviously she had decided it should be something handmade.

It would make Cassiopeia proud. Arelyel had eight years when Sirius’ mother took her in, and for ten years had taught Arelyel so much – cook and sew and embroider and another dozen things from a gentler craft that Father had kept away from her hands.

Don’t. Think. About. Him.

A needle pinprick kept her in the present. She briefly stuck the finger in her mouth, just enough so blood wouldn’t mar the fabric.

In the lull of the work, she reached the bowl of wild berried and edible flowers she had gathered earlier with the other hand. Two lonely berries waited her.

Damn it, she had finished it already.

Sighing and praying for speed, Arelyel eat the last berries and went back to the embroidery.

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

Tharaêl threw a look at the scroll by the table at the door side, shook his head, and went back to mixing the meat stew.

The invitation had arrived one week ago.

Arelyel had been gone already two weeks before it, three now, resolving things fuck-knows where.

He was worried, a little bit, it was unusual for her to be away so long at a time and last one she had returned… Almost as bad as when he had started living with her. He didn’t want a repeat. The worst was that he had no way of truly reaching and warning her about the Arrival Celebration at the Sun Temple she, as the Prophetess, should go.

As it was, night was falling already, meaning such Celebration was starting, together with the festivities at the market.

Maybe she had forgotten it was Arrival Day. Not that surprising if she got stuck at a sunless place for days, as it was prone to happen.

Maybe it was better this way. The invitation said “scarlet garments”, and the only red clothes Arelyel owned were the Order’s uniform. He had seen then once, months ago, when he helped her clean the house, at the bottom of a chest.

The door burst open, bringing with it a biting cold and some snowflakes. And Arelyel, armored robe dripping water and snow and bits of ice covering it in places.

“Malphas’ balls, when Ark got this cold?!” Tharaêl left the stew to close the door as Arelyel put her bursting backpack down, teeth chattering and skin cold-burnt.

“It was worse yesterday.” He locked the door, worry melting into contentment at her return.

“How?” Stiff fingers fought to unclasp her soaked cloak from the armor, and Tharaêl approached to help.

“Snowstorm. It let down during the night, but all day it kept snowing on and off like this.” The cloak fell heavily to the ground, and Arelyel groaned at the loss of weight.

“Oh. Hope it doesn’t get worse again. Thank you. Help me with the rest? My fingers really aren’t helping.”

Tharaêl hummed an agreement and threw a look at such fingers and their fingerless gloves as he started at another buckle of her armor. Pale, nails purple-ish. He hoped it was just superficial.

The both of them made quick work of divesting Arelyel from the armored robes, and soon the woman was standing in the middle of the room only in the shirt and leather pants she used under it all, thankfully mostly dry.

And then she hugged him, as she had for almost six months now.

The first three months she always asked if she could before, and always retreated if the answer was no. Then he said she didn’t need to ask anymore; she still let her arms loose so he could leave if he so wished, and only when he hugged back did she tighten them.

Tharaêl almost immediately put his arms around her shoulders tight and pressed her cold cheek against his clothed chest. There hadn’t been a hug he hadn’t returned – he didn’t want to relinquish it now that he had a taste. Also, with how many weeks she could be away, it wasn’t as if he got that many hugs.

“I missed you.” She whispered after a moment, arms around his middle tightening, and both of them relaxed, breaths deepening.

“… Me too.” He admitted after a moment, heartbeat too fast for some seconds. He was sure she could hear it, specially as she burrowed deeper in the hug, no space between them. Tharaêl felt as if they were trying to swallow each other.

Minutes passed, inside only the sounds of their breaths and of the fire in the hearth, outside hurrahs and happy screams as the night completely fell and the Arrival festivities started around the city.

But in between them, there was just an intimate and comfortable silence, and he felt a deep contentment, almost happiness, as the hug comforted and warmed them.

The screams outside had already dimmed when Arelyel retreated a little to look at him. He felt her hands, chastely at his sides, their recovered heat scorching through the fabric.

He didn’t know exactly what to do with his hands, not with her still so close. He never knew. In the end, he kept them at her elbows, half of him tempted to reinitiate the hug and keep it for days.

“What did I miss? Besides the beginning of the festivities, you know.”

“Well…” The question brought his thoughts back to the celebration at the Sun Temple that should’ve had just started. He looked over to the rolled parchment. “You were invited for the festivities of the Arrival at the Sun Temple. It must have started around now.” Tharaêl pressed his lips, a smile tugging at them at how her shoulders dropped. “You also must wear red for it.” Her shoulders tensed. “And something representing the Crimson Star.”

“I had to be the Prophetess and an Arcanist of the Order.” She mumbled, closing her eyes and breathing heavily through her nose. “Tealor will have my skin. When did the invite arrived?”

“One week ago.”

She blinked, then scoffed and rolled her eyes. Hard.

“I was at Duneville at the time and they knew because they sent me there and not even a note mentioning that maybe I should come back earlier.”

“Will you try to go?”

Arelyel pressed her lips, eyebrows tight in though, and let go of him, crossing her arms. Tharaêl let his hand fall, closing them in fists. He wanted her answer to be “no”. The invitation was clearly just for Arelyel, and he didn’t want to remain alone, not when she was in Ark.

“… I don’t know. I don’t even know if I have proper clothes. I’ll… Clean myself and decide.”

As she heaved the backpack on a shoulder and caught the rolled invitations, Tharaêl rolled her words and her voice over and over in his head. Something in the news about the invitation had subdued her happiness at being back, and he didn’t know what.

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

Arelyel faced her reflection, fingers dancing over the embroideries of the dress’ bodice.

The only red clothes she owned were the Order’s uniform. They had been used once, as she gained them, then forgotten in one of her chests, and it showed: they had been made for an Arelyel still too thin and scraggly of the months as a clandestine at a ship and then of living in the woods as she found her way through Enderal. The months after it, eating well and fighting and walking all over the country, had put back all the muscle and fat she had lost, and now she was once again the plump and rounded figure she always had been since her teenage years.

And even if the uniform still fit…

She would never use it again. It had been difficult already and she couldn't use it again.

Red was her mother’s and sister’s colors. They were always using it, beautiful in its vibrancy, and while Arelyel did use it as a kid, she always preferred the purples and lilacs.

Now, just the thought of dressing in red made her stomach roll and her vision darken at the edges. They were using red that day…

Pressing her eyes closed, she inspired deeply, the fragrance of the meat stew playing with her senses and making her stomach rumble with hunger. Back in the present.

Eyes open once more, she drank in the dress again and repeating to herself not red.

And it wasn’t.

Long, cotton outside and lined inside in wool, it was blessedly warm. And its wine-red color was deep enough to be almost purple. Just occasionally the light shone in the fabric just right and showed strands of red.

It should work.

She didn’t want to go to the Celebration.

Maybe she shouldn’t.

It wasn’t as if she had skirted around the final preparations for the market and caught glimpses of the food there. She was almost sure it would better than anything at the Sun Temple, as always – not because the food at the Sun Temple was bad, but because it would be almost exclusively for the nobles and rich, and months at the Nobles Quarter had taught Arelyel that she very much preferred the food of the common people. Tealor wouldn’t be happy, but when was he?

Still reflecting on going for the market, she raised her short cloak from the bed. Her eyes danced over the slightly irregular sewing against the dark-purple woolen fabric lined inside with fur, and her fingers danced over the red embroidery along the front, hundreds of tiny twelve-pointed stars spread out in a falling pattern, the string bright and eye-catching.

It was an almost exact replica of the one Cassiopeia had given her at her first Arrival in Sirius’ house. The original had been sadly lost in the civil war.

The woman had been faithful and devote. Had said that the stars where to remember Arelyel that, the same way Malphas had guided his followers, He had guided Arelyel to Cassiopeia and Sirius when she needed.

Even with her new knowledge, Areyel couldn’t bear the thought of the remade cloak not having the stars.

She threw the cloak over her shoulders and used a simple golden brooch to hold it together.

A last look in the mirror. A new reading of the invitation.

She would go to the market. There, Tharaêl could come – he had failed to mention that the invitation didn’t extend to company, otherwise she would have said from moment one that she wouldn’t go.

Better.

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

Arelyel came back down twenty minutes later, dressed in a deep wine-red dress, almost purple, and with short cloak reaching her wrist over it, light-brown hair down. The colors warmed her skin and even harmonized with the burn scar covering her chin.

Tharaêl forced himself to not stop breathing.

Why? It wasn’t as if she dressed that differently on a day to day basis.

Still, something… She was beautiful, but in that moment, somehow, she looked even more.

Deep in his chest, he felt it, and swallowed. A tiny bit of jealousy, that others would be able to look at her like that for the rest of the night, while he would have just this glimpse, this crumb.

Dressed like that, there was no way she wasn’t going to the Sun Temple, were he hadn’t been invited.

It was Arrival Day. Living in the Undercity, he had never celebrated it, barely acknowledged its existence. But after nine months under the sun… He had started to hope, before the invitation, that he would spend it at her side.

“… Hope you have fun and to like the food.” Tharaêl managed to say, voice steadier than he felt.

Arelyel stopped by the dinner table, fingers playing with the cloak’s hem.

“I won’t go to the Sun Temple Celebration, but to the market one.” A pause, licking lips. “Will you come with me, Tharaêl? I think the food there will be amazing.”

Warmth spread inside him, both from her own invitation, and from the sound of his name on her lips; every time she did it, it was like that, full of warmth and softness.

More hours beside her. That was everything he wanted.

“I’ll just get my cloak.”

Which he did. And then Arelyel was holding his wrist and looking better at such cloak.

“It is too threadbare, Tharaêl, it won’t keep you warm. Wait a second.”

She flew up the stars, then flew down, carrying a leather packet and pushing it towards him, eyes low.

Heartbeat fast, Tharaêl caught the packet and opened it. A neckline became visible, a gold amethyst brooch caught in thick dark blue-gray fabric.

He pinched the neckline in his hand and pulled. A cloak unrolled from the leather, inside lined in thick fur, fabric with the subtle gleam of magic, hundreds of tiny twelve-pointed stars embroidered at the front, a reflection of Arelyel’s own cloak. At a glance, it should just cover his hands.

Tears burned in his eyes. He had seen Arelyel sewing and enchanting the one she was using. It was obvious that the gifted one was also her job.

She had done so much for him, and now this.

“… It is beautiful.” His voice threatened to fail, but it kept on.

Arelyel smiled, eyes raising finally to his, and Tharaêl hoped his face managed to show just a glimpse of his own emotion to her.

He made a move to put the cloak, and Arelyel’s hand touched his.

“… Can I help you with it?”

Tharaêl’s voice disappeared, throat seemingly closed, and he needed long moments to be able to nod.

Arelyel stepped closer, pulling the cloak from his hands softly, and licked her lips.

“Can you lower a little, please?” she whispered, and Tharaêl leaned toward her in a mock reverence so she could reach his shoulders.

Their noses almost touched. He could see all the details of her face, all the different hues in her brown-eyes, all the marks of the cold at her cheeks, all the grooves of the burn scar, all the plumpness and natural red color of her lips. He breathed in, and the smell of lavender from her soaps enveloped his senses.

Arelyel threw the cloak over his shoulders, arm around his neck for a moment. He wished it was for more than a moment.

“You can straighten.” Another whisper, and he mourned the distance as he did as he was told.

Lastly, she fiddled with the brooch for some moments, then fixed the fabric over his shoulders… He wondered what exactly she saw at that moment, if a friend, or as someone… Worth of the same wonder and enchantment and whoever knew what else.

“How does it feel?” she asked, finally, bringing him back from his musings, and Tharaêl moved his arms.

“Comfortable, warm… Perfect.”

She smiled, and took hold of his wrist.

“Then it is time to go. Many foods to taste.”

As she pulled him towards the door, Tharaêl just laughed softly.

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

The moment they were outside – snow and cold, but no wind –, Arelyel passed her arm around Tharaêl’s own, pressing their bodies close together and muttering about the “bloody cold” and that she hoped the market would be warmer.

Tharaêl laughed, then pulled the hood’s cloak over her head before doing the same with his.

As they walked towards the market and its merry sounds, he kept his eyes ahead, preoccupied with the patches of frozen snow around the city. He looked briefly to see Arelyel, her cheek pressed tightly against his shoulder, but not enough to caught her own glances at him – full o wonder, and enchantment, and who knows what else.

[tallbluelady]

5 for the song/fic game!

(Vittorio E. - Spoon, Rowan Playlist)

There was something different to Minthe lately. It was new, it was fresh. Emet-Selch could feel it. He could hear it, actually. She was humming.

Minthe rarely did anything musical. It was a tragedy, really. Emet-Selch had told her on more than one occasion that she had one of the more lovely voices on the Star, she even could be a world class musician if she ever practiced…

But that was the rub, she never did practice. Her noodling on her little plants did give her more control over her magic, but they were always unfocused experiments that she did for the novelty of it. And mayhap this bout of humming was similar. Just her enjoying it.

“You know, for someone so burdened with responsibility, you seem to be enjoying your time spent here,” Emet-Selch said.

Minthe stopped humming and looked up. “There’s a big difference between a responsibility hoisted upon you and a responsibility you elect to pick up yourself, oh holder of the Third Seat.”

“As I recall I had to hoist the responsibility of caring for Daedalus upon you.”

She sighed and dusted her hands off. “Yes, well…” Minthe turned to watch the man, who was handing out palm sized toys to the children gathered around him. “I could have stopped at finding the triggers for his attacks. Or finding the right scents for him. But I’m choosing to stay with him.”

“Minthe, that sounds almost as if you’re choosing to be with him romantically,” Emet-Selch said, a chuckle rising up.

Minthe just looked down and rubbed the hem of her sleeve.

“Are you?” Emet-Selch asked, dropping his voice. “It won’t be a simple life with him. You’re not wont to do things without a proper draw.”

She shrugged. “He makes me laugh.”

“Minthe, I can see that you enjoy his company, even find him attractive, but… he’s delicate. His aether is diminished. If I can see that, surely you can. He’s going to need constant care, and you -”

“Hades.” Her eyes blazed bright at him. “I am choosing him. This life with him. I know it’s going to be hard at times. But it’s like you said when you took up the Seat of Emet-Selch; it’s fulfilling.”

Emet-Selch couldn’t find any words to dispute her.

She sighed. “I finally find something to be responsible for and you don’t have anything positive to say for it?”

Hades shook his head and smiled. “I’m finding I lack the vocabulary to express how proud of you I truly am.”

Minthe smiled back, then turned as Daedalus called to her.

Thanks for the prompt!

[rainydawgradioblog]

the holidays, but make them SAD!!!! a comprehensive gloomy christmas playlist

the quarter has drawn to a close, the holidays are upon us, and for me, that means one very important thing. it’s time to bust out my prized collection of songs in a genre i like to call “gloomy christmas”: the classics and contemporary tracks devoid of all that classic holiday cheer, and replaced with deliciously miserable, stare-out-the-backseat-window-worthy doom and gloom. covering a range of topics from the pressures of the holiday season, not-so-festive heartbreaks, struggles with family, and just plain winter melancholy, there’s something for everyone in this mix. don’t get me wrong, i actually adore the holiday season, but i just love sad music a little bit more. so if you’re like me, and your idea of celebrating the season comes with a lot of quiet indie folk and staring wistfully at lights, or if you just hate the holidays (valid! i respect you!), these songs are FOR YOU!!! 

“christmas song” + “if we make it through december” - phoebe bridgers 

phoebe bridgers is the queen of gloomy christmas, no competition. her annual drop of a new devastating christmas jam is the best part of the holiday season for annoying people worldwide. i could have put any of her incredible selections here, but “christmas song” (the first phoebe song i ever heard <3) and “if we make it through december” are undeniable classics that define the season. 

“river” - sarah mclachlan OR joni mitchell

it should be lost on nobody that joni mitchell is the original genius behind this fabulous song, but something about the sarah mclachlan cover of “river” is going to do it for me every time and i need to give that proper recognition. this woman’s vocals are so impressive that an angel gains its wings every time she sings a note. this cover is gorgeous and around christmas i often find myself listening to it at least 5-8 times per day. (additional shoutout to the ben platt cover of this song. also gorgeous. you really can't go wrong with this one).

“mama it’s christmas” - maple glider 

truly heart-wrenching and unforgettably gorgeous, “mama it’s christmas” is maple glider’s outpouring of feelings regarding her brother’s drug addiction, trying to care for him, and the agony it causes her at the holidays. her haunting lyrics and fabulous, emotional vocals complete this absolute work of art as one of the most devastating and impressive holiday songs i’ve ever heard. 

“a’ soalin” - peter, paul and mary 

this song is particularly special to me as it was a staple on all of my family’s christmas playlists growing up. kudos to my mom and dad for indoctrinating me into the gloomy christmas grind. the lyricism is poetic and powerful, and the creative uses of countermelody and echo between the three singers give this song an immersive and addicting atmosphere. 

“joy to the world” + “that was the worst christmas ever!” - sufjan stevens 

with phoebe bridgers as the queen of gloomy christmas, sufjan stevens is the obvious choice for the king. his long and masterful two christmas albums songs for christmas and silver and gold are staples of the holiday season in full, but i would pick these two as my personal favorites. “that was the worst christmas ever!” is the perfect heartbreaking ode to a terrible christmas experience, and his rendition of “joy to the world” is THE MOST gorgeous, quietly sentimental christmas song i have ever heard, and i will play it at any chance i get during the holiday season. 

“did i make you cry on christmas day? (well, you deserved it!)” - peach pit 

okay, another possibly controversial cover pick, but i already gave sufjan his flowers. i think peach pit’s cover of this sufjan stevens track is a fantastic song in the quintessential peach pit style that can be played at any time of year, not just christmas. the vocals are smooth, the guitar is satisfying, and i never tire of playing this while i hang up lights or pensively sip on a peppermint hot chocolate. 

"the last time it snowed in LA" - hana bryanne

incomprehensibly thrilled that i get to talk about my beloved hana bryanne on here again. "the last time it snowed in LA" is a gorgeous tribute to hana's experience with a friend getting into a car accident around a year ago, and what it means to reckon with the idea that catastrophic things can happen in our lives when we don't expect them, just as one would never expect snow in southern california. hana bryanne is an exceptionally talented singer and songwriter, and this newest song will become a staple in my wintertime rotation.

“angel in the snow” - elliott smith 

this song isn’t holiday-specific, but it encapsulates a cool, wintry longing that has been interpreted through the equally compelling lenses of drug addiction and unrequited love. a simple song composed of one opening verse and two back-to-back choruses, it’s peaceful, thoughtful, unassuming, and truly magnificent - a classic elliott smith take on the season. 

“whiskey and winter” - hushtones 

there’s nothing as festive as battling painfully intense sentimentality, is there? hushtones uses the gorgeous blend of their voices and some epic background jingle bells to tell a raw and beautiful story about not knowing how to let go or hold on to things and people from your past, and the way they impact the present. 

“merry christmas, please don’t call” - bleachers 

as a gloomy christmas connoisseur, i was very impressed by this new release by bleachers. it’s melancholy, reflective, and makes great use of a muted synth-pop style that pays subtle homage to a pioneer in the genre (“last christmas” by wham!, the holy grail).  i’m very excited to have a new track to add to my tried and true rotation. 

“flowers in december” - mazzy star 

mazzy star touches on the pulse of the gloomy christmas season in this song - the holidays are a terrible time for people in situationships. the reflective lyrics in this song carry a bittersweet melancholy that reflects on the ways that we can hurt and be hurt in our relationships, and how much the holidays can make us miss and think about the people who we’ve loved. it’s a gorgeous track, and another pick that can hit at any time of year. 

“7 o’clock news/silent night” - simon and garfunkel OR phoebe bridgers, fiona apple, matt berninger 

nothing like some musical geniuses reimagining a work of art created by a couple of musical geniuses from the past. both tracks feature the classic, gorgeous, and peaceful song of silent night mixed in with audio bytes of the news covering current tension, conflicts, and atrocities. the eerie juxtaposition of the two creates a thought-provoking, haunting commentary on our ideas of peace, and what the holiday season means in a turbulent world. a beyond fabulous concept executed beautifully by both teams of these fantastic, beloved artists, “7 o’clock news/silent night” is a track that you won’t soon forget. 

thank you for reading!!! have a great holiday season (whatever that looks like for you), enjoy winter break, and happy listening to all my grinches, humbugs, and wistful girlies. 

STAY COOL!!!!! k-murph

[paintedpineleaf]

"when you realize its almost 2025 and youre still in love with the same girl since 2021"

"how fast i'd run to her if she ever wanted to try again"

not me. not me cause i've dated two people and had situationships with two other people and never fallen truly in love with any of them. ive never lost my mind over any of them, i wouldnt run back to any of them if they ever wanted to try again. one person i broke up with said when i broke up with them that maybe we could try again in the future. i said maybe even though i knew i wouldnt want to. i feel more like the "when you dont say anything to a man and let him yap on and after a while he says "wow i really like you"".

i dont think some of my friends would miss me if i wasnt in their lives, in the sense that they would miss anything specific about me, my personality or my sense of humor or literally anything. i know thats a shit thing to say about people who consider me their friend.

its strange that ive never loved anyone more than my childhood friends to run to. if there was anyone i'd run to it'd be a friend i had in fifth grade who i basically never talked to again after leaving that school even when i went back there for two years. this is gonna delve into a sob story about my school but they're the only person i can think of.

i made a playlist recently called "i love you so much it hurts" amd the description was about this almost one-sided love ("i smile even when we argue cause i get to talk to you (i'll reply to everyone's texts but yours cause i can't handle what you mean to me)") andy friends asked me who it was about and i couldnt even give them a straight answer cause i didnt even know. i want to love someone and give my whole heart to them until it comes time to do it and i just. dont.

that seems slightly dishonest cause i was actually thinking if one of my friends when making that playlist, except it was one of those moments where, for no reason, you feel some kind of really intense love for someone, then the moment passes, and you feel normal about them again. i dont feel that way about the person all the time, and idk if i will again.

i think i might be aromantic cause i dont feel that kind of attraction towards people, but i do want to date people, and i get crushes on people where i want to pursue them romantically, i just get turned off once i actually get the person. which is so fucking shit, its a shit thing to feel and a shit thing to put a person through. idek what i mean by turned off, its not even exactly that, i just dont make relationships work.

i know its my fault, i just cant or dont give it my all, like im so fucking terrified to potentially love someone and get my heart broken that i dont even try. i want to end it before they do, it can't hurt if i stop loving them before they stop loving me.

that was actually why i broke up with my last gf, like i literally told them it was cause i wasnt ready for a proper relationship cause i couldnt give them my all, or even a part of me that anyone else didnt also have. they said they loved me and if one day i was ready, we could try again. what does that mean? why do you love me that much? what did i do? if i need to have done something to deserve someone hating me, then i did something to get that love, and i dont know what i did.

we're still friends but i still can't handle my relationship with that person because of the fact that i know they love me (not romantically) and i dont know if i love them the way they really deserve. it feels like they love so openly and freely and im misusing it. it sounds so fucking cliche and stupid to say that i feel unworthy of their love but i think thats how i feel. im not sure.

even so, i literally tell them nothing about me. we talk about their day, and what they did and something about their sister, and what theyre writing, but never anything about me (which isnt a problem, i like it that way, i told them i dont like talking about myself so its fine for them to talk about themself, and they do, and i find it nice to listen to them usually. i told them i'd say something about myself if i had something to say, and i dont like being asked, and they respect those boundaries and i really appreciate it)

sometimes i really want someone i can talk to about myself but that shit makes me feel so vulnerable like what if im boring them or what if they make fun of me. i know this person'd never do that and they'd probably be actually interested in whatever i talk about but that just seems to make it worse. i cant even point to what it is but just the thought of talking about myself to them makes me feel so uncomfortable. why are you interested why are you replying to me why do you seem like you care why do you care.

anyway this was a long rant about how im incapable of loving anyone or letting myself be loved and simultaneously craving the feeling of both loving someone intensely and being loved in turn and how its all my fault

[dr4kenlvr]

hey sweetie!! i read your hcs of baji with an s/o who has the personality of mitsuya and i loved it! so, if it's not too much to ask, can i request hcs of the tr boys with an fem! s/o who has the personality of inui? thank you so much and i hope you have a nice day <3!

𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐢'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

pairing: baji keisuke, chifuyu matsuno, hanma shuji x fem!reader

genre/wc: fluff (0.6k)

a/n: hi there! thank you for your sweet words. no characters were specified, so i chose who i wanted to write for <3 apologies if some are short! swearing !!! + not proofread sorry ily

BAJI:

baji will admit, he didn't notice you until a classmate introduced you to him as a friend

you were a quiet—smart— but quiet individual that he never really payed attention to

but when you two befriended one another? and began dating? he couldn't believe that he never made note of you

you were so intelligent, and although stern and quite blunt at times, so so caring

baji's never experienced this kind of love: the kind where you just know it will be reciprocated, no matter what kind of hardships you face

the vulnerability that you and him show one another is something you both won't let the public see

which is why he truly cherishes how real he can be around you; there's absolutely no need for him to hide his feelings from you

it's often the two of you just sit in silence, pondering on whatever's on your minds and saying whatever you want to share

those nights always end with you wrapped up in his arms fast asleep <3

his friends really care for you as well, and they think that you and baji make an amazing couple

they haven’t seen baji with a partner that would defend him in any way so quickly

chifuyu is really happy for his best friend, and takemitchi always suggest that you two hang out with him and hina

draken's probably told mikey he's never seen baji so happy with a partner before

mikey, being his childhood friend, just confirms it.

CHIFUYU:

it took chifuyu a couple of times to get closer to you, due to your distant nature (not that he minded)

but sometimes, he thought that you just weren't interested

that was until, you invited him to hang out after school

your guys' relationship blossomed that day on; days turned into weeks into months of chifuyu and you falling in love

you confided in him, a lot- chifuyu was your person, someone who you could trust and talk to about anything without fear of rejection

and he was always going to listen- he’ll drop whatever it is to lend you an ear

and if he’s working on something urgent, he’ll call you while doing so because he’s not gonna leave his s/o hanging

chifuyu likes the moments where you two can share your interests and hobbies with one another

he lets you borrow his manga, and you always recommend him new manga to read; it’s a mutual thing haha

sometimes he’ll make playlists for you: and they’re so specific but it’s very endearing. some titles include:

“the day u asked me out”

“our first date”

“when you told me you loved me”

“our first sleepover”

“peke j + y/n”

how cute of him <3

HANMA:

ppl often question how??? u and him are??? dating???

like, you're so modest and proper, always on top of your stuff despite any hardships, and being an overall "good" person

hanma is.. uhhh

LMAO

it's just very constrating to see someone like you and someone like him together and in love

honestly? it's nice, he's boastful and loud as fuck and you're there to tell him to shut the fuck up

in a way, hanma's grateful to you- for showing him the calmer ways and sides of life (or to not use fight fists as a means of resolution to conflicts 24/7)

on the other hand, he's adores how fiesty you can get; when it comes to your loved ones (psst him psst)

it gives him a kick like nothing else and he's so happy you're his

when it comes to the more solemn moments in your relationship, he's gonna admit that he's not the best at consolation but with you he really wants to try

seeing his baby so down is a disheartening sight

"hey, c'mere" he'll offer his lap as a pillow and run his fingers through your hair in light touches, nails soothing the ache you feel inside

"feelin' okay? hm?" he gives you many forehead kisses and stays with you til' morning on nights like these

taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @faetarou @kazuhoya @eriskaitto @bajichiro (send an ask or dm to be added!)

reblogs + comments are so appreciated <3

[evevoli]

Hey Ev! Sorry to pester you again, but I came across your Hunter playlist on Spotify and it is very good!! I was wondering if you would be willing to kinda share yout thoughts on it, or like behind it? Why you chose the songs you chose for it and in that specific order and stuff, it'd be cool to hear! Also just,,, the three last verses of Dear Wormwood after Thanks To Them.... oh.... Oof, even... Anycase have a nice day! 🌻

oh boy howdy i have been waiting to hear these words all my life

i promise you are not pestering me at all bdjfjdjfks i am frothing at the MOUTH at the opportunity to talk about this damn thing lol. this stupid playlist is my magnum opus my baby i have spent like 2 hours meticulously organizing it yes im normal why do you ask

the hunter playlist in question for everyone else

the playlist's structure is generally meant to follow hunter's growth as a person, starting from pre-canon childhood to the present, and is at times loosely based on the five stages of grief. (this "grief" being the revelation that his entire life has been a lie.) to split it into sections, the first 20 songs are meant to catalogue hunter's experience being raised by belos and rise to the position of the golden guard. 21-27 is his gradually expanding worldview through hunting palismen to any sport in a storm, after he meets flapjack and the hexsquad and starts slowly questioning his beliefs. 28-42 is hollow mind and the direct fallout of that—with 33-45 centering around the "anger" stage of grief—and 43-48 is his feelings between labyrinth runners and king's tide. 49-58 is firmly in the "depression" stage, with everything after 59 being when he reaches acceptance and is able to truly start to recover.

putting this under a cut because i swear it is longer than the damn bible, but below you will find a more in-depth song-by-song breakdown. never underestimate the power of a very exhausted college student who drank too much soda's ability to think about one particular fictional character ig.

to start, i put dear wormwood at the very beginning to act as a sort of "prologue" to the playlist and set the stage for what's to come, and also because it is THE Hunter Song(tm) and i need to make sure everyone knows it. that song has had a flashing neon sign with hunter’s name on it in my brain since eclipse lake at least.

bumblebees are out, because it's so short and blatantly "oh this is hunter and belos", acts as a clear divider between dear wormwood and the rest of the playlist, with fish in a birdcage being the official "start" to the narrative. this song and helplessness blues after it then act to sort of sum up hunter's general feelings growing up isolated in the coven.

english house through you're a useless child (君はできない子) is actually from belos's perspective indoctrinating him, and then love me love me love me (愛して愛して愛して) onward is back to hunter. the next several songs detail hunter's experience as the golden guard. life itself is a recent addition mostly just there for vibes and because the first verse fits lol (thanks skit) and honey i'm home and saint bernard are the two obligatory Religious Trauma Bops i hope to make animatics for eventually. icarus (Bird Symbolism #1) through stonewall stone fence is meant to be from the perspective of an outsider looking in (aka the audience) and going "oh this kid is Not Well" it is Necessary. (silhouettes particularly fucks me up lol i need to make a dadrius playlist)

with that all being said there beneath is where his character arc in the show proper actually kicks in. it acts as a divider between the prior songs to say "oh he is Thinking about Things." [insert that shot of him looking out his window at the end of hunting palismen] the songs from notos don't really fit in chronologically—torches would actually fit better earlier, and the other two later—but they flowed better here lol. bad blood is mostly vibes i don't even remember why it's in there, something something it being about god creating man paralleling belos creating the grimwalkers, but i like it too much to take it off lmao. this section is basically all of hunter's beliefs slowly slowly starting to crack throughout his Field Trips With The Good Guys.

uso janai is where shit gets Real; this one is actually from luz's perspective after half-befriending hunter in hunting palismen and then wanting to get him away from belos after You Know. escapism is back to hunter—more questioning, and the line "i'd rather be free" calling back to his desire to choose his own future—before shit goes down.

pale white horse and where is your rider happen specifically during the confrontation with belos in hollow mind. the actual songs are about uhhh,, an abuse victim being approached by the personification of death itself (when the other three horsemen failed to rattle them) and being scared shitless before realizing death had been their abuser disguised the entire time which fits with. well the last 5 minutes of the episode.

the next songs until around whisper encompass the time between hollow mind and labyrinth runners where hunter is alone to process things. the extra oh hellos songs there are him thinking back on his life and all the harm he'd caused working under belos as everything is recontextualized. (plus passerine has that extra bird symbolism fuck yeah)

(if you think there's a lot of the oh hellos in this beast oh my god. i think i had to physically restrain myself from adding like 70% of their entire discography at first im pretty sure the entirety of dear wormwood was on there for a little bit. it's all hunter. i am deranged.)

from this point onward starting with james picard, the playlist structure really kicks into the 5 stages of grief high gear, with everything before pale white horse generally being denial and these next several songs shifting into anger. this section until time to move on is what i like to call hunter's Religious Trauma Breakdown Arc where he's just thinking things through and gradually becoming angrier and angrier at the universe as it all sets in no im not projecting

(also i should note that the order from here on is a little fucky and songs are mostly chosen by what flows best sound-wise; if we're going just by lyrics it'd be something like where is your rider > the garden > dear god > let it burn > dream with everything else tacked on afterward)

sweet sacrifice specifically gives me mad "angry at your shitty parent for years of Nonsense" vibes no im not projecting and obsolete is. bro come on just listen to the lyrics. "you bring me back to life so you can watch me die" it's out of my hands at this point bsjfkfkd

the Our Last Night Trifecta is meant to be hunter's thoughts upon realizing he's effectively out of the coven after labyrinth runners. sunrise would actually fit better lower in the playlist but i wanted to keep them together in order for the flow bshfksk. lie to me is the Oh He Has Friends To Help Him Through This song and more than this stands as hunter and the hexsquad both vowing to protect each other from belos,, ,, oh he has friends to help him through this,,,,,, arsonist's lullaby is there to sort of say "you're not outta the woods yet kiddo" but it's also mostly there because. philip notably has a fire motif going on with him and im a huge slut for symbolism X)

starting with bird song, we have officially entered Hunter's Depression Era after king's tide. bird song is mostly there because Oops! All Bird Symbolism. the moon will sing grabbed me by the throat with Sad Boy Vibes it's sort of there as a retrospective "wow that whole thing was fucked up" on hunter's part, and unraveling is literally only there because the first verse reminded me of darius but it's got that post-hollow mind "shit ive lost literally everything" feel going for it so in it goes. lyrically these both fit better during the initial anger pain spiral (around where the garden is) but again, flow.

(note that ive barely touched this section moving forward since thanks to them so the songs here are a lot more vague, predictive Being Sad And Healing type shit; i will probably do an overhaul after season 3 is over and his canon character arc is actually complete. i havent added anything with the events of thanks to them in mind because i don't want to disrupt the flow i have, however i am actually planning to add who am i by cami-cat eventually; it gives off MASSIVE post-hollow mind hunter and luz vibes)

welcome home, son gives off a very specific emotion i cannot describe you're just gonna have to trust me on why it's there but let the river in is peak "lmao fuck my dad" energy he needs this . uneven odds is more vibes (+ camila going is anyone gonna parent this and not waiting for a response) but you understand right. He Needs This.

lost in paradise sort of represents a low point during the timeskip in thanks to them; that lingering feeling of "everything is (comparatively) fine now so why can't i be happy and feel like i deserve to be" that will no doubt be haunting him for years. glow is straight-up about grief and i put it there initially looking at it from a "healing from non death-related trauma" angle but after uh. You Know. i am seeing it differently,,,, kokoronashi + can i believe you build off of the thing i said about lost in paradise with that "why can't i feel like i deserve to be happy" thing plus my favorite, "feeling inherently unlovable what do you even see in me."

eight through soap is him clawing out of that mindset and deciding maybe kindness and trust is Good, Actually (said through tears). love like you is love like you and wanderer's lullaby is Me Specifically reaching into the screen and giving him a hug /j (it's actually his like 5 parental figures telling him they love him <3 i have a lot of feelings about this song okay) the author once again plays off hunter's desire to choose his own future with him finally being allowed to do so, and ready now is exactly what it says on the tin. that he's going to be okay.

finally, FINALLY, thus always to tyrants finishes things off with a bookend to dear wormwood. this song ends the dear wormwood album with the victim staying firm in their decision to leave their abuser with a hope that they become a better person someday; hunter is now on the road to recovery away from belos, closing up his character arc while still leaving the path ahead relatively open-ended. (i chose make this one last since it feels less "final" than the prior two songs—signaling that his journey is far from over—and, y'know, bookending.)

this is quite possibly the longest post i have ever written but!! thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk about this abomination lol i worked. way too hard on it bhsgsdkh hope that answers your questions and lmk if you have any other thoughts!!! <3

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 7 | February 7–February 13

Welcome to week 7 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #ktkvcbreadinglist, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

« Last Week

Week 8 »

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian, Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week:

The Actor and the Diplomat Playlist » Sofia and Sebastian fell hard, and they fell fast and irresistibly in love with one another with a few bumps along the way; here’s a playlist of their love.

The Sam Wilson Playlist » Sam is about to go on a mission, and he has a few songs that get him pumped up…

Bucky Barnes

(Mini) Series:

There’s a Wolf in My Heart by @river-soul » Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Reader — When you lose your virginity on a backpacking trip through Europe to an Alpha named James you never expect to see him again. James has other plans. He’s going to make the bond permanent, whether you want him to or not. [Noncon, explicit sex and ABO dynamics, 18+] First Part: You Are The Wilderness | This two-shot is so freaking good, the smut is so good. The first part you get the inkling, Bucky maybe a little dark, but the second part just proves it!

Love, Honor, and Obey by @constantwriter85 » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader — Faced with blackmail and the loss of your beloved charity, you’re forced to marry the son of your mobster father’s friend, James Barnes, in order to keep the peace between the families. Little did you know, James had fallen in love with you at first sight. As he tries to woo his new wife, a new rival family comes into play, threatening all you’ve come to hold dear. | This story, this freaking story. You know it’s honestly The Winter Ghost ( @msmarvelwrites ) for me. Where it’s not leaving my brain and I can’t stop thinking about it for hours at a time. As the story comes to the end, I can’t help but hope what looks like Bucky and Reader are getting a happy ending truly do get it, because after all they have been through they deserve it. Kat thank you for this magnificent story.

Run To You (Ch.2) by @bestofbucky » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard. | Reader still won’t take shit from Bucky, also won’t take any from Sam. I can’t wait to see where my friend takes this!

One-Shots:

*When I Find You, I’ll Find Me by @river-soul » Bucky Barnes x Reader — After a 4th of July party at your friend’s house unearths some insecurities on Bucky’s part he suggests you’d be better off without him. You show him just how wrong he is. [Fluff with a little angst and explicit sex, 18+] | This is so unbelievably beautiful. I found myself crying and it was just written so well I could imagine it all happening. This is going to be stuck in my head for days to come.

Blow Sweet and Thick by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky is having a bad day, you can help him feel good. | Sometimes when you’re having a bad day it just really helps to just stop to read a really good smutty one-shot with a Mafia!Boss Bucky in it, and this is one!

*My Sunshine by @bucksbestgirl » Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader — a song shared between you and Bucky when you’re both at your most vulnerable. | Lindsey, thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing something so beautiful. I suffer from depression and this one is close to home, and this is just something I felt everyone needs.

Sweet Dreams by @buckys-darling » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky has a nightmare and you have a proposition. | Short and sweet.

A Proper Breeding by @syven-siren » Bucky Barnes x Reader — After allowing inner turmoil to take over, you finally decide that you have wanted the same thing as Bucky all along. Once you let him know, he is sure to give you a proper breeding. | I thought I may have shared this before, but it turns out I hadn’t. Let me just say the makeup smut in this, is so good.

Dying for this love by @avintagekiss24 » Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader — Reader goes on a date to get revenge on Bucky. — This one-shot is intense! It’s so good and the smut is good, I couldn’t recommend it enough.

Birthday Blues by @bestofbucky » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Already in a rough patch in their relationship, Bucky forgets it’s readers birthday. Determined to make things better Natasha and Wanda help the reader forget and have a girls day. Will Bucky and reader makeup? | I don’t want to spoil this but the gift he gives her had me giggling for like five minutes after I read this. I thoroughly enjoyed this but honestly I really did want to give Bucky a v-8 to the forehead.

Sebastian Stan

(Mini) Series:

The Actor and the Diplomat by @elegantobservationstudentsblog » Sebastian Stan x OFC Diplomat!Sofia Alvarez — Two strangers lived in the same city, signed up for a dating app and both are reluctant to meet in person. Will they both have the courage to meet? And if they did, are they both willing to work it out? | Reader is independent and can make it on her own, but does she need to to? No. This story has Fluff, Smut, and Angst in it as well as appearances from the British Royals. I say give it a chance!

Steve Rogers

(Mini) Series:

Pseudo Princess by @shreddedparchment » King!Steve Rogers x Reader — Orphaned and alone, you’re going about your business when one day King Anthony Stark, ruler of Malibia, spots you on the side of the road. He orders you into his carriage where he explains that you are his one and only hope to keep the Kingdom from going to war with the Kingdom of Broklin, ruled by the virtuous King Steven Rogers. How exactly is it that you, a penniless peasant, can help save your Kingdom? | I’ve read this story now 3 times, and I will never, ever get over it. Everytime I go back and reread it, I find things I didn’t catch the first time I read it. I’m also just a fan of Royal!AU’s. This story has everything, Angst, Fluff, Smut, and Magic.

Chris Evans

One-Shot:

Stressed by @sunflowercaptain » Chris Evans x Female Reader — Chris Evans does something for his overworked and stressed out significant other. | It’s short and super fluffy, sort of like being wrapped in your favorite blanket after a bad day, it feels good!

Misc.

One-Shots:

Made for the Gods by @cherienymphe » Zeus!Steve x Nymph!Reader x Ares!Bucky — The God of Lightning takes what the God of War has. | Like anything by @cherienymphe that I have shared, this fic is dark and delicious! I loved it so!

The Man With A Plan. by @bestofbucky » Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes — Harmless prank war turns into feelings coming forward. | Let’s just say this is hot and for the first time writing smut, it’s so freaking good. I don’t want this to be the last of Stucky x Reader in this universe!

Six Feet | Ch.1 ⚰️ Ch.2 by @queenoftheworldisdead » Dark Mob!Steve x Reader + Dark Mob!Bucky x Reader — Your family’s small funeral home comes into financial trouble. In desperation your father finds the most unlikely solution to solve his financial problems. | I would just like to say if you haven’t read this yet, you are really missing out, also I’m really sorry I haven’t added this to my Mob rec list. I love this and it’s by far one of my favorite Mob/Mafia stories. Also the smut and angst in this is just, *chefs kiss* I keep hoping for a third part.

Team-Building by @whisperlullaby » Bucky Barnes x Reader x Sam Wilson— You are an HR receptionist lucky enough to be around each time Sam and Bucky come in to attend their mediation sessions. They want to apologize for making you stay late one night. | I love me some Sam/Bucky/Reader stories and one-shots, especially when it’s got some really good smut, and this has got some really good smut in it. Becca thank you for ending my Thursday night on a good note.

(Mini) Series:

Five Shades of Hunnam: Part 1 ⚜️Part 2 by @hotdamnhunnam » Jax Teller + King Arthur + Will Miller + Raleigh Becket + Raymond Smith x Reader — The reader somehow accidentally summons her five dream characters all played by one of her favorite actors, from an alternative universes, to complete her ultimate fantasy, but are they up for it? | This two-shot/mini-series is hot and just so good. I have been a Charlie Hunnam fan for years, you can thank Garrett Hedlund, my Mum and my Aunt. This just blew my mind out of the park. I’m going to go take a shower after reading this.

Writing Challenges...

Heathers TV Challenge hosted by @heavenlypugpizza | What You Need To Know: Choose and actor or character from Marvel or one of the series listed (you can have more than one actor/character in your story) (2 stories limited actor or character), smut okay, ships and oc is fine, tag your stories with warnings, the deadline is March 10th!