#lash extention products

[wholesalla]

How to Repair Natural Lashes After Eyelash Extensions

Eyelash extensions can transform your look with instant volume and length, but improper application, harsh removal, or long-term wear can leave natural lashes weak, sparse, or damaged. Whether you’ve experienced fallout from low-quality lash extension products or simply want to restore your lashes’ health after a glamorous stint, reviving your natural lashes is possible with the right care. In this guide, we’ll share actionable steps to repair and strengthen your lashes, while highlighting how choosing the best eyelash extension kits and practices can prevent future damage.

1. Give Your Lashes a Break

The first step to repairing natural lashes is to take a break from extensions. Constant use of heavy or poorly applied extensions can strain hair follicles, leading to breakage and thinning.

Avoid Reapplying Extensions Immediately: Allow 4–6 weeks for your natural lashes to complete their growth cycle. During this time, focus on nurturing them back to health.

If You Must Use Extensions: Opt for lightweight, semi-permanent lashes from the best eyelash extension kits, which prioritize lash health. Look for kits that include medical-grade adhesives and ultra-fine fibers to minimize stress on natural lashes.

2. Use a Lash Serum to Stimulate Growth

Lash serums infused with peptides, biotin, and hydrating agents can accelerate regrowth and strengthen weakened lashes.

Key Ingredients to Look For:

Peptides: Boost keratin production for thicker, resilient lashes.

Biotin (Vitamin B7): Strengthens lash structure to prevent breakage.

Hyaluronic Acid: Hydrates and protects fragile lashes.

Application Tips: Apply the serum nightly to clean, dry lash lines using a precise brush. Avoid getting the product into your eyes.

Pro Tip: Some lash extension products brands offer serums specifically designed for post-extension recovery. Pair these with the best eyelash extension kits for a holistic lash-care routine.

3. Cleanse Gently to Remove Debris

Residual adhesive, makeup, or dirt can clog hair follicles and hinder growth. Gentle cleansing is crucial for recovery.

Use an Oil-Free Cleanser: Harsh oils (e.g., coconut or mineral oil) can weaken lashes further. Instead, choose a pH-balanced, foaming cleanser made for sensitive eyes.

Avoid Rubbing: Pat lashes dry with a microfiber cloth instead of rubbing, which can pull out fragile hairs.

Invest in a Lash Shampoo: Many lash extension products lines offer gentle cleansers that remove buildup without stripping natural oils.

4. Avoid Mascara and Heavy Makeup

While your lashes heal, skip heavy eye makeup that requires aggressive removal.

Switch to a Nourishing Mascara: If you must wear mascara, choose a strengthening formula with conditioning ingredients like argan oil or panthenol.

Never Use Waterproof Formulas: These require oil-based removers, which can dry out lashes and slow recovery.

Remove Makeup Carefully: Use a micellar water-soaked cotton pad, pressing it against the lid for 10 seconds before wiping downward.

5. Moisturize with Natural Oils (Cautiously)

While some oils can weaken lash adhesives, certain lightweight oils can condition lashes when used sparingly.

Safe Options: Castor oil or jojoba oil applied with a clean spoolie can moisturize lashes without causing buildup.

Avoid During Extension Wear: If you plan to reuse lash extension products later, skip oils entirely, as they can interfere with adhesive bonding.

6. Consider a Lash Lift or Tint

If you miss the look of extensions during the recovery phase, a lash lift or tint offers a low-impact alternative.

Lash Lift: Curls natural lashes at the base for a wide-eyed effect without extensions.

Tint: Enhances lash color for a defined look. Both treatments are less damaging than extensions and work well with the best eyelash extension kits for future applications.

7. Maintain a Lash-Healthy Diet

Healthy lashes start from within. Nutrients like protein, vitamins E and C, and omega-3 fatty acids support hair growth.

Foods to Focus On: Eggs, spinach, salmon, nuts, and berries.

Supplements: Biotin or collagen supplements can boost lash strength over time.

8. Choose High-Quality Products for Future Extensions

Preventing future damage starts with selecting the best eyelash extension kits and lash extension products.

Look For:

Lightweight Materials: Silk or faux mink lashes that won’t weigh down natural hairs.

Hypoallergenic Adhesives: Formulated without formaldehyde or latex.

Professional-Grade Tools: Precision tweezers, isolators, and cleansers.

Avoid Cheap Kits: Low-quality glues and synthetic fibers are more likely to cause irritation and breakage.

9. Visit a Licensed Professional for Application

Even the best eyelash extension kits can cause harm if applied incorrectly. A certified technician will:

Assess your natural lash health and recommend suitable styles.

Use isolation techniques to avoid clumping or pulling.

Apply extensions at a safe distance from the eyelid to prevent glue contact with the skin.

10. Schedule Regular Lash “Detox” Periods

To maintain long-term lash health, take breaks between extension appointments. For example, after 8–12 weeks of wear, take a 3–4 week hiatus to let natural lashes recover. During this time, continue using serums and gentle cleansers.

Conclusion

Repairing natural lashes after extensions requires patience, the right products, and a commitment to gentle care. By nourishing lashes with serums, avoiding harsh makeup, and investing in the best eyelash extension kits for future use, you can restore your lashes’ strength and vitality. Remember, healthy natural lashes are the foundation of any stunning extension look—so prioritize their care, and they’ll reward you with resilience and beauty!

[endursent]

From Duty to Dawn

【 content; kamisato ayato x retainer!reader , established relationship , mild suggestiveness , hurt / comfort , some angst , political landscape , poisoning , forbidden (and secret) relationship , gn!reader 】

【 summary; Ayato dislikes attending political banquets and events—but there are times that he must show face for once. You accompany him as his personal retainer and guard, of course, yet have to act accordingly under the eyes of the political nobility and lordlings... not so much as a touch is appropriate. You must act as if you are nothing more than a servant to him, and it is an act you are very used to and practiced at.

The Inazuman nobility are no strangers to assassins and deep plots, least of all Ayato himself—and you are used to being a preventative step, stopping such attempts from reaching your lord (and beloved). Though you aren't used to being caught in the crossfire of it, consuming a compromised cup meant for him. 】

【 note; experimenting with some retainer!reader that i kind of have an idea for a multi-chapter story... feeling for it a little, consider it a taste. 】

【 word count; 7.756 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

His skin is soft and cool under your fingertips, you brush a strand of hair from his forehead and watch movement occur behind his closed eyelids. A halo of moonlight casts against his cheek, shining from outside a partially open window allowing fresh air inside the wide room. 

  “Mmnh… am I disturbing your rest?” Ayato’s voice is heavy with sleep as his lashes flutter slightly and his eyes lazily open halfway. His gaze finds yours leaning above him, he doesn’t look to the moon to see if dawn is approaching, eyes fixed on your face as if it were far more interesting.

  You hum, thumb gliding over his jaw and touching a tangled lock of hair falling down to his neck. “Should that not be my question? I was awake before you.”

  His hand rises from under the thick cover, Ayato’s palm is warm despite the cool skin of his cheek and jaw, his touch gentle and fingertips soft. “Perhaps… but it seems to me that I may have distracted you.”

  “You are rather distracting,” you agree as he lifts your palm to his lips, a chaste kiss placed upon your skin. Sleepy and dishevelled like this… how can you not touch his face? You’re hardly holding back from leaning down and giving him a proper kiss. But perhaps that’s not very productive when you both should be sleeping. 

  A smile tugs at Ayato’s lips and his half-lidded eyes crease only slightly. “Is that so?” 

  You raise an eyebrow down at him, leaning on your side and elbow to the futon—mostly to get a better vantage point to stare at him as he sleeps. Very normal (for you). “Mhm, now, go back to sleep,” your hand moves from his as you use your fingers to close his eyelids again. “Important meeting to be had in the morning, lords need a healthy sleep schedule.”

  Making no move to take your hand from his eyes, a soft huff of amusement leaves his chest. “I am hardly on my feet all day,” Ayato makes a weak argument, these small moments of bedside chatter are scarce and short—can he be blamed for desiring to extend this chance? “Perhaps I will be further inclined with a more convincing reward.”

  Your eyebrows raise. “Reward? Excitement won’t put you to sleep.” Despite your reluctance to indulge in whatever “reward” he deems himself worthy of, you tilt your head slightly, inclined in curiosity. 

  “A kiss, nothing more,” he says innocently, eyes practically shining as he gazes up at you. “On the lips?”

  “How demanding,” you mumble, before leaning down and giving him what he wants—never has it been your strength to deny him anything… to a healthy extent. His lips are soft and well moist, as if he had quickly licked them after you closed your eyes. It’s a short peck, nothing to get him excited for—then you’d never fall back asleep. “There, is that—”

  Clearly unsatisfied, Ayato’s hand reaches behind your head, curling at your nape as he pulls you back down—your elbow nearly slips but you manage to catch yourself by setting a hand down beside his head, ensuring you don’t crush your body to his so suddenly. The second touch of your lips is greedier, he holds the kiss for a few more seconds before his tongue touches your mouth—at which point you tug your head back a little and slip your hand between your faces, palm over his lips. 

  With a pout, you stare down at him with an unimpressed expression. “A kiss?” 

  His voice is muffled below your hand, but you can feel his smile. “My apologies, I couldn’t resist.”

  You click your tongue, removing your hand from his mouth and wiping it on your clothes. “My lord should learn some discipline,” your tone is both scolding and mild, not a true fire beneath your tone. “Perhaps he should go without for a while.”

  “My retainer would not be so cruel as to defy me the essence of life?” a smile tugs at his lips as you move back to where you were before he tugged you over, fingers covering your mouth as you yawn. “I wouldn’t have the strength to go on.”

  “Essence of life? What have you been reading to find such lines? The only essence of life you consume is the finite supply of milk tea produced in the next three countries over,” you huff a laugh and lie back down beside him, tugging the covers back up to your shoulder. “We have much to do tomorrow, go to sleep.”

  Ayato hums, scooting closer as you close your eyes, he snakes his arms around you and tugs you into himself, your face squishing into his chest—the front flaps of his robe are loose, opening like a maw to allow your cheek to be pressed to his skin. “Ayato…” you grumble against him, trying to shift to get more comfortable, ending up with setting a leg over his waist and arms in a somewhat awkward, but kind of comfortable position—you hope they won’t give you pins and needles in the middle of the night. 

  “It’s been too long since I had you here, let me keep you close for the night,” his words are low and quieter than before, undoubtedly he’s gotten comfortable and already starting to slow his breath for sleep. “You can turn around if you wish.”

  “... no, this is fine,” you don’t move, while it might be more comfortable, he is right—it’s been many nights since you slept with him like this. As spring approaches the Yashiro commission gets more busy preparing for said spring, as well as summer, the real behemoth of Tasks-Need-To-Be-Done-Before-These-Months. 

  The sleep the two of you slip into is peaceful and serene, the cicadas haven’t emerged yet, and the partially open windows a comfortably cool breeze to slip through, ensuring neither of you feel too warm against each other.

  As always, you wake far before Ayato does—fetching the freshly prepared clothes for the day, checking the day’s schedule with the general staff—though Thoma usually oversees the housekeeping schedule and staff, so you only check in with him to make sure everything is going smoothly. After doing the rounds and finally going to the kitchen to take the prepared tray of tea, you headed back to Ayato’s bedchambers… which is a mild way to put it, when his room, a general living and tea room attached to it as well as his private wash chambers span a good corner of the estate. 

  Sliding the door shut behind you, Ayato is already awake—it’s not very often that you have to rouse him yourself—and has freshened up. “Good morning,” you greet as you set the tray on the low table by the wall, raising the pot to pour some tea into a cup for him. “You mentioned the other day that this blend from Yashiori was refreshing, perhaps it’s good for mornings.”

  He approaches you and accepts the offered cup, taking a small whiff of it as you set the pot down. Ayato takes a lingering sip and considers the taste for a moment before speaking. “Hm… refreshing, yes. Though, I do prefer my usual,” he takes another sip before setting it aside. “It is good.”

  “I will inform the kitchens,” you nod and stand to find the folded fabrics you brought earlier. Sunlight filters through the paper walls, casting the room in a comfortable hue that nearly covers the white fabrics in your hands yellow. “Will you wear primarily white or blue tonight?” 

  “Blue, I wore white too many times in recent meetings,” Ayato muses as he fishes for some socks in a cabinet. He doesn’t care much for public appearances or gatherings, but he was officially invited along with the other Tri-Commissioners to celebrate a smooth winter and the coming of spring—he will stop by for a few hours at most and retire early; they at least expect him to show his face. Unfortunately. He could be doing far more productive things elsewhere.

  With a sound of affirmation, you set the blue robes up to hang over the rack made for them. Your hands smoothe the fabrics out and ensure there’s no creases while you hear shuffling behind you, no doubt Ayato getting ready—at least, as far as he gets. You hear your name said behind you. “Ah, could you give me a hand?” 

  Setting the accessories of the outfit aside, you move around the futon laying on the floor to help Ayato with the layers of his clothes, though he can easily set most of it together, his undershirts are tied slightly behind him. “There,” you hum as you tie the knot and step back to reach for some of the accessories of his current outfit—your own clothes are rather simple compared to his, but his position demands more… grandeur than yours does. 

  As you help him with the finishing touches and ropes, Ayato gives you a smile. “I assume you’ve completed your duties for the morning, why don’t you join me for breakfast? We can discuss the day’s events while I go over a few reports that need oversight before noon.”

  You wrack your brain for a few seconds—while you would love to agree immediately, you don’t recall if there’s anything of import that you’re supposed to do in the next hour… it’s best to consider it regardless. “I am not busy,” you say as you finalise the last accessory on his right arm. “I’ll bring it to your study when it’s ready, from what I saw in the kitchens earlier, it’s within the next ten minutes.”

  “Wonderful, I’ll have settled by then.”

  Thinking he was done and ready, you move to finalise his robe on the rack when a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Ah, I received no good morning kiss before you departed,” Ayato is smiling when you look back at him, eyes lightly crinkled in mirth.

  “You did receive one, you were merely fast asleep,” you huff. He’s so greedy for attention for someone who is supposed to be subtle about it. 

  He inclines his head, his smile remaining as he pulls you closer. “It can hardly count if I wasn’t awake, no?” Ayato’s hand turns and loosens its grip, sliding towards your palm to hold your hand instead as he raises your knuckle to his lips. “Hm, please?” The tickle of his lips against your skin, and the glint in his eyes are hard to resist at once. “If only my puppy had a real tail, would it be wagging right now?” 

  This guy… you want to pinch his cheeks and really show him what happens if he ticks you off, but you don’t—he’ll enjoy the retaliation. “Tch, don’t you have reports to read? Or papers to sign?”

  Exhaling in mock disappointment, Ayato lets go of your hand and fixes his sleeve. “Of course, I have not forgotten… my dear retainer seems to not allow me to do so.”

  It’s a whole ritual to help Ayato put on his more formal robes, each layer is tugged and laid over the other in a careful manner and your practiced hands do so with little hesitation. He stays still as always, waiting patiently as you finalise the ornaments and accessories that complete the look—sometimes you wonder how he walks around in such a heavy outfit. 

  The trip to Inazuma City takes half the day, and thus you didn’t have much time to enjoy the breakfast Ayato insisted you share, there was much to finish before departing—and so you had scooped your breakfast in your mouth so quickly he had inquired whether your stomach wouldn’t reject it. 

  … and you didn’t exactly feel great during the ride here, it seems your stomach was a bit upset at you—but you just had to live with some discomfort. 

  The celebrations are held in a large hall made for such things not far from the Tenshukaku—the Shogun herself won’t be attending, but that’s neither surprising nor expected, and might even be… rather awkward. You’ve never met her yourself, and you’re unsure if you would want that first meeting to be surrounded by soon-to-be tipsy and bordering drunk nobles and vassals. 

  The venue is beautifully decorated, lanterns lit with decorative papers that set a subtle pink hue over the room, the branches hanging overhead as you enter the large hall haven’t bloomed yet, but in a matter of a few weeks they would become lovely. The celebration is held a little earlier this year, due to some changes in trade and an expansion of Ritou’s port, the petals would usually have at least peeked out a little. 

  It’s surprisingly well organised and set up, considering the Tenryou Commission practically demanded they take care of it this year… the Yashiro Commission is the most practiced for these types of affairs—but they’ve truly outdone themselves. 

  You accompany Ayato inside, taking your place at his southeast, as custom dictates—and follow only a couple of steps behind. He is stopped by every single noble the two of you pass, and you stand nearby in silence… and mild annoyance. There’s no burden to yourself, but you know how much Ayato dislikes the theatrics, the impossible perfection expected of one another in manners, interaction and even appearance. And an unhappy Ayato (beneath a perfectly crafted, polite smile), makes an unhappy, shadowing retainer. 

  There’s few that greet you, the most is a nod between retainers as their lords meet and giving a respectful bow to those of an appropriate station. 

  Long rows of tables have been laid out, plush cushions set in preparation as attendants moved about to ready the meals while the nobles socialised. At the head were three cushions with a back for the Tri-Commissioners, while all other seats were bare cushions… for a moment you envied Ayato for having something for his back, unless you consciously keep your posture straight and poised, you always end up hunching like some kind of floor-demon. 

  There’s a benefit for being both Ayato’s retainer and guard—you get to sit as close to him as possible, though not always as close as you’d like… there’s quite a few seats between you, and you are allowed to partake in the meal of the night.

  The chatter of the hall grows louder the longer people remain inside, the doors have been slid open to reveal the gardens beyond the hall, but braziers have been lit to keep the space warm—there’s still quite an early-spring chill in the air, especially as evening darkens the skies. You follow Ayato to his spot overlooking the hall furthest from the doors, you lean down to whisper to him. “I will retreat to my own seat then.”

  Ayato hums in acknowledgement. “Of course. I will signal you,” he replies without turning his head. 

  Satisfied, you make your way down past the nobles and vassals sitting closer to the Commissioners until you find your seat at the lower level. Enough to be within eyesight of your lord and most of the hall, and with your back to the cool outside of the room. The food presented is wonderful—the shoots are perfect as you scoop them into your mouth, almost forgetting to pay attention before catching yourself. The meals will be lovely tonight, but you shouldn’t forget why you’re here.

  Straightening a bit—as you had started to slouch over the food in your interest and focus, you eyeball Ayato’s plate. He has already finished the small portion that was brought out as the first round of dishes, seeming to answer a question proposed to him from the sidelined table of lords on his right.

  Momentarily, as his mouth moves—though you’re too far away to hear his voice—Ayato’s eyes shift and meet yours. You don’t make much movement, holding his gaze in case he was trying to tell you something… but none of his usual signs follow, and then he looks away. 

  Hahh… putting you on edge by looking into your eyes—can’t Ayato try and behave like a normal lord for a night? It wouldn’t kill him to follow some rules and procedures. He can be teasing and sly once you’re not in this particular environment.

  The night goes on and more dishes are served, you shift your position slightly to rest your knees as some other have along the evening but are prepared to shoot back into position if needed. Your belly is overfull with food already, so you mostly indulge in the vegetables on your plate before starting the more heavy bites. You thought you had just started feeling better from earlier today… and here you are, scooping meal after meal down—it wouldn’t do to leave behind a full plate. 

  Ignoring as the attendants of the attendance hall take your empty plate, you prepare for the main course—the fourth out of five for this gathering. 

  But as the fresh plates are laid out and you thank the attendant next to you that gives you a clear pair of chopsticks, you notice movement in the corner of your eyes. Ayato raised his arm to fix his hair from his face with a slightly exaggerated flourish of his long sleeve, violet eyes staring directly at you—a call for attention. 

  He tilts his head to his cup, and you move after grabbing one of the cups by your plate. Staying low as you cross around the tables, you come up behind Ayato, leaning close to him so that he can whisper to you. “Take my sake,” he utters, lifting the cup to you. 

  Ayato doesn’t enjoy sake served hot, lukewarm is tolerable, but he’s not a fan of hot or warm beverages in general. You set your own cup by his hand, a tea that has cooled down—perhaps a bit more than can be acceptable to offer a lord, but Ayato takes it either way. 

  While such a high-ranking guest’s preferences would usually be catered to, Ayato doesn’t very much like discussing his preferences with those outside of his household… and he also just likes to give you whatever he doesn’t want, whether you like it or not. 

  “Of course,” you take his drink from his offered hands and move back to your seat. You’re thankfully not the only retainer that has stood up to attend to their master tonight, not that you’d let that thought stop you from tending to Ayato’s needs.

  Sitting back down, you gulp down the sake while it’s hot before starting on the main meal. Perhaps having some sake will clear out some room in your stomach for the last two courses, the final one will likely be small anyway. 

  Chatter surrounds you, but you’ve been tuning it out most of the night—the Kamisato estate is rather far from the outskirts of the city, and thus you don’t exactly have close relations or friends with other retainers or servants of clans outside the Kamisato. No one addresses you in particular either, so you can mostly eat in peace and keep your attention where it’s required.

  The food tastes okay—you expected the salt grilled prawn to have more of a taste than it does, all the foods have been rather surprising so far, surely the main dish isn’t the one to disappoint? 

  You feel kind of bad for thinking that while the prawn is just staring back up at you.

  A voice next to you says your name that you snap out of your staring contest with the prawn on your plate—you didn’t even realise you were staring at it so intensely. Raising your head, you see the man next to you staring at you. “Ah, you were being addressed…”

  There’s an attendant behind you, squatting down to not stand over you. “My apologies, you simply seemed uncomfortable, would you like me to bring you some water?”

  Uncomfortable? You don’t feel uncomfortable—not much at least, maybe your tongue stings a little, but that might just be the salt off the prawn. “Oh… I’m sorry. Yes, thank you,” you take the empty sake cup and hold it to the woman as she tilts the water-filled flask to your cup. The bows and leaves, and the man next to you has turned back to his former conversations. 

  Had the attendant been calling for your attention? You didn’t hear her at all. 

  Raising your eyes towards Ayato again, you find him staring at you—it’s almost enough to knock attention back into you and straighten your back, almost. You sip the water in your cup slowly, but the cool water doesn’t parch the dryness in your throat, if anything, it stings your tongue—like ice on an open wound. 

  Your expression pinches, the numbing pins that follow spreading out your jaw and to your ears. 

  Across the room, Ayato is still staring at your face—he knows you like the back of his hand, better even… and there’s something wrong about the way your hand trembles as you lower your empty cup of water. He watches you subtly, pretending to focus on his meal as his eyes follow the furrow of your brow and discomfort in your eyes.

  He can’t just stand up and approach you to ask whether you’re alright, nor does he want to bring attention to you—in the case it’s nothing more than a swallowed wrong sip… but something tugs at his nerves that something is wrong. Ayato is well-versed in preventative measures, and he ensures every corner is secure before he sets foot into a room that isn’t within his own home—had he missed a step? 

  His mind suddenly fills with thoughts and a step-to-step recollection of the earlier day—the moment the two of you left the estate and made for the city and to this moment. Nowhere had he suspected anything amiss, nor seen any signs that would send alarm bells in his mind.

  But he cannot simply sit and wait until you show whether something is amiss or not—you might be his retainer and guard, but he would never have you lunge yourself onto a blade for him. 

  Your ears ache, and you feel nauseous, the entire room feels as if every single person is staring at you, but you can’t seem to tell their faces apart. You rub your eyes and shake your head to try and clear your thoughts, but it only invites a dizzying spin of the room with the turn of your head. 

  Your tongue still stings, the zapping pain that shot towards your ears is pricking down your throat now—there must something have been in the drinks you consumed, but your mind struggles to follow your instincts and as you shift to turn around, your hand misses the table where you attempted to lay it to assist with standing. You don’t have the balance to graciously save yourself, and you almost tumble into the man next to you, who turns around in bewilderment of practically getting body-checked.

  Voices now form around you, louder than before—aimed at you. You apologise hurriedly, but your tongue doesn’t move and your words sound like the groans of a ghost. Hands steady you as the repeated sounds of what sounds like your name, or a formal kind of address fill your ears, and brain, and eyes—and you can’t focus on the blend of faces that all look like half-cooked seaweed in front of your eyes, or is that the back of someone’s head?

  It hurts to breathe, every drag of your breath is painful, it hurts to keep your eyes open, to move your tongue—it hurts—fuck, it hurts so much—

  The room turns on its head as blood spills from your lips, not in a wave or splatter—a single line mixed with drool that drips down from your chin and onto your chest. Attendants rush to move out of the way as half the sitting retainers and guards rush towards you, the hurry and chaos is enough to make you want to puke, but you doubt anything so wet would appear in your dry throat as is begins to burn, as if you swallowed something searing hot. 

  Ayato stands to his feet, striding across the room quickly without running as he shoulders his way past the crowd of people. He had been weighing his options on how to pull you away quietly without raising attention… before you decided to stand up on your own and crumpled onto the person next to you. As soon as you missed your grip on the table and your dazed eyes didn’t react, his heart had beat twice in place of one. 

  Getting to you was a fight and a half until the people blocking his way saw who it was that was trying to push past them. Your expression was pained, but your eyes were half-lidded and unresponsive to the movements before it, blood slipping from the corner of your mouth as your breaths heaved with great strain. 

  “What the hells happened to them?!!” “Hey! Wake up!” “Call for healers!”

  Shouts and calls bounced back and forth in the wide hall, but Ayato’s attention was on your face—he finally reached your side and knelt down where someone had laid you on your side in case you would suddenly throw up. He says your name quietly—far too quiet to be heard beneath the shouting of the people standing above you. He longs to take your cheek and wipe the blood and spit from your skin, but such gentle gestures have no explanation between a lord and retainer. 

  “Look at me,” Ayato’s words are demanding, but his tone isn’t. If he can’t physically turn your face, he wants you to do it. He says your name, but there’s no reaction from you as the crowd parts for healers to fill their place, robes sickeningly white and pristine as they kneel down to examine you. 

  He watches their movements closely, but there’s little he can do—you’ve been poisoned. Such attempts at assassination are not few nor far between in a political landscape such as this, and Ayato could not count it on one hand the number of times he has refused or tossed out a compromised cup. He would recognise it anywhere—but how?

  His usually carefully crafted measures of avoiding assassinations did not prevent this—the food is all supposed to be tested and carefully crafted before it’s served, no celebration that hosts all three Tri-Commissioners and several other nobles can afford to take half-measures, and it seems he is the fool for assuming the Tenryou Commission would take every step as seriously as they should, no matter how small. 

  Ayato longs to take your trembling hand—it hasn’t stopped shaking since you put your cup down, he wishes he could place your head on his lap and reassure you, whether you could hear him or not. The pained breaths leaving your lips sound like the groans of a dead man, every drag of air through your pained throat tying a tighter vice around his heart. 

  The healers pry open your mouth and eyelids, staring into them for answers as they feel for your pulse as well. Their mutterings fly by as Ayato’s hands clench on his lap, holding himself back. “—bleeding from the tongue and throat—” “—temperature dropping too fast—” “—pulse is too erratic—”

  He can’t sit there anymore. “What has to be done?” Ayato’s voice silences their mutterings, every second you simply lay there, dying, gasping, is a second his nerves are trying to escape his body through his fingertips. 

  “Take them to a side room, we must determine what occu—”

  “They were poisoned,” Ayato cuts the poor healer off halfway through their sentence, his tone bereft of patience. “Determine the root, I will find the cure.”

  “O-of course, quickly now!” the same healer nods as the three raise you into their arms carefully. Mutters and conversation rumble among onlookers, the sudden chaos of someone dropping down could of course only mean one thing, and it’s ripe for speculation and rumours. 

  Ayato ignores them as he stands, but hasn’t made a step to follow the healers taking you away when Chisato suddenly appears by his side, her eyes wide and hands close to her chest. “What an awful sight—are you alright, Kamisato-san?” 

  He’d rather not keep up appearances and stay from your side too long… “My apologies for the commotion, I must ensure my retainer is alright,” Ayato was about to turn and leave the hall when he spotted Kamaji speaking hurriedly with his two retainers, waving one away as the second was nodding to whatever he was saying. 

  “Ah, do me a favour, my lady. Please try and find the employee list for me, if you could,” Ayato says to her, inclining his head only a little before turning and leaving the attendance hall without waiting for her response, or seeing her reaction. It would speed the process up for him if she would do it, but whether she accepts such a bold request from him is another matter. 

  The healers are already hard at work by the time he arrives, they’ve taken a blood sample, and called for a higher ranked healer who happens to have a vision on her hip. Ayato approaches the futon you’ve been laid out on and looks to the main healer. “Has there been any progress?” 

  You look awful, and still pained—Ayato wishes you had lost consciousness from the pain already, if only to spare you the agony… or perhaps himself, from having to watch it.

  “The poison is a fast-acting one, but it does not spread as fast as it harms, nothing has reached or damaged any organs,” the woman speaks, her hand hovers over your chest—the flaps of your outfit pulled open for them to examine the skin and feel for your heart—and a faint glow emits from her palm. Immediately, your body jerks and a pained cry leaves your throat that makes Ayato nearly jump at attention. 

  “What is it?” he asks hurriedly, eyes flickering between your face and the healer beside you.

  The woman retreats her hand. “It seems to have a burning reaction, perhaps a foreign herb—the bout of pain was from my pyro vision searching their body, it creates a warm feeling that seems to be unwelcome in the state they are in now.” 

  It’s a delicate situation—and if the plant used for the poison is foreign, it will add difficulty to find a suitable antidote… but it can also help narrow the perpetrator down. Though his desire to find the ones responsible for this are great—his desire to see your eyes open and focused again are greater. Thankfully, Ayato works well under pressure.

  He glances towards a healer as they approach with a jug full of water to set aside. “We shall begin a simple preventative process,” he says, bowing his head at Ayato’s stare. They hurriedly set your body on its side again, it’s only been ten to fifteen minutes since you consumed the poison—and thus if they can make you empty your stomach, it could toss out a large part of the poison that hasn’t been digested.

  Ayato doesn’t look away as vile tea is poured down your throat, it’s foul enough to make anyone immediately vomit. As half-digested food spills from your lips, tinted with blood and bile, it’s clear whatever poison was used is utterly colourless as there’s no strange discolouration in the contents, nothing unusual at least.

  He takes a breath to reel in the frustrations searing the inside of his belly, to not let them overcome him—Ayato must have you stable, and a plan set out to locate the perpetrators before he can even consider allowing himself to feel. 

  After vomiting two more times, the healers let you rest for a minute or two—not that you recognise the time frame nor what is happening anyway—before practically pouring cup after cup down your throat, lighting incense beneath your nose so that you swallow as much of it as possible to dilute whatever poison still lines your stomach and throat. 

  If you’re lucky… they’ve acted quickly enough that more won’t be necessary, but Ayato won’t take the chance. 

  A healer from the side approaches Ayato where he stands and stares, eyes unblinking as he watches everything that’s happening to your poor body—he failed to prevent this, and thus he cannot be permitted to look away. “Kamisato-sama…” the healer calls to him quietly, and it snaps Ayato from his thoughtless gaze. “The ingredient itself that was used is unknown—likely foreign to Inazuma… but it shares similar components to dendrobium when ground and strained with strong alcohol, the symptoms are similar to that of the late Tanaka-sama’s death.”

  If similar enough, the typical antidote commonly known should prove sufficient. Ayato didn’t bring many people with him to this gathering outside of himself and you, but the Shuumatsuban are never far. A simple step outside the room is enough to call for them. The Shuumatsuban would never enter or make themselves known in a public space such as this, if only because accusations would aim towards Ayato that he had assassins posted nearby for ill intentions. But at his call, a short woman wearing highly concealing clothing appears at his feet with her head bowed. 

  Sending her off with the orders to find the needed ingredients, Ayato lingers in the empty and quiet hallway for a time. He can do so little for you in the present moment that it tears him apart—he can only send for an antidote and pray it will prevent your untimely demise and departure from his side… there is a deep, consuming desire in his chest to be close to your side, to grasp your hand in his and feel your pulse beneath his own fingers.

  Were it not for the damned ways of the Inazuman political landscape—were it not for the assumptions and social requirements that you be nothing more than a servant to him, disposable at worst and at arm’s length and best. Never to be allowed a simple touch or gentle caress be it not hidden behind concealing screens and behind solid walls. 

  Ayato runs a hand over his face, fingers rubbing at his eyes… of all the people in that room, it had to be you. 

  He hadn’t stopped and gathered his thoughts properly, rationality clawing from between bloated nerves, feeling as if they would explode at any moment so long as your eyes were unfocused and not fixed on him.

  Going back to the scene would do him no good—undoubtedly the nobles and servants still whisper and discuss among themselves, and he would be bombarded with questions and assumptions, there's no space to think. 

  Thankfully, Ayato has an excellent memory… if he can just focus and think back. Was it from the food? Drink? The blood and space of damage was inside your mouth, it was consumed through there…

  The memory of your trembling hand lowering the cup he had traded with you flashes in his mind and a sinking feeling tugged on his stomach just as it did churn with the beginnings of anger.

  You had been drinking water when your hand shook… but the poison would not work so fast as to have such an effect immediately. It had to be from the sake—who would target you after all? Outside of being a respected servant of the Kamisato household, you had little else to your name. 

  The cup had been poisoned, meant for him… during the highlight of the feast, served with the main course. The thought of being the target of assassination does not shake him, but the thought—and reality—of you being caught in the crossfire does.

  Ayato can’t stand being out in the hallway for longer, hopefully the Shuumatsuban will bring what he requested soon enough.

You had barely felt anything for a while, and though it was a nice change of pace… not feeling anything is both alarming and uncomfortable—you’re barely lucid enough to understand why you’re alarmed by it, you just know you are. 

  All you remember were hands touching you, hurried musings you couldn’t tell apart, and that your throat, mouth and eventually chest hurt so much you thought you might’ve been disembowelled. 

  Squinting your eyes open after wallowing in darkness for some time, you saw a familiar wooden ceiling… you’ve spent enough time in the estate’s infirmary wing to know the ceiling very well, as well as the scent of the flowers they decorate it with to cover up the smell of the medicines and gore that’s stuck to the floors and walls after generations of utilising it. 

  There’s no one around as you turn your head, you test your voice to be able to call out for someone later—you’re still a bit groggy to want to be poked at just yet—and find that the only sound that leaves you is a strained breath, but barely any sound. 

  You do feel rather thirsty.

  Lying there for a while more hoping the heavy feeling in your body and head will dissipate at least somewhat, your wait amounts to nothing as you still feel as if there’s a whole horse sitting on you and refusing to budge. 

  You reach out and tug on the string to your left, a small chime hanging overhead to call for a healer—and you’re surprise with the speed (and force) that the door is slid open the moment your fingers touch the string. “Y-you’re awake! Please lower your arm!”

  Doing as you’re told—not that you had much strength in it to hold it up like that for long—you blink a few times as Kanna hurried to you, and as you suspected… poking and prodding, she tilted your head up and poked at your throat. “Does this hurt?” “Do you feel this?” “Can you speak?” “Are you cold?”

  She’s always a bit enthusiastic, but you feel that she should really know that a patient who just woke up should be spoken to… a bit more slowly. You attempt to reply to her, but make an incomprehensible sound—which prompts her to give you some water, finally. 

  After quenching your thirst and helping you sit up, the door slides open again and a slightly dishevelled looking Ayato stands there. His chest subtly rises and falls in a quicker rhythm than it should if he had simply walked here and he’s still holding a wet ink brush. 

  Kanna stands when he appears, giving a small bow. You were still a little disoriented as they exchange a quiet word and she leaves. 

  As you’re rubbing your eyes, Ayato slides the door closed and kneels down by you—four walls surround you, and only the head doctor of the estate as well as a handful of healers roam this side of the infirmary. You’ve barely croaked out a hello when Ayato’s hand touches your jaw, tilting your face towards him.

  “You’ve… worried me,” he says slowly, as if there are a thousand words he must say, but had to push out one at a time. The muscles in his face pinch into an expression you’re not very familiar with. “How do you feel?”

  “Not great,” you manage. Your eyes continue to stare at his pale expression, he seems paler than usual—the bags under his eyes are more prominent as well. “You… haven’t slept well…”

  His lips part for a moment, before a small huff of laughter escapes him, lips tugging halfway upwards. “No, I haven’t. But you should hardly concern yourself with my health at this moment,” his hand on your face shifts slightly as you feel a pinch on your cheeks, he’s got your right cheek between his fingers. “You fool.”

  “Ow—ow, stop… hey…” you try to tug your face out of his grip, but it just stings more and only your hand weakly prying at his own gets Ayato to loosen his grip. “Oww…” you rub your cheek, at least the sting distracts from the throbbing ache in your muscles. 

  “Have you not been taught to test your drinks before consuming them?” he continues to scold you—what are you being scolded for? He didn’t test his own either! “You…” Ayato sighs, sitting down onto your futon so that you have to shift your legs away a little to give him proper room. “The sake was poisoned, I was shortsighted—too relaxed.”

  You didn’t say anything, but when you think back—it added up, the slowly growing discomforts and pains after drinking the hot sake… the temperature must have masked the off taste, you hadn’t even considered trying to smell a difference, considering the cup arrived at Ayato’s table. 

  “Who was it?” your hands clench on your lap, a pinching feeling of anger forming in your chest—someone had tried to poison Ayato, and nearly succeeded. You didn’t even care that it was you that took the fall in his place—if anything, you’re relieved.

  Ayato’s eyes lower to your hands, and his palm lays over your left knuckle. “It’s handled. The perpetrators were discovered and hunted down. Details came come later, for now, you need rest,” he says, a firm look in his eyes—he knows that if he doesn’t practically tie you to the bed, you’ll try to be up on your feet again before you should be.

  You huff at his answer, even if the situation wasn’t handled, he would still say it was—just so that you wouldn’t attempt to track them down yourself… not that you probably could in the next few days, or week. You haven’t even tried walking yet. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not long,” his voice softens again, thumb sliding over the waves of your knuckles as he speaks. “Less than a day, I had you moved here as soon as medicine was administered, I suspect most of your rest has been recovery sleep.”

  Ah, not so long. That’s good… “I hope you didn’t worry for me too much.”

  Ayato tilts his head, blue hair falling from behind his shoulder and over it. “Why not?”

  “Ah… I do not like worrying you…?” your words come out as a question, you’re unsure exactly what to say. Wouldn’t it be natural for you not to worry him?

  A small hum leaves his throat, and his hand rises to his chin. “Then… I hope you will work harder to stop worrying me in the future.”

  “...?”

  His hand lowers, and he begins counting on the finger on his other hand. “You must stop working further into the night than I do and rising before me as well, eat everything off your plate before rushing to the next awaiting task… hm, do not immediately put yourself in front of me at a hint of danger—” you feel like he’s reciting some sort of contract to you. “—and allow properly assigned tasters to examine my meals, not yourself. Perhaps also avoid bathing when I should be getting my tea—”

  “A-Ayato…” the formalities forgo your mind in your haste to stop him. “I understand, please stop talking about it.”

  He closes the hand he was counting with and a small smile touches his lips again—messing with you, as usual. Ayato shakes his head and inches closer, his hands brush against your cheeks as he cups them and leans his face close to yours… his forehead touches yours and you feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips and chin. “You did not respond to me, when I asked it of you,” his voice is tight, and his thumb slides over the skin of your cheekbone as he speaks. 

  Unsure how to answer him, as you have no recollection of him demanding your attention, you simply close your eyes, the softness and warmth of his hands on your cheeks is comforting. Your eyes flutter open as his right hand slides down to your shoulder and draws you into his embrace, one arm encircling your back and the other laying its palm against the back of your head. 

  You stay still as he does, allowing him to slot his body against yours before you relax fully, allowing your forehead to rest against his shoulder as his hair tickles your face. “I’m glad you are safe,” he utters against your ear. “You really did worry me, I would rather not lose you, if I am allowed… even unconscious, you stole my attention at every minute of the day. I could hardly finish any work.”

  Your own arms reach around his waist, a bit too tired to raise them properly. He’s holding you so tightly that you can feel his heart beating even through the layers of his clothes, you almost want to ask if he’s truly alright as his fingers tighten in the thin robes at your back. “Thank you for your care.”

  Ayato shakes his head slightly, only to pull back a little—and dip his head towards yours, his lips finding yours easily. He’s soft and warm, and you worry your lips are too chapped for a kiss, but Ayato doesn’t care. Thinking he had just leaned down for a simple peck of assurance, you tilt your head back—but his hand behind your head tugs you towards him again. 

  You hold onto him for balance as he kisses you properly, a hungry tinge to his tongue as it brushes against your lips—but he doesn’t press it further, as if to only taste the surface of your mouth. You’re sure you have a bad breath anyway. 

  Finally allowing you free from his lips, he sets another small kiss to your cheek where he had pinched you. “No need to thank me,” Ayato says, the setting sun filters through the papers of the door leading to the engawa outside, the warm light settling against his skin and giving it the life he felt fill his chest at the sight of your waking, aware eyes. “You will always be by my side—death will have to pry you from my hands.”

[psuedosugu]

just thinking about vox w/ a famous singer! reader…

cw: themes of stalking and heavy manipulation

gender neutral

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

✮₊ ⊹ || you guys probably met through velvette, she started helping you shoot music videos and things of the sort once your popularity started skyrocketing.

✮₊ ⊹ || and your popularity really did skyrocket, think ice spice.

✮₊ ⊹ || it started with him sponsoring you, asking you to include some voxtech products in one of your music videos.

✮₊ ⊹ || then, he had you on his talk show.

✮₊ ⊹ || after a while, vox started having an interest in you far past business relations.

✮₊ ⊹ || he started stalking you, not just your public socials but even pictures on your camera roll.

✮₊ ⊹ || we see in ep 2 that he can look through tvs and control what they show so im js assuming its the same for all electronic devices.

✮₊ ⊹ || he would watch you through your phone and tv, “just to keep them safe,” he said to himself.

✮₊ ⊹ || you two had more and more partnerships, more and more collaborations, perhaps even your own ‘keeping up with the kardashians’ type tv show.

✮₊ ⊹ || the pubic started speculating on you two’s relations and vox felt a strange sense of happiness and pride in his chest when he saw a post online shipping you two together.

✮₊ ⊹ || val definitely knew what was going on, subtly teasing vox about it every chance he got.

“if you put nearly as much effort as you do ogling at [name] into what we’re trying to do here, imagine the things we could accomplish.”

“wh- i don’t- shut the FUCK up.”

✮₊ ⊹ || vox made subtle moves at you, occasionally flirting with you, it didn’t matter if you flirted back or not, he kept going.

✮₊ ⊹ || flirting escalated to small touches to ur thighs and waist.

✮₊ ⊹ || he slowly coaxed you into a relationship, pretty much lovebombing you, buying you expensive things that you didn’t even need since you were rich already, writing you poems, taking you out on “dates”, ect.

✮₊ ⊹ || he could switch up fast, though, get angry and lash out at you verbally and maybe even slightly physically.

✮₊ ⊹ || he always made sure to apologize after, though, to put the bandaid on the broken bone.

✮₊ ⊹ || you went along with it at first because 1. being seen with him did improve your reputation, 2. he was a strong overlord, it would be hard to escape him, and 3. you genuinely did like him to an extent.

✮₊ ⊹ || he was pushing you into a box, leaving you no options.

✮₊ ⊹ || if you did attempt to leave or even show any sign of wanting to leave him, that would be when the hypnotization began.

✮₊ ⊹ || he didn’t want to do this, he wanted you guys’ relationship to come naturally, but you had practically forced the dude!

✮₊ ⊹ || you weren’t fully under his control, just enough so you wouldn’t leave. you wouldn’t want to leave.

✮₊ ⊹ || you were his trophy, his prize, his, his, his, he almost didn’t even see you as a person.

✮₊ ⊹ || eventually he started presenting you to the public as his too, and its not like you could refuse.

✮₊ ⊹ || you loved him, despite that doubtful feeling in the back of your mind, you loved him.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Mel having the hilt of a sword above her head like the sword of damocles not only indicates the treacherous nature of the power she's inherited from her mother from assuming the position of THE Medarda and the wolf but the fact that the sword disappears behind her as if its piercing her shows that shes already suffered the consequences of having this power (losing her family, losing her home in Piltover).

Not to mention the way both she and the room are clad in red, silver, and black, Ambessa's colour scheme. I think this indicates that although she's become what she's supposedly always wanted (a daughter her mother could be proud, a ruler) the smallness of her in this shot illustrates how overwhelmed she is (maybe emotionally but also quite tangibly by her responsibilities increasing tenfold) by the presence of her mother's legacy.

Mel demonstrates that she is an adept councillor in Piltover. The position suits her social abilities well enough to easily sway other members of the council. However, the system of power in Piltover does not allow for substantial revolutionary change for example Jayce despite government backing is unable to fully realise his dream of his research being utilised for the sake of everyone's health and safety instead it is bastardised and its original purpose is diluted made into gimmick. The extent of the progress 'the man of progress' is able to make is diminished to hexgates (transport) and other flashy but meaningless tools that simply exist so that the upper echelon can marvel at them.

I do think Mel believes Jayce would have been able to use both his and her position on the council to make positive social change, I also think she maintains a very liberal belief that a long stretch of time is required to make those advancements (she's wrong btw) but she is, like everyone else in this show, a product of their circumstances and her and every other character (mainly the piltover citizens) is burdened by their perceptions of how change can be achieved. It's also important to note that her and Jayce as privileged Piltovans can easily decentre the socially equalising potential hextech had because they weren't the people hextech could have helped as opposed to Viktor who was constantly at odds with oppressive system that disabled him and gave him a terminal illness.

I think this has changed now, with her kidnapping, her confrontation with Jayce (which I found kind of lacklustre, I think that conversation, although necessary just didn't address the right things and also felt like a one-sided lashing on a character who just endured psychological torture, was very narratively odd) and tag team showdown with her mother and the Black Rose, she's been pushed past the point of no return. She cannot be the politican carefully hand selecting gifts for another politicians birthday so they feel a sense of loyalty to her, she cannot do behind the scenes work anymore.

I have very little to work with because we don't really know what state Noxus will be in when Mel arrives but I do wonderhow this Mel who has shedded her previous political passiveness will function in a position that puts her in the front, her as a symbol of power and the head of her house.

I think Mel is a character bound for errors and mistakes but who is fundamentally gold at heart and that literally manifests in her design, the embellishments on her skin and the colour of power, also the way she coated that painting in gold in season one show that she will always end up being true herself though she may wield as is her nature as conduit other peoples powers and bare their responsibilities she won't be changed she will make change, good change.

[coraniaid]

#19 for person of interest and #2 for willow rosenberg

#19 ... one behind-the-scenes trivia fact I've learned somewhere and my thoughts on it.

I honestly don't really know that much trivia about Person of Interest. One thing I think I remember reading somewhere once is that the writers originally cast Amy Acker to play [a version of] Caroline Turing and only quite late in production decided on the twist that Caroline Turing was actually an alias for Root [at which point, presumably, they renamed her character, because she probably wasn't called 'Turing' before that].

Which is kind of amazing to me, if it's true: Amy Acker as Root is such a huge part of the show that's it's strange to think it almost didn't happen [and, presumably, the show itself would have gone off in an entirely different direction in Season 2 without Root: we'd have seen a lot more of Alicia Corwin for a start].

But, well, I can't find the original claim now and even if I did it probably didn't have any particularly solid proof to back it up. So maybe it's not true at all. (I think it's obvious that the writers hadn't yet cast Amy Acker as Root in Season 1's Root Cause, but that's a much less interesting claim to me).

#2 ... ...how I would have chosen to change their story from canon

Not an original take, I suppose, but to me the big problem with Willow's arc is the way that everything the show has been building up to since (at least) Becoming gets utterly derailed by the Willow-as-a-metaphorical-drug-addict subplot in Season 6. And, yeah, I can see arguments for this subplot: magic had been used as a metaphor for drug abuse before, and it does fit with Season 6's wider theme of exposing the characters to more bleakly quotidian problems like bills and dead-end jobs and (metaphorical) battles with social workers. But it just doesn't work for Willow or her arc. Willow's descent into villainy ends up being almost something that happens to her [because of bad actors like Amy or Rack or Warren] rather than something that evolves naturally from her own flaws.

And that's frustrating, because the show's already spent a lot of time setting up Willow's character flaws and how they will surely lead to tension between her and Tara and her and Buffy. We know Willow has self-image problems ["I'm not your sidekick!" she snaps at Buffy in Fear Itself], that she's afraid that people won't like her if they see the real version of her [see her dream in Restless for example], that she compensates for this by trying to help everyone and make herself useful ["I want to help", she tells Buffy in The Harvest, "I need to"].

We know Willow is prone to being jealous when other people get attention despite (in her eyes) not working as hard for it as she's had to or when they threaten to come between her and the people she loves [see: Faith in Season 3, Anya in Season 5]. We know Willow is very often unsympathetic to other people's problems if she can't personally relate to them [see ... well, many examples, but in particular Buffy in Dead Man's Party].

We know that Willow's been getting into magic to an extent that worries all the other sympathetic magically-aware people we know. We know that Willow has a strong sense of herself as a 'good person' despite the fact she often does things that are illegal or dangerous or unwise. We know that Willow is proud of her intelligence and her accomplishments and that she often ignores advice she doesn't like or lashes out at people she thinks are talking down to her [see, for example, the way she talks to Tara in their fight in Tough Love]. We know Willow has had trouble respecting other people's wishes and that her first reaction to relationships going wrong is to try to work out how she can "make" people forgive her [how she reacts to Oz discovering her with Xander in Season 3, for example].

None of this has anything to do with Willow being tricked into being a magical drug addict by a girl who used to be her pet rat. It just doesn't.

In my ideal version of Season 6, Tara still leaves Willow (for much the same reason she does in canon: Willow not respecting her boundaries, using magic to mess with her memories to 'resolve' arguments they have) and Willow still reacts terribly (and manages to de-rattify Amy). But Rack doesn't exist and more generally Amy is not at all the person she is in canon who pushes Willow to use magic more and more because she's some sort of self-destructive hedonist.

Amy should be more or less the same person she was halfway through Season 3. She shouldn't be luring Willow into drug dens [drug dens which she shouldn't even know about!]. She shouldn't suddenly be recast as a Bad Influence. She should be more or less the person she was in Gingerbread. She should be (honestly) amazed by how much better at magic Willow's gotten since high school. She should think of Willow as her friend and try to 'stand up for her' because she (thinks she) knows that Willow lets people push her around too easily. She should (unintentioally) feed Willow's ego: tell her that she's perfectly in the right and it's everyone else who's over-reacting to her growing magical strength.

And yes, maybe eventually she should start directly encouraging Willow to misuse magic (to help her 'fix' her relationship with her Dad, for example, or to get back into college despite technically not finishing high school). But it should be a gradual process. It shouldn't be something that starts fan theories about Catherine Madison somehow posessing her again. And the narrative should [and I can't stress how much it doesn't do this] care the slightest bit about Amy herself as a person, and recognize that she has gone through something awful and traumatic.

Amy's role in the plot of Season 6 should be to encourage Willow to keep telling herself she can use magic all the time whatever anyone else says because she's a good person. She should enable Willow, sure, but not intentionally. She's been a rat since she was 17; she shouldn't know things about the world she didn't know three years ago (except rat things, I guess). She shouldn't force Willow to do magic or trick her into it, because then what happens to Willow is no longer a consequence of who Willow is as a person.

You can make Amy a catalyst for Willow's continued bad behaviour without making her deliberately evil. You just need to make Willow the more active partner in their relationship. Wilow should be the one to decide to keep using magic but just keep it hidden; the one who keeps finding excuses for why she can treat people like objects and still be a good person; the one who keeps redefining where the line is everytime she steps over it. Until eventually Willow goes too far even for Amy, and she has to reckon with what she's been doing all this time.

And that makes Season 7 Willow works better too, because she's actually got something real to feel guilty about. She's not just sorry that after Tara died she reacted by temporarily going a bit crazy and having a relapse into her former addiction [and then being persuaded by some bad magical energy she absorbed into wanting to end the world]. She should be sorry about what she deliberately did to Tara (and to Amy, and to Buffy, and to Dawn, and to everyone else), not what she almost did to the world when she wasn't in her right mind.

I mean, sure, you can keep Warren killing Tara if you want [I'm not sure I would, but...]. Play up the parallels between Warren and Willow, even. Keep Willow killing him and trying to kill Jonathan and Andrew. Keep her trying to end the world, too. But the fundamental moral agency should be Willow's.

Her arc shouldn't be a temporary drug habit she's tricked into by her Bad Friend followed by going cold turkey for a bit and then relapsing after a random horrible event. She shouldn't decide to end the world because a coven of witches we've never met use Giles as a proxy for some elaborate and almost self-defeating 11-dimensional chess game (I quite like Grave, all in all, but that particular twist is infuriatingly stupid). Willow should drive her Season 6 arc by being Willow, only worse. By being the same "callous and deeply strange" Willow we know from the high school seasons, just more so, one who ignores Buffy's advice from Ted to "use [her] powers for good".

The writers shouldn't be afraid to acknowledge that Willow Rosenberg (who, to be clear, is one of my favorite characters in fiction) actually does have the capacity to be a bad person without external factors forcing her into it.

[gayofthefae]

"Mike could tell Will had feelings for him" 'Well, then he's an asshole for acting that way'

You know what he'd be an asshole for if he knew?

ASKING HIM FOR RELATIONSHIP ADVICE. Insane! I mean, that's just shitty. That's driving someone to this point and pretending you don't know

If Mike really knew and did not reciprocate, I could forgive him for the lash out. But asking him to keep you and your girlfriend together as *the first thing you do* after IGNORING HIM FOR HER FOR 6 MONTHS?? That is WAY too much to ask and Mike is not too stupid to know that.

Even if the mean version of Mike is mildly homophobic, the nice version of him is still respectful enough that if he were genuinely made uncomfortable by it but knew that he was in the wrong, he would simply avoid ever mentioning his relationship around Will again. Maybe to a weird extent that caused issues of its own, but THAT'S the direction he would go.

ALSO! Doing what he's doing would arguably PROMPT more action from Will. It would drive him to a point of pain that likely causes distance and/or conflict and requires addressing!

If Mike ACTUALLY wanted to just pretend he didn't know and go about their lives as normal, best friends like they used to be, he would do everything in his power to prevent ever prompting that awkward conversation himself. If Will comes to him with it, fine. But JESUS CHRIST, ASKING FOR RELATIONSHIP ADVICE?

I can sort of see a Mike who has internalized the homophobia we saw put on him in season 1, when we're talking about him as a real person and not an arc or narrative. But I CANNOT see him realizing Will has feelings for him then asking him to HELP HIM TELL HIS GIRLFRIEND HOW MUCH HE LOVES HER.

That's some MEAN GIRL shit. The fight would be a lash out of his own implicit biases. But that would be malicious. It's malicious or plead incompetently stupid.

Maybe Mike could be a mild homophobe as a logical product of his environment that he is working through. But he's not a mean girl. In this context, that's worse.

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 5 - Turn the Lights Off

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: OPLA Buggy x f!Reader

Synopsis: In lieu of therapy, Professor Buggy agrees to giving you pirate lessons.

Word Count: 9.6k

Notes: It's Sunday again, here is your clown. If last week was the stick, here is the carrot. Next week is the riding.

“Everybody likes to get taken for turns To see how bright the fire inside of us burns And everybody wants to get evil tonight But all good devil's masquerade under the light”

xxx

“Blink,” Pippa said. You blinked, staring up at the ceiling as she coated your eyelashes with mascara, holding stock still to avoid getting poked in the eye. There was only the one to spare. “Blink.” You blinked. She recoated the wand in product, wiggling it along your bottom eyelashes to paint them too. 

Asking Pippa to help you get ready had unearthed a long-buried memory, one of sitting by Mom’s vanity and watching her apply makeup thinking that one day, you would be a beautiful grown-up woman who would do the same. The glamor of it all enticed your childish self, the allure of being beautiful sparking up some immature fantasy of romance. To the extent that you could remember, Mom had been a gorgeous woman. 

What would Captain Buggy think of you if you looked more like her? If you hadn’t been so sickly, if you hadn’t gotten in an accident, if you had learned to make yourself look beautiful, if things had been different, would he like you more?

“Hey,” Pippa said, snapping in front of your face, forcing you back to attention. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, of course,” you said, forcing an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s creepy when you stare like that, like one of those porcelain dolls.” She pursed her lips, contemplating your face. You fought the urge to pull down your bandana. “I’ll add some blush. That might add a little life back into your face. Smile wide.” 

You smiled as wide as you could, although it probably looked like more of a grimace. While Pippa blushed your cheeks with a big fluffy brush, you kept blinking as if to free your eyelid of the extra weight of mascara on your lashes. The inky product was heavy enough, how Captain Buggy could stand wearing false eyelashes, you had no idea. 

“Do you really think Captain Buggy will like this?” you asked when she set aside the brush. You tugged at the long sleeves of the dress, nervously pulling at the skirt’s hem to bring it down a little lower. Unlike the loose, plain dress Crina had lent you, this one drew attention with its vivid striped pattern of red and white, notably fitted bodice, and ruffle trim. Wearing it made your skin crawl, made you want to shrivel up to hide from anyone who might notice you. But you weren’t allowed to feel that anymore. Determination meant squishing the part of yourself that was too weak to embrace a new version of yourself, the one that was stuck in the past. 

“I think he’s a man,” Pippa said, making a little adjustment to your twintails, spraying your hair with something to keep the strays in place. “If you really wanted to impress him, you’d be better off wearing nothing at all.” She glanced at your face, her expression softening at your horrified expression. “You look good,” she reassured you. “He’ll like it.”   

You nodded, exhaling in an attempt to ease the knot in your chest. “Thank you for helping me.”

“How could I turn a blind eye to such a tragedy?” Pippa asked. “You’re too cute for those awful sweaters.” She stepped back, taking it all in with her lips pursed before nodding with satisfaction. “Okay, you’re ready.”

You weren’t entirely sure you were ready, but it didn’t matter. 

“Thank you, Pippa.”

“Remember that you’re doing this for you too,” she told you. “You look like one of us now.”

“Right, that’s… that’s true. I’ll see you later,” you told her, smoothing the skirt one more time before taking off for the galley. 

Walking with the skirt swishing around your thighs was stranger than you would have thought. It felt flirty, in a way. Or inviting. Pippa had lent you a pair of lace trimmed bloomers that would protect your modesty while scaling the ladder or if you were caught by a stray gust of wind, but everything from your mid-thigh down was exposed. 

Ignore it. Pretend you didn’t even feel the discomfort.

You picked up your and the captain’s breakfast, following the increasingly familiar routine. From the kitchen to the officer’s mess to Captain Buggy’s cabin door. Then you balanced the tray on your hip and unlocked the door, showing yourself in and setting the tray on the table. 

“Captain?” you called, peeking around the doorway into his room. Buggy laid in bed with his eyes closed, but you could tell he was already awake by the way his face scrunched up in response to your voice. “Good morning, Captain Buggy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. A moment later, he groaned dramatically, sitting up with his eyes still shut. “Get my-” The last word was lost in a yawn. You grabbed his robe, bringing it over while he pried his eyes open. 

Sleepily, he looked at you, and then did a double take, blinking his red-rimmed eyes over and over like he couldn’t quite make out what he was looking at. You touched your hair, trying to pull it forward before you remembered it was pulled into tails. Instead, your hand dropped lamely, tugging at your bandana. He was going to insult you, or say you looked ridiculous. He was going to laugh. You could feel it, could sense it. 

Instead, he just stared.

“Sir?” you prompted, holding out his robe. 

“Did you do something different with your hair?” he asked, his voice husky and groggy.  

The question took you by surprise, it was almost a letdown after such a prolonged buildup of nerves. “Um… Yes, sir.”

“Huh.” Still looking dazed, he shook his head and took the robe, swinging his feet onto the floor to stand up. You hurried ahead into the other room, setting up his breakfast while he lumbered in. You took your seat, trying to calm down. You needed to act normal. 

Buggy didn’t seem especially interested, coming in with a massive yawn he didn’t bother to cover, scratching his chest absently before dropping into the chair. He blinked again a few times, and then looked at you. His eyes were rimmed with the same shade of red as his nose, glazed over. You smiled nervously, but couldn’t maintain eye contact, looking back down at the table. You wanted to start talking immediately, the words had been stewing in your head all night, but now that he was there, you couldn’t find them.

He looked like he cared more about breakfast anyway. Of all the meals, it was the one he took the most seriously, probably because he was so slow to wake up most days. Your stomach was a snarling nest of knots, but if you didn’t eat, Buggy would be annoyed. After so long without regular meals, and certainly not the hearty—if unsavory—foods favored by pirates, eating everything at every meal was a tough adjustment, sometimes it laid in your stomach like a brick. But you did it, gritting your teeth and choking down every last bite. When you swore to do anything he asked, you meant it. 

Reasonably, only minutes could have passed, but it felt like much, much longer before he finished his breakfast. Buggy leaned back and belched, rolling his head around to stretch his neck. He yawned again for good measure, and then looked at you. 

Now or never, right?

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, willing yourself to not be so self-conscious. “I thought about what you said yesterday.”

“What?” 

“About me,” you prompted. “Don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, right,” he said. “Of course I remember.”

You couldn’t tell if he meant that or not, but you were too wound up to say anything other than the words you had carefully prepared. “I want to fit in with the rest of the crew. Like you said, I want to—to be different. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to be a pirate, I really do.”

He blinked. “Is that why you’re dressed like Santa’s favorite little elf?” 

“Oh, I… Um. Kind of,” you said, fidgeting uncomfortably. “If you don’t like it I can-”

“Woah, woah, I never said I don’t like it,” he said, cutting you off. “Come over here, let me get a closer look.” 

You stood up, adjusting your skirt, and rounded the table so he could see the whole outfit. It was a different sort of discomfort than you felt around everybody else. Anticipatory, anxious, excited. When other people looked at you, you didn’t want to be seen. You didn’t want them to think about how pathetic you were for trying, or how unattractive you were, or judge you for things that weren’t true. When Captain Buggy looked at you, you wanted him to see your bare legs and the tighter bodice, you wanted him to think you had value, to think of you as somebody worth looking at. And you didn’t. You wanted to hide from his pretty eyes out of fear that he would think you were trying too hard, and that you were as unappealing as you knew you were.

“I like the hair,” he said. “Doesn’t really help with the whole creep thing, but it's cute that you wanna look like me.”

You reached up to tug on one of the twintails. You hadn’t even considered the similarities to how Captain Buggy wore his hair when he had his hat on. “Creep thing?”

“Come on,” Buggy said wryly. “You’re like two feet tall. Unless you’ve got the goods on display, I look like one of those weirdos runnin’ around with a kid sidekick.”

You self-consciously stood up a little taller, frowning. It wasn’t like Buggy was that tall, and it wasn’t your fault. That’s what Crina said. 

Stunted development.

“Speaking of,” Buggy said, ignorant of your unpleasant thoughts. He reached out to pinch the fabric of your skirt, using it to pull you a step closer, “aren’t you worried about wearing a skirt like this? I’m relieved you’re loosening up, but there are some things you might wanna leave just between us.” 

“I’m wearing shorts underneath,” you told him, flushing at the reminder that he had seen you in your underwear before. You still had no idea what had happened to Crina’s dress.  

Buggy’s playful smile dropped as he lifted your skirt to look at the shorts. You wanted to smack his hand away and step back, but you didn’t. The shorts were completely opaque, he couldn’t see anything. It was fine. 

“Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of wearing a skirt?” Buggy asked, releasing your dress.  

“I… I don’t think I know what you mean,” you admitted, smoothing the skirt back into place. “The purpose is just because it looks nice, right?” 

Buggy shrugged as if to concede the point, nodding as he appraised you again. You resisted the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. “Fine,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. “You got me, I believe that you mean it. Assuming nothing better comes up, I’ll take some time out of my very busy day to teach you a few things.”

“Really?” 

“Clearly I need to take a hands-on approach if you’re gonna learn anything. I can’t have you running off to somebody else for help.”

“Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, smiling. 

He stood up, stepping in close and meeting your eye. “You better be on your best behavior, otherwise Professor Buggy’s gonna send you to detention.” 

You felt your stomach drop nervously, the words affecting you in a way you weren’t sure you liked. “I will be, I promise,” you said softly, nodding.

He patted your cheek, turning to go into the bedroom. 

“And, um… Captain Buggy?” you called. He paused, half turning towards you. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really am.” 

“Ah, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you or anything,” he said flippantly. “It’s not even the worst handjob I’ve ever gotten. At least you got it off.”

He said it like a joke, most likely an innuendo, so you laughed, a little giddy with excitement and nerves and that dark sinking feeling you weren’t sure what to call. Exhaling all of the breath in your lungs, you shook your head free of all of those thoughts. The day had only just begun and you knew how quickly the tides could turn, but you no longer felt terrified of what might happen. You could do this. You would be someone worth loving.

From what you gathered, the ship was in the area where they intended to stage an attack, and that meant all hands on deck. Despite Captain Buggy’s promise of teaching you, he sent you down below to spend the morning helping with preparing the ship. You were the smallest, so you were the one who had to squeeze into the narrow storage spaces. Difficult and tiring as the work was, Marty and Pippa had been right about the previous day helping you to ingratiate yourself with the crew. Not all of them, but a few. Enough. 

When you emerged onto the upper deck, you weren’t sure you had ever been as appreciative of the scent of the open ocean air. It felt like the smell of gunpowder and rot and smoke had coated the inside of your nose. You made your way towards Captain Buggy’s office with your head down, trying to give your eye time to adjust to the blinding sunlight. 

“Hey,” somebody called. You didn’t look up until you heard the whistle, and then you realized whose voice it was. Your head snapped up and you raised your hand to shade your eye, to see a slightly irked Buggy standing by the steps leading up to the quarter deck. It looked like he’d been speaking to some people, but they walked away as you approached. “You deaf or somethin’?” 

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“We’re gonna start your lessons,” Buggy said. “Unless you changed your mind.”  

You blinked at him, your eye still slightly blind from the sun. He was without his hat, wearing his red and white striped kerchief. The one your dress matched. Was that on purpose? You doubted it, but you liked the idea.

“No! I’m ready whenever you are, Captain Buggy.”

“Come up here.” Buggy nodded for you to follow before turning around to take the steps up to where the wheel was mounted. You hurried to follow him, almost stumbling on the bottom step while he waited at the top. “Sometime today, maybe?” He called.

“Sorry, sir,” you said, trying very hard to not sound at all winded as you joined him.

“Captain Buggy,” the red-faced helmsman, Newt, acknowledged. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” Buggy said dismissively. “Don’t mind us, I’m just teaching a few things to my little protégé.”

Newt nodded, his eyes flicking to you and back. “Of course, Captain Buggy. Just holler if you need anything from me.” 

“Do you,” Buggy began, turning around to face you, “know what this is?” He gestured behind himself.

The question seemed duplicitously simple, although there was also a chance that he thought you were that stupid. “That’s the wheel,” you said, “or, um... the helm, right?”

“Very good,” Buggy said, patting you on the head as he passed by to lean against the railing. “Remember, wherever the helm goes, the rudder follows. Where the rudder goes, we go,” Buggy said. “You-” He pointed at you. “Do not touch the wheel. Ever.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Let’s try something a little harder—what direction are we going right now?” Buggy asked. You looked around at the open ocean, confused. It all looked the same, blue water as far as you could see until it met the seam of a different shade of equally endless blue sky. 

“I-I um…” 

“Here’s a hint,” Buggy said, taking something shiny out of his pocket with a dramatic roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, a compass!” you said.

“That’s right,” Buggy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He flicked it open, using his body to shield it from the glare. “Do you know what it does?”

“It tells you directions.”

“Wow, look at that. Two for two,” he said dryly. “Do you know how to read it?” 

“Um… Kind of.” 

“Come here,” Buggy said, motioning you closer.

You hesitated, realizing what he meant—how close you would have to stand to be able to read the compass. That was fine. It was silly to be uncomfortable. You crowded in close enough for him to reach his arm around you so you could both look at the compass face. No sleeves, just his bare arm. That shouldn’t have mattered at all, but it kind of did. 

“You know the cardinal directions, sweetheart?” Buggy asked. He brushed your hair off of your neck to keep it from blowing in his face. The gesture was small, but it pulled a little shiver down your spine despite the hot beat of the sun.

“Of course—of course I do,” you said, clearing your throat. “North, east, south, and west.” 

“You see the red hand there? That’s always gonna point north. Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, so what direction are we going?” 

You stared very hard at the compass, willing your brain to compute what you were seeing to find the right answer. It should have been easy, but with Buggy standing so close and the tension of nerves making you second guess yourself, you couldn’t figure it out. The more you looked, the less the letters and notches stayed in place, your vision blurring as it always did when you tried to focus on things like words and numbers.  

“Time’s up,” Buggy declared, flicking the compass shut. “There’s another way to figure it out, you know. One that’s much easier. Perfect for someone like you.”

“How?” 

“Hey, Newt,” Buggy called. “What direction are we going? Use simple terms, for her sake.”

“Simple terms? Well,” Newt cleared his throat, “I s’pose you’d say, in simple terms, we’re heading northeast.”

“There ya go, babydoll,” Buggy said. “Easy as that.”

You weren’t sure how useful it would be, especially considering you would never be in a navigating position, but you weren’t about to question why Buggy wanted to teach you these things, nodding instead. “Yes, sir.”

“Here’s an easy one,” Buggy said. “Where’s starboard?” 

“I-I don’t know. Is it… the… upper deck?” you guessed. “Because you can see the stars?” 

“Wrong, it’s—” Buggy stopped, looking at you like you were stupid. “Wait, are you serious?” 

You frowned. Realizing that you weren’t joking, he burst out laughing. 

“I told you I don’t know!” 

“Calm down, you don’t gotta whine about it,” Buggy said, patting your head. “How about port? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not in the casks down below.” 

This, at least, you were pretty sure you knew. “It’s, um, the right side? Or left?” 

Buggy rolled his eyes and grabbed the top of your head, physically turning you towards the bow. “Starboard,” he said, gesturing to the right side. “Port.” He gestured to the left. “Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough ship stuff. If I wanted to sharpen my knife, what would you call that?” 

You hesitated, confused by the sudden shift in subject matter. At least you knew this one. “Honing.” 

“Edging,” he corrected. “As in, refining the edge. It’s really an all-purpose term, you can use it when you want to perfect anything. Like you, for example,” Buggy explained with a growing smile. “You’re not that different from a dull blade I wanna shape up, so you could say that I want to edge you to my personal satisfaction.” 

Newt burst out laughing, and Buggy’s amusement dropped, his head snapping towards the man. “Something funny?” he called. 

“No, Captain Buggy,” Newt said, his laughter dying out immediately. 

Buggy rolled his eyes. “You see what he’s doing right now?” he asked you. “The helmsman has to hold onto the wheel. It’s what pirates call rimming. Newt’s good at it ‘cause he’s got so much experience. Isn’t that right?”

“Er, yes, Captain Buggy,” Newt said.

Buggy looked back to you with another big grin. “Got all that? Great, let’s go back down.” He didn’t wait for your response before going back down the steps, leaving you to trail behind, confused about the contents of the ‘lesson’ and realizing more than ever how completely in over your head you were.

A couple more hours down below left you exhausted as you returned to the upper deck to ask Captain Buggy where he intended to eat supper. It wasn’t as busy as it had been for most of the day. Ahead, you recognized Marty and a couple other crewmates, people you weren’t as familiar with.

As you passed them, the banged-up, disembodied arm of a mannequin flopped onto the deck in front of you.

“Ahhh, my hand!” one of the men cried. “Pick it up, pick it up!” 

You frowned, flushing with embarrassment at the reminder of yesterday. 

Marty patted your shoulder, his smile much nicer than the others. “They’re just teasing you, girlie. Don’t take it too seriously.” 

You nodded. It was just teasing. You could handle teasing, Captain Buggy did nothing except tease you. So you steeled yourself, stooping down to pick up the fake arm. 

“Mine was a better handjob than yours,” you said, using Buggy’s joke from that morning. “At least I actually got it off.” You held up the arm, which was intact from elbow joint to fingertip. More of a forearmjob, if such a thing existed. “It’s all about the wrist.”

Marty, at the very least, found that funny, setting you at ease the tiniest bit.

“Got a lot of experience with it, have you?” one of the women asked. You were pretty sure her name was Pogo.

Was that another innuendo? Or was she talking literally? “Probably not as much as you,” you told her, smiling to try and make light of it either way.

Marty let out a barking guffaw, although the reaction of the group seemed mixed otherwise. Flushing, shaking from the rush of adrenaline you got from speaking up like that, you handed Marty the mannequin arm. 

“I have to hurry, sorry.” 

You heard more jeers as you walked away, going as fast as you could. What you said was wrong, you should have held your tongue. Even if it was teasing, telling a joke you didn’t understand just to try and save face was childish. 

Don’t think about it. Just pretend it didn’t happen. 

Once you were in the map room, you could see that Buggy’s office door was open. He was sitting sideways in his chair with his boots propped up, reading a book. You knocked, leaning in the doorway. 

“Captain Buggy?” you asked. 

“What do you want?” he snapped, irritated.

“I, um, I came to ask if you would be dining in your office. I’m sorry to disturb you.” 

Buggy looked up at you over the top of the book, his scowl softening before he sighed, throwing it down and massaging his temples. You looked at the book curiously. For some reason, the red leather binding seemed familiar to you.  

“You’re not much of a reader, huh? ‘Cause of the-” He gestured to his eye.

“No, sir. I’m sorry.” 

Buggy sighed dramatically. “Maybe I’ll get Mohji to look this over. He’s so concerned with that lion. It better dance like a goddamn ballerina, otherwise it’s gonna be dinner.” 

“What are you reading, captain?” you asked. 

“It’s a trade route log from that shithole town we ransacked the other night.”

You went still, realizing why the book looked so familiar. 

“Do you know where it was found?” you asked.

“Big, fancy house—same place as the maps. Apparently the idiot who lived there forgot to lock his safe.”

Dad always, always kept his safe locked. Not only that, but he had it set so that the contents would be destroyed if anyone were to attempt to force it open. He had no idea you knew how to circumvent his security, you couldn’t even begin to imagine his fury if he did. But you did know how to get into his safe, and you had opened it on the day you ran away to steal Buggy’s poster, some money, and get a last look at the pictures he kept hidden. Had you reset the security measures and locked the safe when you left? You couldn’t remember, but the answer was probably no. 

But you couldn’t tell Buggy about any of that. It was almost dizzying to realize how deep into the lie you were, almost completely by accident. You didn’t tell Buggy who your father was because you didn’t want him to know you were related to a retired Marine. If you said it now, he would wonder why you hadn’t mentioned it when you saw the maps, and you would look even more suspicious. 

Uncomfortable indecision consumed you as you stood there, stringing together stilted explanations you weren’t even sure Buggy would listen to once you admitted to lying. 

“Oh, right,” Buggy said, noticing your expression. “You probably knew the guy, huh? I bet you had no idea he was using your nice little town with its fancy little harbor to move drugs.” 

“No,” you said sharply. Then, realizing how harsh that sounded, you shook your head, trying to backpedal. “I mean, that’s not… There’s no way he would do that. He’s a retired Marine.” 

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Of course he was. Only a Marine would have the balls to traffic drugs but forget to lock his safe.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “Now there’s a lesson for ya, kiddo. Marines are dumb as shit. Stink like shit too, ‘cause of all the ass kissing they do.”

“No, there has to be a mistake,” you argued. “I know him, and he would… He would never, ever be involved in anything like that.”

Buggy gave you a flat look. “How well do you know him?”

You balked, shaking your head. “He’s Randall’s dad,” you said, the first reasonable lie you could think of. “I don’t know him well, I-I just… I just find it hard to believe. But…” You exhaled until your shoulders collapsed inwards, trying to steady yourself and not give anything away. “That’s naive, isn’t it.”

“Good thing stupid looks cute on you,” Buggy said, standing up. He circled his desk, grabbing your shoulder in a friendly sort of way. “Eventually, you’ll learn that everyone lies. Evvvvv-ryone. That’s why you gotta stick with me, I’ll set you straight.” He winked before turning towards the door, stretching his arms above his head. “C’mon. We’re gonna eat in the officer’s mess.”  

You paused before following, looking over your shoulder at the book he’d carelessly thrown onto the desktop. Was there anything in there that would tie you to dad? Probably not, most likely not. Then again, you couldn’t really believe that dad was involved with trafficking drugs either. 

“Move your ass, kid,” Buggy complained. “I’m starving.” 

“I’m not really much of a fisher myself,” Buggy said as he shrugged off his coat for you to hang up, “but I knew this juggler who was amazing at it. He could catch any type of fish. A real master baiter. So he and I were—”

Master baiter? You pursed your lips. Even you knew that one. “Captain Buggy,” you said, cutting him off. “Is this a joke?” 

“What?” he asked, clearly annoyed by the interruption as he pulled off his gloves. “No. Why would you think that?”

If he was messing with you, his expression didn’t give it up. “Just ‘cause…” You shrugged helplessly. “Nevermind, I’m sorry.” 

“Oooo-kay,” he said, drawing out the word sarcastically. “Like I said, this guy was something else, but there was one thing he never managed to catch. There’s this rare species of clam that’s pretty hard to get. Because of where they live, they get covered with seaweed, kinda like a beard. You know, bearded clams. You have to give ‘em a good in-and-out with your spear if you wanna catch one.”

He collapsed into his chair, leaning back to let you take off his hat and headscarf. His hair was such a pretty color. Buggy got annoyed if you were too rough with his hair which seemed a little unfair considering how unruly it was, but that definitely wasn’t something you intended to push. 

“This guy was desperate to run one through himself, but his technique was shit,” Buggy continued. “So I was out there with him and he just kept failing over and over before he finally gives up, coming out of the water all miserable holding something shiny. He thought they were pearls, but they were actually a set of his own blue balls.”

You snorted in amusement. “Now I know you’re making this up, Captain Buggy,” you said, combing his hair back and using some of the powdery dry shampoo to soak up the grease. 

“Nope, it’s all true,” Buggy said. He raised his right hand. “On God.” 

“Blue balls?” you repeated. “I’m not that stupid.” 

“Well, yeah. He was a juggler. Why, what do you think I meant?”

“Like…” you hesitated, suddenly doubting that you were right. Maybe you were just going to embarrass yourself. “Isn’t that something that men…”  

“That men… What?” Buggy asked, turning his head to look up at you. His eyes glinted mischievously. He was messing with you, he had to be. 

“I don’t know, but it’s… It’s something uncomfortable, isn’t it?” 

Buggy burst out laughing, shaking his head as it fell into his palm. “You know, it makes sense that this would go over your head, you’re so short that everything else does.” 

You frowned. “Will you explain it to me?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You frowned and sighed, kneeling to get his boots. Buggy had the grace to point his toes, at least, which made it easier for you.

“I keep trying to figure what might happen to a girl that she ends up like you, but I’m drawing a blank,” Buggy said, his tone becoming thoughtful. “I get the daddy issues, and I even get the sort of wacky one-eyed ingénue thing you’ve got going. I’ve seen it all. For some reason, I always bag the crazy chicks. If anything, you’re a step up in that department.”

“Have you had a lot of girlfriends, Captain Buggy?” you asked, your mind latching onto that comment over everything else. The idea of Buggy with other women made you feel oddly cold.

“Girlfriends?” he repeated, like it was a dirty word. “What am I, twelve? I don’t have time for that shit.”

“But you said that…” you looked up at him, frowning in confusion. “Nevermind.”

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Buggy asked. “Other than that shidiot from the other day.” 

The mention of Randall made your heart rate pick up, but you fought the reaction. Don’t think about it. It was fine. Instead, you focused on wrestling off his other boot. “None.”

Buggy snorted in amusement. “I figured.”

Setting aside his boots, you washed your hands and got the makeup remover. He’d made a mess of it all last night when he did it himself. You made a note to tidy up and returned to Buggy, keeping your head down. 

“Now that you’ve got this new look, you should embrace your little deformity,” he told you as you began removing his makeup, starting on his forehead like usual. Instead of waiting for your answer, he pulled your bandana up and off, a huge grin splitting his face at the sight of your uncovered eye. Your breath caught, your body freezing in place. “Might as well go all the way,” he said, tracing the scar’s jagged edge. It split the top of your cheek, a lightning bolt of white and red scar tissue.

“Captain Buggy,” you muttered softly, staring very intently at his shoulder. Losing the bandana felt like going without underwear, and having him touch the scar was almost as bad as if he shoved a hand up your shirt. “Please give it back. Please?” 

“Do you need it to do your job?” Buggy asked. 

You rolled your lip between your teeth, realizing where he was going with this. “No,” you finally allowed. 

“Then why did you stop?”

Your eyebrows furrowed to express your displeasure, but he just smiled. At least he had to close his eyes as you returned to removing his makeup, loading the rag up with greasepaint. Luckily, Buggy didn’t say anything else until you were finished. When you set the rag and oil aside, his eyes opened. The rings of pale green and blue that made up his irises made it difficult to determine their exact color sometimes, although it was always clear that his eyes were pretty and round and bright. They could have a strikingly youthful quality as well, especially without any makeup.

“How did you get it anyway?” Buggy asked. “Did daddy beat you a little too hard?” 

“No,” you said immediately, a little abruptly. Then you stopped yourself, realizing how the sharpness of your tone might sound.  “Sorry, no. Nothing like that… It was an accident.” 

“If you were even half as dedicated to me as you’ve been claiming you are, then why do you keep lying?” 

“I’m not lying,” you said. Not lying about this, at least. “It’s hard to… I don’t want to cry. It’s so embarrassing.” 

“C’mon, what’s on the line?” Buggy asked. “Your dignity?” 

Much as it hurt, he was right. What dignity did you have to sacrifice? It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Your own little pitiful tragedy. Everybody had pain. Everybody suffered bad things. You needed to be an adult about it. 

“There was… it was an explosion. I wasn’t close enough to… But I got hit by debris and…” You drew a line from over your left eyebrow and down, ending with the jagged canyon of scar tissue dug into your cheek. “My Mom was,” you had to force the words out, it was as if your body physically did not want to speak them, like metal grinding against metal, “she was in it.”

Buggy pulled in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Oof. Daddy and mommy issues, that’s… Actually, that explains a lot.”

You sniffed, carefully wiping under your eye so as to not smear the mascara. Your hands shook so hard it felt violent, your body reacting even worse than your mind. Stupid. You were being stupid and embarrassing. 

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Buggy asked.

“No, it… It was a long time ago, it’s fine,” you said gruffly. “My head hurts sometimes, but it’s fine.”  

“No, I don’t mean physically,” he said dismissively. “I’m talking about pain. Real pain. That’s why you wear this thing, right?” He asked, holding up the worn scrap of fabric. “Because it hurts.”   

You shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer, not wanting to answer. “I… I guess so.”

“That’s a good thing,” Buggy said.  

“I don’t think…” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. You didn’t want to disagree with Captain Buggy, but you couldn’t agree either. Pain made you weak, you were more than aware of that. “I don’t know.” 

Buggy leaned forward and grabbed your head, cradling it. “Pain is the foundation of all great art,” he told you, forcing you to look into his eyes. “We both know that you have absolutely zero potential, but your suffering, babydoll… Your suffering can be shaped into something brilliant.”  

You swallowed hard, holding your breath in the electric limbo of the inches between you and him, burning between the clasp of his hands on either side of your head.

“How?”

“We’ll work on it,” Buggy said, releasing you. You nearly fell over when he stood up, dazed from the way he had been holding you. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a big day, I can feel it.” 

“Yes, sir,” you said softly, clearing your throat. “Goodnight, Captain Buggy.” 

Marty was polishing his weapons when you returned to your bunk, shooting you a toothy smile. Pippa was already asleep, a mask over her eyes and arms folded like a corpse. She told you sleeping like that helped with wrinkles.

“Hey there, girlie,” Marty said. After the troublesome conversation you had with Buggy, you felt more than a little appreciative for his uncomplicated friendship. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?” You asked. 

“I got the night shift.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

He shrugged good naturedly. “It’s the job, I can’t complain much. ‘Sides, I was hoping to catch you before you turned in.” He appraised the little knife he’d been shining before flipping it closed and holding it out to you. “For you.”

“For me?” you repeated, uncertain of how to react. “Why?” 

“Every pirate needs one. It’s a part of the code.” 

“Marty, I…” You swallowed hard, surprised by how touching the offer was. “Thank you, but I can’t take your knife.” 

“Nah, I don’t want it. I thought it looked nice when I found it, but it’s too girly for me. Go on, ‘else it’s goin’ into the ocean.” 

With careful fingers, you accepted the knife, weighing it in your hand. It wasn’t big or heavy and, with the blade folded, there was nothing intimidating about it. Marty had oiled and shined it, but it was still a simple thing of metal and wood, the blade swinging out from the grip on a hinge. You had no idea what he thought was ‘girly’ about it, it seemed perfectly average to you. Plain, yes, although right then it was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. 

“Thank you,” you told him, curling your fingers around it protectively. 

“I’ve got a feeling you’ll need it ‘fore long. Some men don’t know how to act around a pretty gal.” He stood up and stretched, yawning widely. “Alright, girlie. Sleep well.” 

“Thank you, Marty.” 

You stood there even after he had gone, holding the knife in a clenched fist and trying to sort through your unsettled feelings.

It was the music that woke you up. A lone melody, perfectly in tune even a capella. Virtuosity swirled in her blood, as tangible as her flesh. Beauty was not why you caged a songbird, although the lovely color could confuse somebody who didn’t know how to truly value a canary.   

Weightless as the dark through which you traversed, you felt yourself drifting towards her voice, lured as surely as if it were a siren’s call. 

Light from the window nearly blinded you, all you could make out was her silhouette. Achingly familiar. You’d have known her anyway, from nothing more than a single breath you would know your own mother. From the shadow’s edge dripped tears, falling even as she continued to sing, looking out into a landscape too bright for you to comprehend. Brighter and brighter. Soon it would be too blinding for you to see anything at all, too loud for you to hear her. If she turned her head, even if just by a few inches, you would see her face again. You could go to her, and her song would be happy once more. But your voice was gone, and your feet would take you no further, and she continued to sing her mournful song. That’s what she had always been. Beautiful and distant and impossible.

All at once, you know where you were. When you were. Hot, agonizingly bright light consumed everything, and the first sounds of the world breaking would be loud before they yielded to silence, and the air was bad, that’s why the canary stopped singing.

“How are you?” Crina asked. She claimed this would be your last ‘check-up’ and you were eager to get it over with, to convince her of your own vitality. “Are the headaches any better?” 

“Much, much better,” you told her. It was a lie, but a small one. A harmless one. The truth was that the headaches were never gone for long and the base of your skull still thumped from the memory of whatever Ivo had hit you with and you had to sneak in frequent breaks so you didn’t pass out when you stood up, but those were things she couldn’t fix.  

“Have you been eating like I told you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Any dizzy spells? Fainting?” 

“No.” 

For a moment, you thought for sure Crina would call you out on that lie. Of course you had dizzy spells, and moments where you had to rest just to catch your breath. That was normal for you, and you could handle it. To your relief, she didn’t press the matter, allowing it to pass. 

“You look tired, are you not getting enough sleep?” 

“I had bad dreams last night,” you admitted. “I don’t usually, but…” You frowned, looking at the floor. It was because you had been thinking of her, of what happened. Dad told you that it was bad to think or talk about it, that it would only aggravate the internal wound. “It’s okay,” you said, forcing a smile. “Nothing serious.”  

“I have something for you,” Crina told you, picking up a wrapped package and handing it over.

“What is it?” 

“Pads to put in your underwear.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “For what?” 

Crina’s eyes narrowed. “For your monthly. I don’t know when you have yours, but I’m worried you’ll be too embarrassed to ask for any help and bleed everywhere. With everybody packed in like this, you have to take care of these things quickly and as cleanly as possible.”

A hot flush immediately burned your cheeks, and you shoved the package back towards her. “I don’t need them,” you said, looking very hard at the floor. “I don’t get… get that anymore.” 

Although you were avoiding her eye, you could tell Crina was frowning. “What do you mean?”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to be normal, to calm down. “The blood and everything,” you explained. “I don’t get that.” 

“When was your last cycle?” 

“Why does that matter?” 

“It’s a matter of your health.” 

You let out a shaky breath, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s been a long time. My dad said that it’s… it’s not natural, that it’s unhealthy to bleed like that. Especially since I was so sick, my body can’t handle the stress.”

“So he stopped it?” 

Crina’s tone, dangerously questioning, made your stomach drop. You closed your mouth hard, your teeth clacking together. Already you were shaking your head, although you didn’t know why. “It’s not like that,” you said. 

“I did not want to ask you this,” Crina said carefully, “and I wish I didn’t have to, but did your father ever hurt you?”

“No, it’s not like that,” you said again.

“One of the methods of stopping that process is surgical. Did he ever operate on you?” 

“No,” you said even louder, shaking your head fast. “No, no. No. It was… food, medicine. He never… I don’t want to talk about this anymore, it doesn’t even matter, it’s…” You shook your head, rejecting it all.   

Crina backed off, leaving you to shake and choke back the horrible bite of nausea in your throat. With clammy fingers, you undid the twintails Pippa had shown you how to style to let your hair hang in a limp curtain, pulling it forward to hide your face. 

“I like your new clothes,” Crina said, her tone much lighter. “I assume this was Pippa’s idea?”

You nodded, letting out a choked, “yes.”

“Do you like it?” 

“I… I think I do,” you said, wiping your eye. It was too late to pretend that you hadn’t been upset, but you could still save some face. 

“You think you do?” 

Sniffling, you tried to center yourself, to find an answer she might accept. That morning, after the dream and all of the sludge that it plunged out of your subconscious, you wanted to return to the ‘lumpy sweaters’ that Pippa hated. They kept you hidden. They were comfortable. Fortunately, Pippa did not let you make that choice, making you up like you were a dress up doll. 

When you took Buggy his breakfast, he didn’t say anything weird. He told you that you looked cute. Not cute-ish, just cute. Even thinking about it put a tingly sort of heat in your belly.

But then other people looked at you, they saw the hem of the black, puffy shorts and makeup and fitted shirt and it made your skin crawl with a million tiny little ants, your spine curling and shoulders collapsing in an attempt to invert back into yourself. When they saw you like this, did they think about bleeding and babies and sex? What could they see other than your ruined face and pathetic body?

“My favorite part of deciding what to wear,” Crina said, forcing your attention back to her, “is that clothes disguise you. The louder the outfit, the less people notice the person who’s wearing it. When they look at me, they see what I want them to see. It’s a sort of… sleight of hand. When they look at you wearing this, that’s what they see. Even your bandana looks like an intentional style.” 

You sniffled. “You think so?”

“That’s what Captain Buggy does with his makeup and the clothes. People were always going to see him in only one way, but now it’s on his terms.” 

“I guess that’s true,” you allowed. You hadn’t thought of it that way at all, which seemed silly now that she’d pointed it out. 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Crina nodded and turned away. You caught her by the sleeve, looking up at her directly. “Crina?” 

“Yes?” 

“Why are you so nice to me?” 

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I were mean?” 

“No, that’s not what I…” Your hand dropped and you shook your head with a pang of embarrassment. “Nevermind.” 

“Alright then,” Crina said. “Do you need help putting your hair back up?”

You ran your fingers through it, although the prompt was obvious. Keep it up. Be confident. Embrace the look. You sighed, nodding. You would be bold. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” you said. “I would appreciate it.”

“Zan?” you asked hopefully, tapping on the shoulder of who you hoped was the right man. A scout that had just returned from getting a good look at the ship Captain Buggy intended to capture. A man who was stupid enough to keep Captain Buggy waiting. He looked at you in surprise before recognition hit.

“Oh, it’s you. You look different,” he said, scanning you up and down. You felt bad to admit that you didn’t remember him at all, so you just smiled, trying to force yourself not to squirm beneath his not-so-subtle gaze. 

“Captain Buggy wants to see you,” you said. That was an understatement. The fact that Zan didn’t immediately give his report, instead going to the galley to find something to eat, left the captain more than a little unhappy. “That’s why… Um. I’ll go with you.” 

He took a big bite of what looked like a softened biscuit and grinned, saying something that sounded like ‘lead the way’ through his mouthful of food. You nodded, turning to cut your way towards the ladder to the upper deck. The berth was thick with activity and noise and motion and new scents and colors. Everybody had something very important to do. They were calling it a dress rehearsal, and with that came no small amount of makeup and costumes. The Buggy Pirates weren’t going to raid a merchant vessel like any other pirate crew, they were going to put on a show. Any survivors would well remember the performance.  

The upper deck swarmed with further chaos. Everything needed to be checked and double checked. Rather than the horrible nerves you felt at the prospect of violence, the air crackled with carnival-like excitement. Artistic egos and violent impulses had been building up to a breaking point with each day aboard, but now they had the promise of release. 

“Are you gonna join in the fun tonight?” Zan asked you. He’d gotten very close so you could hear him over the noise, standing in your blindspot in a way that made you jump. 

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, smiling apologetically. 

“Hm. All dressed up with nowhere to run, that’s a shame.” 

“Is it fun to be a scout?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

Zan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it’s fun, but it’s important. The captain sends men like me because I’m the best. I’ve got an eye for spotting the most profitable ships. I’ve got an eye for beautiful things too.”

“Which eye is which? Ships on the right and beautiful things on the left?” you asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from anything uncomfortable. “Or the other way around?” 

Zan laughed. “Let’s check, hm? Look at me and-” He covered his left eye, looking at you. Then he covered his right eye. “Hm. I guess both of them are good for spotting beautiful things.”  

You laughed nervously, tugging your bandana down.

“You know, while we were out there we happened upon a huge sea beast,” Zan said as you took the steps up onto the quarterdeck, undeterred by your reaction.

“What kind of sea beast?”

“It was hard to tell with all of its thrashing, but it was a frightful thing. So big that I could only see its outline in the depths.” 

“Really?” you asked without any shred of belief, opening the door into the map room.

“I damn near lost my arm.”

“How’d you get away then?” you asked, walking around the table to knock on Captain Buggy’s office door. 

“Well, that’s a tale unto itself,” Zan said. “But rest assured, the foul beast is ‘armless.”

“Come in,” Buggy said, his voice muffled. You hesitated before opening the door, registering Zan’s terrible joke. Armless. Harmless. You couldn’t help but let out a little burst of laughter, letting Zan enter as you tried to control your amusement. 

“What’s so funny?” Captain Buggy snapped, scowling. The mood of the room, of Buggy’s thunderous expression and Cabaji’s respectful impassivity finally hit you like a wall of ice. You cleared your throat.

“Nothing, Captain Buggy,” you said, bowing your head. “Just a… a joke.”

“Oh really?” Buggy asked. He smiled, but it didn’t at all reach his eyes. “Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s nothing, Captain Buggy,” Zan said. “I have the report.” 

“Do you? Here I was thinking maybe you’d taken up a career in comedy instead. It’s funny that you think you can keep me waiting while you stuff your face and try to flirt with my half-wit errand girl. Speaking of-” Buggy looked at you, nodding to the door. “Out.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Standing in the sun for too long left your head aching and sunburned your scalp, but you didn’t dare leave your post, resolved to wait patiently and professionally. It was hard to not take Buggy’s moods personally, but he probably didn’t mean it. You understood why he was unhappy, tonight was a big night and Zan was behaving unprofessionally. What worried you more was his use of the word ‘flirt’. The word was a crime unto itself, bearing down on you with suffocating amounts of guilt. That’s why you didn’t dress like this. It was an open invitation, a signal you sent out that practically begged for that sort of attention. 

You had no idea how much time passed before Zan left Captain Buggy’s office. He left with his face resolutely turned forward, walking fast without any acknowledgement of your attempted apology. Cabaji followed shortly behind him. He said nothing, only acknowledging you to nod you back into Buggy’s office. 

That did not bode well.

Steeling yourself with your hands balled into fists at your sides, you braved going in. The door into his office was open for you. Buggy was writing something furiously, muttering under his breath. After standing in the sun, the relative cool of his office made you shiver. You waited for a couple of drawn out seconds, consumed by the painful thud of your heart, the scribbling scratch of whatever he was writing, and the chaotic chorus of the crew out on the deck. 

“Should I get your lunch, Captain Buggy?” you finally asked. His head popped up so fast his hat wobbled, although his expression wasn’t especially animated. He appraised you for a long moment before dropping his pen, leaning back.

“Come over here for a minute first,” he said, gesturing you to him with curled fingers. With your hands clasped nervously in front of your stomach, you approached his desk. “No, come over here,” Buggy ordered, turning his chair and pointing at the floor in front of him. You circled the desk, standing in front of him.

Buggy grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until you stood between his legs. You stumbled, grabbing his shoulders to keep from falling into him completely. 

“I know everything that happens on my ship,” Buggy told you. “I mean that. Everything.”

That wasn’t what you expected. You nodded in understanding, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m starting to think you’re not the sweet, innocent girl I thought you were,” Buggy said, idly swaying you back and forth. Your entire body stilled, physically halted by those words and the liquid lead they injected into your heart. 

“Captain?” 

“Look at you! All grown up. Makeup and everything.” Buggy pushed you back to hold you at arm's length, his eyes slowly scanning down your body. “I might have to cover you up a little if my crew can’t behave with you hanging around tempting them like this.” 

“I’m not trying to…” you said, the words sinking cold and sick into your stomach. “No, I’m not… That’s not my-my intention.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes. “You’d never go around looking like this to tempt anybody. What would you even do if you got a man’s attention?” He sighed, nodding sympathetically. “The real question is what a man would do to you… I think it’s time you and I had the talk.”

He was clearly messing with you, but it worked, you recoiled, your skin crawling. “Captain Buggy, I don’t… It’s not a big deal, right? I would never ever do anything, I mean that.” you said, trying very hard to keep a cool head despite the way your face burned.

“I get it. It’s embarrassing to talk about this sort of thing. Normally this would be a father’s job, but I guess he kinda dropped the ball on that one, huh? The point is that you gotta be careful. You know what I’m talking about, right? The birds and the bees… No?” You didn’t respond, far too aware of the awkwardness of your body, the flush blazing all the way up into your ears. “That’s not ringing a bell?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I didn’t want to be vulgar, but I would never forgive myself if I let you go out there looking like this and you got knocked up or something. I mean, whew, better hope you brought a hanger or something. Just remember—no glove, no love.”

Knowing better than to push his hands away, you settled for covering your face in an attempt to hide the embarrassment of disgust and shame. Buggy laughed at your reaction, reaching up to tug on one of your twintails playfully. 

“Oh, come on,” he complained. “Don’t be like that.”

“Please don’t joke about that,” you said, dropping your hands a little. “I… Please?” 

“I wasn’t joking. I mean, shit, can you even carry a baby?” he teased, releasing your hips to tickle your sides. “Where would it go? Scratch that, where would the dick even go?” 

“Please stop!” you exclaimed indignantly, grabbing his hands to still them. Buggy used that to pull you back into place. 

“The real laugh is that I’d let anyone get that close,” he told you. “Oh, hey, there’s some vocabulary for ya. What do you call somebody who tries to take the captain’s property?” 

You cleared your throat. “Um… A thief?”

“Dead.”

You stopped squirming around, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your gut before the flat look in his eyes really registered.  

“What was it that you said?” Buggy asked, giving you a familiar look. A smile lurked around his mouth, but his eyes shined with a keen mania as they studied your face for the slightest trace of defiance. “When you begged to join my crew, I mean. That you’ll happily serve me for…” 

“I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life,” you finished for him, knowing better than to do anything other than wholeheartedly agree. “I-I mean it, Captain Buggy. If I—If I did something wrong, please tell me and I’ll stop or… or… Anything you want.” 

“I want…” he said slowly. Then the bubble popped, and he pushed you away a few steps. “I want you to go get us some lunch. I’m starving and as adorable as those thighs of yours are, you could use a little more meat.”

“Yes, sir,” you said.

“Oh, and babydoll,” Buggy called. You turned to him, head tilted cautiously. “Mosey on down to the brig at some point to find a comfortable spot, you’re gonna have to stay down there for our dress rehearsal tonight. Things are gonna get a little bloody up here.”

[poetryandfluffycats]

Girls Night

A/N: yay lesbians. i really cant tell if this is good or not

Pairing: Arashi Narukami x fem! reader

Warnings: suggestive at points, sexual tension

Content: Arashi is trying to help her girlfriend get ready for a girls night with Pretty 5, but it seems like they both have something different on their minds.

Words: 656

Oneshot after cut!

"Please, just stay still!"

"No! You're gonna poke my damn eye out!"

"No I won't! Stop being so dramatic"

I wasn't too sure how I ended up in this situation. Sitting on the floor, makeup products scattered all around me as Arashi desperately tried to "make me more beautiful" as she put it. She had already convinced me to put some foundation on-which I could tolerated to an extent-but the eyeliner stick she held in her hand now was leading me to question why I let her do this.

"Please (name)! I promise I'll be gentle" She whined, a large pout on her face as she slowing inched closer and closer to me with the eyeliner, "you need to look good for girls night!"

I turned my head and shuffled away from the blond idol, hiding my head in my hands, "I do not need a full face of makeup for girls night, and you look good enough for the both of us. If you come any closer to me with that thing I swear-Ah!"

Before I could finish my sentence, I was tackled by a pair of strong arms. My head hit the floor and my whole head went foggy for a second. As my vision slowly came back, I was greeted by the sight of Arashi straddling my hips and pinning my arms above my head, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Got you~" She giggled, bringing the eyeliner down closer to my eye.

"H-hey! Naru-chan! Let me go!" I kicked and thrashed to no avail, Arashi had me well and truly trapped.

"Oh please, its not the first time we've been in this position" She giggled again, her breath hot against my face.

My face went hot at the implications of her words and I turned my head away, opting to stay silent rather than even try arguing with her.

"Thats what I thought. Now stay still"

She quickly got to work, brushing the pencil gently across my lash line, occasionally pausing to admire her handy work. Her tounge was hanging out of her mouth slightly and her eyes were hyper-focused on my features. I felt like a woman possessed as I watched her work, her movements were so delicate and soft and the look on her face was so... intense.

It was all causing a familiar warmth to grow in my lower belly.

"All done" Arashis voice snapped me out of my trance, my eyes darting to meet hers. She smirked down at me, a mischievous glint in her eye, "What are you looking at me like that for, (name)?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head, unable to find my words under Arashis gaze. Her blue eyes that were usually so bright were filled with a darkness I only ever saw when we were alone.

"Oh? Nothing to say? Hm, that's okay. I suppose it's about time for us to go anyway. The rest of Pretty 5 will be waiting for us" She finally released my arms from her grip and stood up, leaving me dumbfounded and flustered on the ground.

She held her hand out to me and I gratefully accepted it, allowing her to pull me to my feet and steady me. Humming, she brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and gave me a soft kiss on the forehead.

"You're so beautiful, (name)" Her voice was soft and sweet and my cheeks dusted pink at her words.

"T-thank you... so are you" I nuzzled into her shoulder.

She giggled and pulled away from me, playfully bopping me on the nose, "I know it. Come on, let's go"

With that, she skipped away towards the door. I obediently followed behind her, still reeling from the previous events and the lingering feeling in my lower half.

I couldn't wait for what Arashi had in store for me tonight.

[hamletkin]

In your mind, where does Ophelia fit into the story? Do you imagine she and Hamlet were together? Did she love him, but it was unrequited? Is she his beard? Would love to hear your interpretation on her relationship with Hamlet as well as how she fits into the bigger picture (especially if Horatio is involved with Hamlet romantically)?

first of all, thank you so much for the ask! i’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to answer it. i’ve been in a hell of my own making but i’ve been pondering it nonetheless! 

i believe that ophelia is a very important character to the story and that by removing her from the work you would take out at least a good portion of the heart of the play. she’s not there just to be abused by hamlet and then to later go mad when her whole world falls apart. she’s a person with hopes and dreams and while i do believe that in the text as it is set down she does, at the start, lack agency that this changes over the course of the play to some extent. ophelia is my light, my love, my reason and i just want to say that before i continue. i want the world for her and in the text she gets nothing and my heart breaks for her. 

ophelia is the product of the time and her station as her “father’s daughter”. polonius even reminds us that ophelia belongs to him. she is nothing more than a tool to him. i am not a believer in good father polonius i’m sorry. i think he does want what’s best for his children and he gives some good advice but he’s also just a shitty little weasel of a man (sorry popo i love you as a character muah) and has a very shitty way of going about it because he uses his children as an extension of himself or rather as pieces on a chessboard. 

ophelia is unfortunately his chief piece with laertes gone and he uses her as such with little to no care for her feelings in the matter and as the dutiful daughter she obeys him. what other choice does she have?? she belongs to him, after all and she loves her father and wants him to be pleased with her. in doing his bidding she breaks hamlet’s trust in her and i fully believe that he is heartbroken by this. in his hurt he lashes out at her and more than that, he aims to destroy her as she has destroyed his fragile love. i am in no way excusing his behaviour. what he did to ophelia is wrong and what he continues to do to her even when she’s dead is wrong. but my reasoning behind this is a perceived betrayal that causes him to lash out more so even than any display of madness. yes, he keeps up appearances but i think most of it was actually just him being so lost in his grief and ophelia’s “betrayal” that he seeks to step on her to raise himself up. she betrayed him, after all, she’s worth nothing in his eyes in that moment and he uses her as a stepping stone to keep himself on top of the situation lest he truly fall apart. of course he already has and we’ve seen this. 

after polonius is killed and ophelia learns of the treachery around the situation and is forced to witness her father’s unceremonious burial without deserved rites she only keeps unravelling. she has no one there except horatio and perhaps some ladies to care for her and horatio is distracted and in my opinion slightly exasperated, even, with ophelia. he’s also a horrid reminder of hamlet and what she’s lost and nothing in life has ever prepared her for this!!! death and loss are inevitable but what does she know of that except for her supposed loss of her mother which she may have been too young to understand. it has all crashed down around her and every bit of level ground she’s ever had has slipped out from beneath her and by the time laertes gets there it’s too late. she’s made her decision. i personally think that she did commit suicide. that maybe it didn’t start out as a conscious decision but that she died so peacefully because she had resigned herself to it. i have so many thoughts on her death but this is getting out of hand, i’m sorry haha!

as to whether or not ophelia and hamlet loved one another, i truly believe that they did love each other in secret. i believe hamlet doted upon her and that she gave him just as many flowers as he gave her if not more. i believe hamlet really did intend to marry her and give himself wholly over to her. in fact i think one small part of ophelia’s character is to show just how changed hamlet is after the death of his father. we never SEE the hamlet who wrote poetry and gave gifts and loved with his whole heart. we only ever hear about it. heavenly powers, restore him doesn’t just signify his mental state. ophelia wants her sweet, loving prince back and he’s gone. lost entirely to grief and “madness”. but hamlet only sees her betrayal and denouncement of his love and he stomps all over her heart with everything he has because HE has been hurt, why shouldn’t she hurt too? would the hamlet before the death of his father have been so cruel? i sincerely doubt it. 

i don’t think anything in the play needs to change for hamlet and horatio to be involved romantically. i am a bisexual hamlet truther. that man is bisexual and no one can ever tell me otherwise i am not listening. but i believe hamlet developed feelings for horatio at wittenberg. of course he never acted on them because his love for ophelia was too strong (and he was too much of a coward to suggest the threesome he should have and probably could have gotten around to if his dad hadn’t died but that’s another story) and i don’t believe he would have cheated on her. but his friendship with horatio only grew stronger as every other relationship around him fell apart (either by his own doing or outside influences) and i think the two of them fell into a sort of unspoken romance because let’s face it neither of them are clever enough to be like “haha we’re boyfriends now”. (i actually wrote a fic about this that i’m trying desperately to finish but we’ll see) 

so i imagine that after the breaking off with things with ophelia as time wore on they both saw an opportunity though both of them were like “haha and then what” and fell into this thing. hamlet more so because of the “sin” and his religious ocd plying him with doubts and not allowing him to have a nice fun time and his inability to see that horatio is head over heels for him. he would be questioning himself the whole time. and then there’s that whole grief thing that just gets in the way of EVERYTHING. does horatio love me? yes. as more than a friend? Impossible. unless… whereas horatio is more like “lord hamlet is a prince, out of thy star”. 

could a threesome have healed them? probably.

[strayheartless]

The thing about Vanipliku is, I don't hate it. I just don't ship it in the same way I ship Soriku.

The difference (for me) between the two is that while Soriku may not always do the healthy thing when it comes to eachother, They always have the others best interests at heart and its obvious that they are willing to work at a healthy relationship.

Vanipliku by comparison are like Anti-Soriku. not in the sense that they are evil Sora and Riku, but in the sense that they do not have the same intentions towards eachother as the hero's of light have. Repliku, to a certain extent is Riku at his most vulnrable and manipulated, but also at his most angry. He is Riku at his most likely to lash out at Sora. Even if he is no longer the same as Riku, he is still a snapshot in time of an angry child who (if we follow Sorkiu Fanon rather than Canon) is still upset that he is pining over his best friend.

Vanitas isn't Sora, hes not even Ventus. He looks like Sora, he almost sounds like Sora, but he's not Sora. There is no part of him that thinks or acts of cares like Sora does. He was the "piece of Ventus that was taken away" while Sora was the "piece ventus needed to be whole" but they are different pieces of a bigger whole. Vanitas is negativity, he has been manipulated and abused his entire exsistance and if you read the Kingdom hearts character files you find out his exsistance is just pain and bitterness. he is literally the antithisis of light. Does this make his inherently evil? no, but it does make him more prone to self distructive behaviour.

I will be the first to say Vanitas' Villan credentials are of the same ilk as someone like Sephiroths, but like Sephiroth he is a product of what other people make him. He is obsessive and cruel, he loves the same way he hurts and that doesn't breed healthy relationships.

To me Vanipliku is one of those relationships like SephGen or Sephikura or AkuSai. it has great potential to be a toxic yet completely codependent relationship. the kind of relationship that you know you shouldn't be in because its doing you damage but you won't leave because who else loves you in that way that makes you feel powerful, makes your skin crawl with need?

So with that in mind I often read Vanipliku like this:

Repliku is with Vanitas because its the closest thing he can get to Sora. Van looks like Sora, he sounds like Sora, but Van is fucked up enough to go along with the darkest of Repliku's idea's. If Repliku asked, Vanitas would grab his hand and let himself be pulled into the darkness. But Repliku doesn't neccesserally love Vanitas' darkness.

Vanitas wants to be loved. He doesn't care how, and he doesn't care why, he just wants to feel as if he is. He doesn't know what love feels like, so When Repliku is willing to kiss him, willing to hang off of him and be possessive of him, Vanitas accepts that, revels in it even.

The fact that what they are doing is not love its obsession, its toxic codependency, doesn't even register. They both feed of of each others darkness.

Niether of them want to be alone and regardless of the fact that Repliku makes Vanitas feel rage like nothing else when he compares him to the hero of light, or barates him for his own personality, doesn't matter. The fact that Vanitas will torture and emotionally humiliate Repliku in return doesn't matter. because in the end what they have isn't love, but it sure feels like it to them.

The posessivness spills out into letting the other be touched by others. Repliku is extremely jelous and will hurt people and Vantias if he percieves even the slightest chance of betrayal.

Vanitas craves the pain, and the feeling of being owned and wanted. He's less jelous of insignificant others, but he would truely love to torture Sora until Repliku sees how weak the boy is. Until he realises Vanitas is the better option.

I dunno man, if you see them as loving and healthy, I'm not about to say you are wrong. You ship what you ship and I think thats great. this is just how I have always interpreted this paticualr ship!

[2oul2ilver]

One thing that really depresses me is like... of the pokepastas I've read, there's ones that touch on the way Game Freak has handled its early girl trainers - Leaf/Green never being added to the final product, Kris being entirely overwritten by Lyra as a concept in the remakes. And honestly I feel like these are concepts that have potential for some good pokepastas!

The only thing is... every one I've read that delves into these concepts sort of. Falls into the exact trap of the very thing it's warning against/calling out?

I do think there's a merit to that - what's more existentially upsetting than the reality that girls and women alike are forced into situations by the greater system they're forced to live in, after all. Exploring that theme can be a way to catharsize that struggle. So I don't mind that approach on its own.

But none of the ones I've seen let the girl character have any agency, or even the ability to be fallible or nuanced? Ok, ok a lot to ask from a pokepasta, but hear me out.

Yes, the very genre of pokepasta means ultimately all the characters are in Situations and barely anyone has control or agency beyond an extent. But even so there are those that do either via the narrative or as the point of the pokepasta - Strangled Red, Blue Tears, Glitchy Red and Your Friend Silver - to name a couple that just. Allow the protagonist to take some semblance of control, if only for a moment. Usually this "control" is in the form of violence, which like. Is a whole other tangent we don't need to get into.

But when Green/Leaf or (to a lesser extent) Kris are the focus characters? Anything they do is futile, and their fates are forced upon them. And when the narrative is paralleling real world treatment, it just doubles in amount. Oh, so Green/Leaf isn't even meant to exist? Then we'll make the entire direction of the pokepasta be about how the game forcibly erases/deletes her from the story! Nothing remains, and not once do any of her attempts to fight this fate succeed in any way - not that any evidence of her struggle would remain even if she did somehow claim even the tiniest victory.

After seeing a few stories with this same narrative now, it moves past being cathartic and into just plain depressing for me. More examples of media calling out poor treatment of women that just sort of reinforce the treatment.

Like yeah, okay. Pokepastas aren't MEANT to be motivational or feel good. But at least give me a Leaf who takes revenge. Give me a Glitchy Red angle where she overtakes and rewrites the game to delete him instead of vice versa. She's the champion on Mt. Silver even if she's breaking the GSC game to do it. Kris taking over Lyra's place in HGSS and denying that her replacement ever existed. Hell, even just letting the girls lash out and damage/kill the other boys before the game sends them to pixel eeby deeby would be nice. Green gets to take down Red in a final way, but that's when she gets forcibly removed because that's literally the only way the game can prevent her from taking it over at expense of the greater world.

Give them agency, control, power. Make them fearful figures, make them desperate, not in some palatable meek way where they deep down accept their fate, or can only voice their displeasure without acting on it. Let these girls go apeshit for once. If Blue Tears or Strangled Red can have the protagonist kill in cold blood and still be liked and sometimes even sympathized by the fandom, so can these.

Tl;dr aren't you tired of the girl protags being nice? Don't you just want them to go apeshit?

(Also as an important final note - this is NOT bashing any pokepastas for these themes ultimately! It's not a case of any one being poorly written or thought out! I want to call out the consistent Trend as my issue, not say my issue is with the authors or pokepastas that have already done this! Likewise I don't say this as in the male-focused examples I listed are Better - but I'm using them as known examples of tropes that succeed in the genre that AREN'T just Things Happening To The Protag.)

[miriamladyvoid]

Upcoming fics...☕︎

Voting is over! Thank you all for participating and voting! ) 294 votes? I didn't expect so many votes :0)

So there we have our winner: Always an angel, never god. (I'm surprised Malleus didn't win)

So the order of work and publication will be like this:

1.-Always an angel, never god.

2.-My favorites.

3.-Crow and Baby Bird.

(These three will be the highest priority of work) Those below will have a slower publication rate:

4.-Midnight Talks.

5.-Honest Contract.

6.-Did you look back?.

7.-A gift for a Henchman.

8.-Did I make the right decision?.

9.-The Ace Up Your Sleeve.

Although it is slow cooking to create and do this creative process in writing my fics for the first time, I will leave you a little glimpse of what (could) be each fic (this is subject to change so don't get too excited, the final product may be the same or very different from this draft):

════════════════【✉˚₊‧ཐི✧ཋྀ‧₊˚✉】═══════════════════

Did I make the right decision?

-"It is strange to see such a vulgar flower among the thorns, isn't it?" the noblewoman murmured with false sweetness. Each word was a cut, a reminder that her choice to join Malleus was not only an act of love, but also a declaration that defied centuries of tradition. Will this be the price she must pay for having dared to love a king?".

The Crow and Baby Bird

-"She moved through the corridors like a restless little bird, exploring every corner with the same energy with which sparrows jump between the branches. There was something so intrepid, so alive in her spirit, that made him wonder to what extent he could control that flight. Because, in the end, he was both her protector and her jailer".

The Ace Up Your Sleeve

-"It was at that moment when Ace knew he was lost. No matter how many tricks he had up his sleeve, there was no card that could beat the one she had just played: the truth hidden in her eyes and in that smile that made his own game wobble".

Midnight Talks

-"Her laughter was so soft, like the echo of a chime in the distance. Every time she came closer, he felt a tug at his heart, a reminder that even though eternity had condemned him to watch the ages pass, he could not allow himself to cling to someone who was as fleeting as a star".

Honest Contract

-"Deep in his heart, he had always feared the truth as much as the waves that lashed his home: relentless, eternal, and with nowhere to hide. This contract had no deception, no clever twists, no little tricks hidden between the words. There was no safety net to protect his heart".

My favorites

-"In the end, perhaps, it's not about her having just one favorite, but about how, together, they become a mosaic of unforgettable moments that make her feel that, in the midst of all the chaos, she found her little piece of heaven".

Always an angel, never a god

-"Sometimes, she felt as if her heart were a dying star, flickering weakly in the vast darkness of the sky. Always present, but barely noticeable among so many other, brighter lights, beautiful in its light, but always seeming to be just a heartbeat away from going out".

Did you look back?

-"Time became a stagnant river between them, a reflection of the Lethe that made them forget everything except the comfort they found in each other. But the possibility of their departure feels like a distant echo of an ancient myth. It was a thin golden thread, a lyre string that threatened to break."

A gift for a Henchman

-"Having a henchman meant more than just having fun or getting into trouble together. It meant having a special place in someone's heart. And Grim, for the first time, realized that he wanted to be worthy of that place, too".

════════════════【✉˚₊‧ཐི✧ཋྀ‧₊˚✉】═══════════════════

(that's what I have in draft).With this little glimpse, do you feel more interested? Which one interested you the most? Well, you'll find out very soon! :D So stay tuned!

[drowxiv]

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

OOOO! For a second I was like "aww I don't know!" But then I thought about it for a few more seconds, turns out I've definitely written or drafted these already! I just hadn't consciously assigned the term coping mechanisms.

Viedyn:

Most Unhealthy - After a brush with death or a particularly shitty battle he'll feel numb and he'll seek out ways to "feel something." Sometimes it's a bucket of cold water or his lieutenant, which isn't awful but isn't great. Other times it's running his fingers over a flame, not enough to actually do any harm (going to that extent wouldn't occur to him) but it's still unhealthy...and also playing with fire. He tries alcohol but ends up abandoning that for one of the quicker methods above.

Most Healthy - he's an excellent strategist and he likes to have plans for everything. If he's under a significant amount of stress he sits down and works out plans to deal with that. Now, to be fair, he's still evil and he's still a Drow. So will all those plans align with "real world" sensibilities. Nope. But damnit he went about it productively!

Durafein:

Most Unhealthy - Aggression. During his time serving his house and for a while after the fall he deals with negative emotions by lashing out. He DOES have self preservation, he'll bite his tongue sometimes but as soon as he's alone it'll come out. If anyone's caught in that path they might catch some misdirected wrath. He eventually works through this and learns to direct his emotions better so they're serving him rather than directing him.

Most Healthy - Exercise! Viedyn instilled things in him like stretching and training but Durafein will really throw himself into this to cope with stress. He'll never push too hard though! He genuinely enjoys listening to his body and that eventually helps him sort out his mind.

[gothicprep]

Does the “woke” critique ever really go beyond “this has gay people/poc/women in if they’re pushing their agenda” type stuff? Personally I don’t think I’ve heard “Mary sue” get used since Rey Starwars, everything I’ve seen lately is just foaming at the mouth when a story doesn’t exclusively center white men

there’s a version of the critique that’s just that, and there’s another version of it that’s something to the effect of “it seems like some writers use IP to tell a story *they* would like to tell, regardless of how it works in the IP”. the former one is just whiny. the second one, as far as I can tell, is probably a real critique, because i can think of examples of this being brought up where representation isn’t involved in ~the discourse~ around it at all.

this happened in like 2015 back when fallout 4 came out. if you don’t know anything about fallout, here’s the quick TL; DR. nuclear war happens. americans take shelter in vaults built by the vault-tec corporation. some of the vaults turn out to be weird social experiments set up to study human behavior. vault 95 was housed with only drug addicts and there were no drugs in the vault, except 5 years in, a massive stash of drugs would be revealed in a hidden location in the vault. the problem is that one of the logs the player can find is written by a delivery man where he says he’s delivering a shipment of jet, a fictional drug in the game that’s a weird cross between meth and jenkem, made from fumes of radiated cattle dung. but this was invented after the bombs dropped, so there was no way for a pre-war delivery man was bringing a shipment of it.

this is a problem that’s very easy to fix in a video game. just change the text in the next patch. instead, what happened was the guy who wrote that quest doubled down, and did it again when fans were pointing out the clear flaws in his logic. and the writer responded with “not interested in discussing how realistic things are in an alternate universe post-apoc game w/ talking mutants and ghouls.” and a lot of game and tech news sites backed him up on making fun of fans for daring to complain about lore inconsistencies.

and like, on some level, yeah. it’s just a story. maybe you shouldn’t take it too seriously. but part of the flip side of that is that if you stop taking it seriously, you stop consuming it. bethesda didn’t create fallout, they’re just it’s current owners. people working there might care about fallout to some extent, but when push comes to shove, they prioritize their own visions. and stuff like this is ultimately how they view it. if you’re a fan of fallout, it means something to you. that’s why you enjoy it. but to them it’s only a vehicle for their new story. if they can get away with not respecting old lore – not just to save face, but also because the old lore gets in the way of the story they want to tell – and they believe that you’ll continue consuming the product, what incentive do they have to respect the old lore.

and, how many times have you heard a story like this? how many tv shows? how many video games? how many movies has something equivalent has this happened to? people take these things seriously because they love them. when they see inconsistencies, they’re worried that the new stewards don’t actually care. and when those new stewards lash out like this, it just confirms to fans that these creatives only want to wear a skin suit of the thing that they love.

that’s the best steelman I have for that, anyway.

[ourpickwickclub]

“Here’s the thing that worries me about both exes… as their relevance fades, how will they lash out as Blake and Gwen.” GR has been irrelevant for decades now. I think ML is now having to come to terms with entering the twilight of her career at 40. Her residency flopped, I’d be shocked if a show like The Voice brought her on because she has no personality and the general population doesn’t know her music. I predict more random product lines, another cookbook, and trying to latch on to newer, more popular artists for a collab.

Totally agree about ML.

I think GR still remained relevant to an extent while he was with Gwen. He still was invited on the world’s largest yacht by billionaires and got invited to cool things and to meet cool people because of Gwen. I think his true relevance has only began to sink in over the last nine years, and he’s still in denial about it, telling himself he took a hit because of the divorce, instead he hadn’t been relevant on his own already for almost two decades.

- B

[r0yalgrimmartz]

💎Cytherea Megami Headcanons💎

I've did headcanons for Kore, imma do one for Cytherea. Just love how my best ideas usually come from me sitting on the toilet for the next half hour. Also, MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of child neglect/bullying/miscarriage/form of child abuse.

((Also as a disclaimer, I feel the need to say that while yes, Cytherea doesn't exactly have the greatest support system to some extend and with how she's grew up, I am in no way in any shape or form justifying her actions for how she treated everyone else. As someone who was horribly bullied when I was in my early teens, yeah it massively fucking sucked. I've gotten over it and have tried to deal with the aftermath of it in a healthy manner. I feel the need to say this as a victim of being bullied myself, because I'm not trying to justify her actions nor wanting people to sympathise with her. Yes, you can sympathise with her to some extent with how she's been raised, but Cytherea is purely meant to be someone who's supposed to be working towards redeeming herself and not having it handed to her. She needs to learn from her past behaviour and mistakes and feel regrets.))

Anyway:

- An only child, just her and her parents plus her own personal maid. She comes from a well known, famous and wealthy family line generation known as 'The Megami Group'.

- The absolute embodiment of Regina George. Like, it ain't even funny. Plus if you mix early season one Chazz and season two Zane it's even worse.

[CUT TO BREAK UP TEXT]

- Normally tends to care about popularity at the beginning of the season, but after meeting Kore, her only goal and drive is to beat Kore and anyone at a Duel, no matter what or how savagely. Kore had ignited some sort of "crazed" obsession for winning and beating anyone and crushing them. Specifically Kore.

- Her clothes, acrylic nails, make up, skin care and shoes probably cost more than your mortgage.

- Is Norwegian. Has been taught to learn English and other languages as well, from French, Spanish, German, Greek, Italian...Especially Japanese.

- Lives purely out of spite. She absolutely thrives off pissing off others.

- Despite earlier on having loads of "friends", she can't help but always feel alone. That there isn't anyone really there for her. To be honest she thinks she prefers being alone, yet subconsciously kind of seeks out wanting someone.

- Dates Ilya Hadesu in first season, kinda dies out in the end of season 1 and beginning of season 2.

- Due to the constant neglect from her parents, she has always tried proving to them that she is worth something. To gain their love and affection that she used to crave. Seeing other kids have loving parents kind of infuriated her to the point she lashed out or tried to physically hit said person.

- Cytherea was basically a product of...literally not exactly a wanted child by both of her parents. Her parents basically never planned to have kids, but once Cytherea's mother fell pregnant accidentally, her father had only hoped it would be a boy. Of course, Cytherea ended up being a girl, thus both parents really had zero interest in her.

- Cytherea has her own personal maid, which was hired originally as a midwife by Cytherea's mother to aid her throughout the pregnancy. Her midwife was also pregnant at the time, but unfortunately miscarried in the later stages of pregnancy. However, once Cytherea was born literally a week after, seeing how both Cytherea's parents had little to no interest, the midwife ended up wanting to stay and become a maid for them, personally for Cytherea and to take care of her. Thus forth, she had become more of a parental guardian and more so a paternal figure towards Cytherea. Cytherea seeks her out for parental guidance most of the time. Even going so far as to teach Cytherea little things, such as sewing and even getting Cytherea into knitting. Proper manners, table manners and elegance, plus playing the piano is what Cytherea learned from her maid.

- Just an add on from the last point, but whatever achievements Cytherea gets that are usually brushed off by her parents, her maid will always be there to support her and even praise her massively for her achievements. Even if Cytherea still seeks out her parents validation.

- Cytherea has....so many achievements. From ice skating, to horse riding, skiing, acrobatics, swimming...She is first place. Always first place. She will never settle for less no matter what. Mocks anyone that's in second place, calling them "first place in being the biggest loser".

- Definitely has bullied students at Duel Academy. Equally. Doesn't matter who it is or what they look like, at the end of the day, everyone will suffer her wrath.

- She is either loved by the school, massively hated, or is greatly feared amongst the lower dorms. Has created many...many enemies. Such as Alexis, Chazz, Aster, Bastion, Zane, Adrian...probably more but Syrus massively fears her. Hassleberry dislikes her attitude, even saying to her face one time. Cytherea threatened Hassleberry with something just so he could shut up. Hanae absolutely hates her guts. Massively.

- Kore is oblivious to Cytherea's threats and their rivalry after Kore stood up to her. Kore for some reason tries to befriend Cytherea (despite Chazz literally warning Kore several times to not to), even going so far as to get her a little silly gift for Cytherea for her birthday. Cytherea had screamed at Kore that she is worthless and will be nothing but a pathetic rival. Yet, Cytherea still had the gift Kore made for her to this day.

- Does not cross Miyu in the slightest. Her and Miyu are on...civil terms shall we put it. Something happened during season one where Miyu somehow managed to strike fear into Cytherea during a duel. Cytherea has not dared to even face Miyu since. But she will never admit it.

- Loves scented candles. Has several in her dorm room. Plus has a hobby in knitting and sewing (callback to previous points ago). She finds peace in it.

- Definitely tried to provoke Sartorius at one point. Literally insults and berates the entire white dorm in season two. Might have hired someone at one point to blow up the white dorm because...why not. How Cytherea has now be expelled or you know- CHARGED is beyond anyone's mind.

- Somehow became friends with Jaden in season two. Much to his friend's hatred. Starts to slightly mellow out with her behaviour at the end of season two and during season three.

- Has some...deep admiration for Axel. Probably at some point was stuck with him during their time in the other dimension. When Axel felt fear, Cytherea probably stood up and took over the reins and was probably like "move your ass we got a Supreme King to fucking kick the fuck out of". But yeah, throughout season three her admiration for Axel builds up. Could be a crush? Hell no she doesn't get crushes...she thinks. Either way, she keeps her mouth shut about it till like season four when she then is like "...okay you're cool I'll only admit".

- Throughout season four, Cytherea isn't exactly the extreme mean girl she was compared to season one. Sure she still acts mean at times and a bitch during season four, but Cytherea is more...self aware about the people around her. Granted, the gang don't let her off the hook, she has to earn their trust and respect. Especially when Kore isolates herself after what happened, Cytherea tries to help her. Even being firm, blunt, yet understanding towards Jaden as well. Considering the horrors that they all went through.

- Is disowned by her parents at some point during the series. I don't know how yet, but probably during season two where Sartorius probably pulls some shit, alerting her parents and gets to the point they disown her. Thus making Cytherea realise that this whole time she didn't need them, considering her maid only ever acted as her guardian and ever helped her. Thus, once she graduates from Duel Academy, she tries to take a portion of her family's company, building up whatever she has and actually becomes more successful than her parents with the family name. She eventually asks her maid to adopt her to be her legal daughter, and the maid ofc agrees.

- Does actually briefly date Kore for like a year and a half after they graduate but then break up once they decide to just keep it as friends since they realised they were better as friends. Did Chazz find out? Yes. Was he happy about it? Haha- He was fucking furious.

- She always wears diamonds. No matter what outfit. Diamonds are essential.

- Hates the smell of flowers. Thinks they look pretty but she thinks they have a pissy smell to them.

- Religiously follows a morning and night time skin care routine. Will never miss out any steps, nor miss out doing the entire routine. If she does, there will be hell to pay.

- A big morning person. Likes to wake up bright and early to get a head start of the day. Will always wake up at 6AM. The latest she'll lie in will be 7:30AM, no later.

- Enjoys a lot of teas. Very much a tea enjoyer, any variety of tea flavours.

- Always dressed up. Will never be caught dead in lounge wear or in lazy clothing. She is always dressed to impress and outshine everyone.

- Upon first glance she doesn't look athletic, but thanks to her years of ice skating and other activities she participated in, she is quite flexible and strong, mainly strong in the legs.

- Is quite a mean duelist. Sometimes plays dirty but tries to play fair. Shows no mercy and never holds back. She goes all out on destroying her opponents. Does not like showing weakness.

I think that's all, unless there's more I might edit later or mention in the later future.