#red eyes white hair morally grey ??

[starlightfaerie777]

yeah big fan of whatever type this is >w<

EDIT: i was more meaning looks and sass level i know they have pretty different personalities 😭 (astarion would also use the nickname kitten for u tho i just know it)

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Can't get the whole "Do you think you'd kill for me one day ?" "Yes, of course I will my darling" out of my head, but make it the Papas x their most devoted ghouls. Basically murder ghouls offering very morbid gifts to the Papas. They like it.

TW for morally grey characters - both Papas and ghouls - blood, kind of body horror, I guess ? I think it is. It might be a bit disturbing, so. Read with caution.

Earth bringing a beautiful bottle to Primo's office one day, something definitely meant for rituals, a masterpiece of carefuly crafted glass, full of a dark red liquid. Too dark to be wine. He simply sets it on a shelf, under the First's cautious eyes, and in an instant, Primo knows.

"Won't it...coagulate, or...I don't know, dry, rot ?" he asks from behind his desk, setting his glasses down in front of him. Earth smiles, adjusting the bottle so that the light catches it just right.

"I made sure it won't."

Primo smiles when the ghoul takes his hand and presses a kiss to the ring he's wearing.

"Take care not to drink it, your body wouldn't like it much."

Primo cocks an eyebrow.

"You gift me a full bottle of blood - human, i presume - and I'm not even allowed to drink it ? How very tragic."

Earth's chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"You can only wish to be a vampire, but, do not act like this isn't a power trip for you. Having someone's blood displayed in your office. Being able to admire its unique color."

Primo's smile widens.

Secondo looking up from his work, carefully setting the ancient book he's restauring on the side when Alpha leans against the doorframe, hands behind his back.

Once he's sure he has the former Papa's full attention, Alpha steps in, setting something on the desk, between Secondo's hand.

It's a paperweight, the kind he loves, heavy half globe of glass, in which is trapped a curiosity ; Secondo has a growing collection of those.

It's the first time, though, that an eye is staring blindly at him from within its transparent confine. A beautiful shade of brown, that eye, rich and deep, with flecks of gold ; Secondo leans closer to examine it.

"Fascinating," he comments, "you know me too well."

Alpha grins, rounding the desk to stand behind Secondo's chair, massaging his tense shoulders as he whispers against his ear.

"Took me a while to find the color I wanted, I know you have a thing for that kind of brown eyes."

Secondo hums, turning the paperweight this way and that, letting light bounce off it, projecting rainbows on the wall. It will definitely have a special place on his desk, so that Secondo will be able to gaze at it whenever he wishes to.

Alpha kisses the corner of his mouth, almost reverently, and Secondo puts the paperweight down, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Omega helping Terzo dress one morning, but just as the former Papa is about to move away, his ghoul tugs on his sleeve, shoving something in his hand.

What the rosary is made of is, Terzo immediately knows. The beads, the inverted cross, they're an ivory white that is quite impossible to mistake for anything other than it is.

By the way Omega hooks his chin on Terzo's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, the former Papa has no doubt it's important for him, that gift.

"It's lovely, my dear ghoul. Did you make it yourself ?"

Terzo really means it. The piece of jewlery is delicate and elegant, something he'll wear with pride.

"I did. I'm glad you like it."

A pause. Terzo takes a moment to bask in Omega kissing up his neck, before he slips the rosary around it.

"Should I ask who's bones I'm wearing ?"

Omega chuckles, face now burried in his hair.

"You know better. All that matters is that you look fantastic, wearing someone's bone."

Terzo does, so he simply smiles, admiring how the necklace rests on his chest in the mirror, sinking into Omega's embrace.

Dew, wordlessly slipping a bracelet around Copia's wrist after practice. He looks down, surprised, as the ghoul lingers, hovering at his side.

A thin chain, trinkets dangling from it, mostly tiny coins with infernal symbols engraved on them and....oh. Teeth. Well, they sure look healthy.

Copia takes to examinate them, tests the point of a canine, pleased to find it still sharp, humming under his breath.

"That's quite the work you've put in, Dew, thank you. It's beautiful."

The fire ghoul takes Copia's hand, turning it until he can kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I figured you'd like it. They're perfect, aren't they ?"

Copia takes another teeth between his two fingers, holding it up for further inspection, smiling at how flawless it is.

"They sure are. Wish I had that kind of dental care, eh."

Dew snorts, tail gently squeezing Copia's hips, who let himself be pulled in the ghoul's side.

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels. 

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside. 

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him. 

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did? 

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched. 

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?” 

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known. 

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours. 

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours. 

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own. 

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't. 

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon. 

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't. 

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same. 

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles. 

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life. 

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed. 

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag. 

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal. 

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest. 

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off. 

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe. 

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest. 

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious. 

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?" 

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him. 

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard. 

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen. 

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people. 

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?” 

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be. 

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked. 

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder. 

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt. 

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —" 

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you. 

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him. 

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is. 

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence. 

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy. 

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-... 

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight. 

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now. 

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either. 

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter. 

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes. 

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs." 

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share. 

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse. 

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls. 

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row. 

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses. 

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks? 

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words. 

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not." 

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs." 

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories. 

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable. 

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this. 

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining. 

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time. 

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back. 

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either. 

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro." 

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun. 

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter. 

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense. 

Assholes, the lot of them. 

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious. 

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island. 

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that. 

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it. 

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side. 

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once. 

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[sweetwolfcupcake]

under the skin w/ Neo??? 🥺🥺🥺

Damn, it took me a while, and yet I cannot say that I'm satisfied with it. But, here we go.

From the Prompts

Yandere Neo x Reader, and Reader x OC

Warnings: My poor understanding of the prompt 'Under the skin', forced feeding, impersonation, some changes in the matrix lore, Neo is very morally grey here, yandere behaviour.

The GIFs used here DO NOT belong to me. They belong to the respective owner. Unfortunately, I am unable to remember where I downloaded it from. I understand it takes time and effort to create such pieces and the GIF makers deserve all the credit. So, Kindly excuse me.

Unedited

Something is off about your boyfriend. You can feel it. 

It’s not only the shift in the air around him, and the way he speaks. It is not only the new kind of detachment he sees to have developed for the reality, life and people around him. All except for you. It is not only how he seems to stand a bit taller, and larger when he is around you.

No, these are noticeable but can still be dismissed somehow. 

What you can’t dismiss is the way he feels— his touch, his voice, his presence in general.

You feel it when you look into Ryan’s eyes, you feel it when you kiss him. You feel it when he touches you. No matter if it is only his hand on the small of his back or his fingers delving in and out of your pulsating womanhood. But you feel it. The...fingers feel bigger, the touches bloom from the passion you have not known before.

You feel a certain burn every time his lips mould with yours, like two pieces of puzzles fitting together to make the world make sense. 

It should not make sense, it does not, in fact, make any sense. If you tell anybody that you feel that someone else is under your long-term boyfriend’s skin, they will deem you mad. Why wouldn’t they?

But how come nobody seems to notice this?

Ryan used to be far laid back, never questioned you about your whereabouts, never frowned at your male friends—if anything, he loved spending time with them. Ryan loved to play video games. Ryan never smoked. Ryan’s wardrobe was more colourful and varied. Ryan never had this…aura of superiority around him.

But this Ryan is proactive when it comes to knowing your whereabouts and about your friends. It’s…almost aggressive. You feel the change when his hold on you tightens while you interact with your male friends. You feel the change when he insists that you call him as soon as you reach your workplace and before you leave for home. Not text, but a call, and if you miss, even by a minute, he will be calling you. 

You feel the change in his now apathy for any kind of video games, he speaks of them as if they are some kind of cruel joke on humanity itself. You do not understand most of it, but you know that he has read, and he has read deeply. The Ryan you know would never even bat an eye at philosophical texts. But this ‘Ryan’, possesses texts that are banned, and books you have never seen or heard of before.

This Ryan has an affinity towards greys, whites and blacks. The way he wears black overcoats, and brushes his hair back, he looks tenfold more attractive, but also unlike himself. Ryan’s hair used to be slightly curled, slightly brown. But now it's jet black and straight. His eyes had a certain mirth in them, now they are deep, dark and observant. Like they are piecing into your soul.

This Ryan is calmer. This Ryan speaks in a low, deep, assured tone that feels slightly different. This Ryan holds you tight when you sleep at night and is always awake before you, he notices the change in your breathing pattern, no twitch, no subtle change escapes his notice.

This man is not Ryan, your boyfriend of six years. 

He might look exactly like Ryan, and sound like him too but this is not Ryan. You just know it. You know it in your bones, you feel it. You have known Ryan enough to notice the subtle changes, these are all glaring, neon-red warning signs.

Something is just so off about your boyfriend, it's unnerving. It frightens you how unfamiliar and good he feels when he is buried deep inside you. You see his eyes darken just slightly and the tinge of green in those irises. Ryan’s eyes are brown, a bit lighter shade of brown as opposed to the recent dark brown eyes he seems to have developed out of the blue, but the green? 

You dismissed the first few times as a trick of light but then, you looked into his last night, even with the pleasure-induced high, you peered right into his eyes, and you saw it. The dots of green encircling his iris. Now when you think of it, he might have smirked at you. 

A smirk so unlike Ryan that it gave you a whiplash just before his lips claimed yours, you were pushed past the edge once more and all was blissfully forgotten for a while.

Now, as you drive through the isolated roads, miles away from the city, away from ‘Ryan’, you can think clearly. Your conclusions will sound bizarre but the more you try to rationalise it, the more loopholes you get. They do not make sense. You cannot rationalise it. 

How will people notice anyway? It has been months since Ryan has been to a proper gathering. Your phone rings and you know it is him. The stranger who looks and sounds like your boyfriend.

You have no idea what you are to do, but you do not feel safe in your house anymore. It’s stupid, running away. But you are desperate at this point, you have no idea what you are dealing with.

 Who is it anyway?

You do not want to know, all you want is to be safe and safety means being far, far away from him—the man who pretends to be your boyfriend.

But where is Ryan?

You have no idea but you know that to find out, you need to be alive first. This man terrifies and entices you simultaneously. Disturbing.

Your phone has not stopped ringing and you are doing your best to ignore it while speeding towards…You don’t know where you are headed, but your car needs refuelling and you need to rest somewhere. 

If you were paying attention, you would have noticed the eerily empty highway. But you realise this now, looking at the gas station without a single person, or even being in sight. It is eerie initially, and then utterly unsettling when you realise that not a single car has passed by you on your way, or even the gas station.

“I don’t like this.” You whisper to yourself before quickly moving to refuel your car. The faster, the better. 

Your phone does not stop ringing though. The repeated sound is now hitting a nerve. Hissing curses under your breath, you flip it open.

Of course, the name of your boyfriend pops up. This time, you foolishly cut the call and switch the device off.

You pay more attention to the roads this time and change your mind. No more staying at any motel in the middle of nowhere. You cannot risk that. Instead, you head towards the nearest city or town—anything with civilisation in sight. The highway looks like a scene straight out of some eerie video game.

But how can that be?

Thankfully, you reach a town by the wee hours. There are cars parked, houses, and a few people loitering here and there—even a police car. 

This makes you breathe in relief. Maybe you have been overthinking, maybe it was all your panicked mind playing tricks on you, or some cars passed by you but you never noticed.

With such thoughts, you park your car near a hotel and make your way inside. You sigh in relief at the sight of a sleepy receptionist.

Yes, you must have been thinking too much.

—-----

 The bed is comfortable, the temperature is just right. The room does not smell. And yet you toss and turn. Giving up attempts to lull yourself into sleep, you stare at the ceiling. Here, all you can think of is…Ryan…Or the person with his skin. It’s difficult to decipher because he has Ryan’s birthmark, his teeth, his everything. It is like someone is wearing Ryna’s flesh. But you know that he is not your boyfriend.

Sitting up, you feel a certain unease filling your chest. Your eyes are heavy but your mind is running, thinking too much, too fast to actually fall asleep. Perhaps some fresh air in the room will help you. Getting off the bed, you move towards the window unlock it when you see a figure by your parked car. Dressed in a black overcoat, the figure turns more familiar the longer you stare at it. 

And then he turns. He turns and looks up. He is wearing a pair of black glasses. He looks exactly like Ryan but the way he stares back at you from below before marching in, you know this isn’t him. It can’t be. Ryan never scared you, this man scares you to the point that you scramble to get out of the room, tripping on your way. You head for the elevator, but the digital screen already displays an upward arrow from the ground floor.

Good.

You’re fucked.

You should have made your way downstairs, it’s probably him on his way up. But your brain short-circuits and you find yourself huffing as you climb two stairs at a time, going for the terrace. You realise your mistake after you have already climbed two floors. It’s too late anyway. He is coming after you now. 

You do find your way to the terrace. It should have been closed, but who would bother in this sleepy town?

 You walk towards the edge, trying to find any possible escape route or even a place to hide. The building is not high enough to kill you if you jump, but it is high enough to break your bones and make sure that you become bed-ridden for weeks if you are stupid enough to—

“(Y/N)?”

You freeze but do not turn around immediately. It's Ryan’s voice and you are, for the first time, terrified of his voice. This isn’t the tone, or depth he ever uses. It’s like his voice is subtly changing. 

“What are you even doing here (Y/N)?”

You turn around finally, assessing him with your panicked eyes. His presence has never felt more different—like this isn’t even trying to hide behind your boyfriend’s skin anymore. He simply is keeping a mask as a mockery.

“H–How did you find me?” You press yourself to the railing, trying to remember any exit point other than the entrance to escape.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong? Calm down it's just me. Your Boyfriend, Ryan”

You think you imagine this, but there is a hint of cruel amusement in his tone. 

"No you’re not—you’re not Ryan. Look at you…Where is Ryan?”

‘Ryan’ chuckles “What do you mean, I am Ryan.”

You blink. 

Is that—Is that like–something like a glitching screen you are seeing?

This can’t be real. This isn’t real. It has to be some trick of the light or something. Is this some long nightmare? You wonder while digging your nails into your skin.

Wake up, wake up!

“You’re not Ryan. Where is Ryan?”

You involuntarily push yourself up, sitting on the railing, in a desperate attempt to get away from the advancing man. His unhurried, calculated steps make him seem more foreboding. He seems…Taller.

“What do you mean, look at me (Y/N), I am your lovely boyfriend.”

His voice sounds different now, a deep and delicious but it also makes your stomach twist. You realise how close he is when his voice lowers and she notices the subtle differences.

“You cannot fool me. Not anymore. You’re not Ryan.” Your voice cracks as you blink away the panicked tears gathering in your eyes.

You want to sob out when he smirks. Its cold all over, and chills cascade down your spine.

“Aren’t you smart?”

You heart sinks into your stomach as  ‘Ryan’ nears you. It happens too soon. One moment, you are leaning away, desperate to escape and the next, you are slipping and falling offYour the building.

Your eyes initially screwed shut open as you feel yourself free-falling. And you scream

This is not Ryan. 

This is someone else.

But you get barely a moment to think before you are grabbed roughly and pulled upwards. This…man…flies. Flies?

Fucking flies back to the terrace with you in his grasp. To say you are frozen in fear is an understatement. Because you are wide-eyed with lips parted and shivering and your throat is parched.

You realise that you have never known true fear until this moment. This moment when you are flying. Fucking flying back into the terrace and staring at the man who has finally dropped his mask. This isn’t Ryan, clearly, and the realisation makes you take several steps back. He is a man you have never seen before with an aura of superiority that is both intimidating and magnetic.

He exudes power and the moment he removes the dark glasses to reveal his deep, dark eyes, you know you are done for. They glare at you before he reaches you with a couple of long strides, the air around him is thick—almost buzzing with electricity when you feel his hand grab your arm.

“ WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN? You could have—-” He stops and looks away. 

A cold, calm version of him is sinister, yes. But this…it makes you want to just run and never turn back. 

“Don’t you ever do that again.” He hisses.

This. Is this what it is like to be frightened with just a warning? You do not care if you feel like a child scared of the monster under your bed but you shiver under this looming man’s hold. And in your panicked state, spew out whatever comes in your mind.

“You–you’re not real you can’t be….” Your voice is quivering and the certain gleam in his eyes makes your stomach flip. 

Then he smiles. He has a beautiful smile, but to you it seems cold and sharp. As if he is sharpening his knives.

“Oh, I am very much real, Baby.” The endearment comes as a mockery. Ryan calls you that, and he knows. This man knows what he is doing. “This, however…” He points his forefinger downwards, “This world…Isn’t real, honey. Neither was your stupid little boyfriend. You felt it too, didn’t you? feel How a real human’s touch feels, how the connection feels?”

“Wh–what? Wh–who are you even?” Your voice shakes like your heart. The more he speaks, the more unnerved you feel.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie lie lie

You never felt the strange flutter, the deep longing and sadness with him You always had Ryan so... 

Why do you feel it then?

Like something beautiful is fleeting. It’s sublime even. You are awestruck but cannot comprehend it. You feel in this man’s presence.

But this has to be some trick, this cannot be real. You have been with Ryan. Six years. You have given this relationship six years! How can this be? 

“I am Neo, and you will have all the answers when you wake up.”

He produces what seems like a tiny red pill. It has a glow to it, drawing you in. Your hand almost raises to pick it up, but then rationality slips back in.

Okay, now you know who he is. A psycho. Maybe he wore a mask or something, you don’t know but he does not seem to be in his right mind.

“Y–you fucking crackhead what did you do to Ryan?”

You are probably digging your own grave, you are fucked in the head for finding this man attractive. Noticing how big and warm his hands are. But you do care about Ryan.

His smile fades away and there is something so deliciously dark swirling in his eyes. They flash dangerously and you gulp. You are going to die, aren’t you?

But then, he sighs and looks away, shaking his head as if he had expected it. “Thought this would happen,” he whispers to himself.

You frown and frantically look around. Will anyone come to your rescue if you scre—

The sudden pinch on your nose is painful. But the gasp comes more with the shock of your nose being pinched than the loss of air. Your mouth opens as a reflex, that is all he needs. Ou vaguely see a tiny flash of red before his fingers slide themselves into your mouth. Your teeth come clamping around it in defence. But he simply pinches your nose harder with a chiding ‘tch’. You gag at the feeling of his fingers forcing the pill in. But you cannot keep your teeth clamped for long, you need to breathe after all. As soon as your mouth opens again, though, his fingers retreat. You take a deep breath when he frees your nose. You would just spit the—

Your stomach plummets at the feeling of an empty mouth. You look up to him, holding your neck, wide-eyed as everything begins to appear in waves, the colours outlining, each figure, even him.

“Perfect.”

That is the last thing you hear before the ground below you melts.

****

[ryiju-muunie]

The professor is Mine

18+ viewer discretion is advised

trans!student!Satoru Gojo/professor!Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: university/college AU, dubious morality, transgender gojo y'all, dubious age gap [19 and 40], class room sex kind of, cock warming, Sukuna got a big dick y'all, gojo has an obsession with his professor, Grindr mentioned [sadly], finger sucking, creampie, gojo is also a fem boy, bottom growth Y'ALL, neck sucking, and not beta read we die like men Word count: 3310 DESC: Satoru puts together a plan to fuck his history professor and it WORKS?!

This is old but I realize I never uploaded it here

NOTES: Dubious morality and cockwarming! Personally if these were on the ballad I'd vote for cockwarming. Also ignore if it gets incredibly redundant and awful at the end. I had work and my brain is starting to turn to sludge at this very moment

It was so wrong, so utterly wrong, but everyone’s allowed a little bit of fun, right? At least, that’s what Satoru told himself as he stared into the full-length mirror by his bed. There wasn’t any way to beat around the bush: He was going to sleep with his History professor. Well, try to. That man, Dr. Sukuna, was a wall of mystery to anyone who dared penetrate it. There was no good way in and every time he thought he had an opening it was squashed by his glare. It was as dastardly as it was attractive, making him bite his lip in class. Every time he tried to ask a question or talk after class, he was left with hasty remarks that made him want to give up. But the boy never did.

His whole obsession with the older man started when he found on him Grindr of all places. It made the wet spot between his legs ache as he scrolled through his profile. Ryomen, 41, single, and rippling with muscles. Ryomen posted shirtless photos, gym videos, and most importantly … an audio. It was just him talking about his interest in history, some period in Japan he was so fond of, that Satoru didn’t care for. But the fire in his voice, the drive of passion made him listen to it almost the entire night, as he fingered his pussy. 

In the mirror, the college student donned a black skirt, cropped to his mid-thigh. It was scandalous and not the kind of outfit you’d wear to visit your history professor when you knew he was grading in his office. But to cover it, and make the outfit a bit more G-rated, he slipped on a white cardigan. A bra to hold his breasts in place underneath as well. Black and lacey. Something … mature. Ryomen was older, he probably liked older guys too. Gojo wanted to show he was mature beyond his years, even if he was just nineteen. This outfit might have no been the best example but it was slutty. That’s all that mattered. Prying his professor's eyes from his grading papers for more than two minutes so he could see his hot skin, dripping in red for him.

The door was unlocked, and he knew it was. The student had his teacher's exact routine memorized down to when he sat in his office with the door slightly cracked so students could come in if they had questions but it was directly advertised to the public. So, most students didn’t. He knew he had a perfect chance of getting that older man alone and he had one shot to seduce him. Even if it meant using a bit of blackmail. Wouldn’t the school want to know that the professor of Japanese history at their prestigious college was on Grindr matching with nineteen-year-olds? It was a last resort if he didn’t get what he wanted, so he wouldn’t play that card unless he absolutely had to.

Satoru pushed the door open with the toe of his foot and marveled for a few silent seconds at the man before him. Grey hairs poured into pale pink tufts, all neatly sprawled across his head. It was messy but meticulous, so he knew his teacher spent a good thirty minutes combing those strands to stand up like that. It was kind of juvenile, still styling his hair like he probably did when he was his student's age. And the white-haired-male couldn’t help but find it endearing, how it stuck up with no regard for his very professional outfit. A soft blue button-up with a darker brown vest overtop, and a dark blue tie. The tie was always plain, as his outfits were. Not like his other professor in economics, Mr. Nanami, who wore patterned ties [which contrasted his very bleak personality]. 

The one thing he always stopped to stare at was his eyes, which were the color of a light fire. Hazy in the outer corners and burning deep within the corneas. It was entrancing and god was it hot when he’d stare into the other man’s eyes. The fire was always dull, not true fire. Instead of bright orange it always ranged from a more soothing caramel, which complimented his aged features like wine. Even with those slight wrinkles by the corner of his eyes, he was handsome. 

Dr. Sukuna didn’t notice Satoru standing in the doorway for at least a moment until he made himself known with a clearing of his throat, “...Professor.” It was a simple word, but it was the way he said it. Breathy, on the brink of pure pleasure. His eyes were slightly closed, half-lidded in his direction and burning with lust. Words’ meanings can change with their tone, and he was trying to convey a single sentence using simplistic words.

Take me right over your desk and pound my pussy until I’m throbbing with your hot seed, as it leaks through my folds. 

The boy gasped at the thought, pressing his legs together as he was dangled naked in front of the other man's eye. He looked up, eyebrow slightly arched as he took in that lewd outfit and the even more lewd expression on his student's face. It was obvious. If Satoru had arousal pheromones they’d be radiating off of his cunt in wafts, straight to Ryomen’s nose. Finally, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes. His eyelids were flat, one plain of skin. Gojo wondered what it would be like to lick his skin, especially around those firey eyes. Yet still, they were dull. He wanted them to burn brightly for him, even if it was one time. Even if it was for one singular moment. 

“Satoru. How can I help you?” He asked, with a polite strain in his voice. Satoru had always wondered if his profile came up on his professor's Grindr feed. He wondered if he listened to his breathy voice notes, saw his promiscuous photos, and touched himself. He wondered if that large cock ever got hard because of little old him. He knew he got wet over that man on several occasions, always ending with the male leaving class early to touch himself needily in his car. Mewling as he came all over his hand, wishing it was Ryomen’s fingers sliding around his clit and pinching it between rough pads. 

Here it goes. All of this build-up and Satoru just had to come out and say it. He had rehearsed it so many times in his head it was practically memorized by that point. “I want you …” He paused deliberately, bringing an index finger to run against his pouted bottom lip before he continued, “... To help me with my grades.” He noticed right away that Professor Sukuna had a thing with his mouth. Whether it was chewing on the back of a pen in between waiting for his slides to load or biting his bottom lip in concentration, he was always doing something with his mouth. So his student just had to assume he was somehow sexually aroused by someone else's mouth. You know, sound logic for a man who had just stalked his teacher's entire schedule.

Sukuna didn’t look too phased by this, pressing his lips together and nodding his head very slowly. Surely, he had to know where he was coming from at this point. The sultry voice and the incredibly skimpy outfit? He wasn’t stupid, he had his doctorate for godsakes! This man had to know he was being seduced. 

He continued to nod, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth and thoughtfully running it against his top teeth. What a teasing motion. It was deliberate, just as Satoru’s words. As if he was challenging him and telling him to stand down. His legs were spread, he could tell from the stance of his shoulders as he trailed a calloused hand to his tie. Delicately, he looped one finger over the top and gripped the edge of the center, tugging and swaying the fabric side to side as he stared at his student. Ravenous. He was absolutely ravenous. His gaze was burning with a sense of passion and desire Gojo hadn’t ever seen in his entire lifetime. This man knew exactly what he wanted out of his plush body, and he was going to get it. 

“You’re bold, brat,” a chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled the remainings of his tie and pulled it out from around his head. Then came the few buttons on his shirt, gone and exposing bouts of fresh skin. Skin Satoru wouldn’t have a hard time marking with his pouty mouth, running his tongue along the collarbone and sucking until it was blooming with red.

Within a second, his student closed the door with his hands, clicking the lock between two nimble fingers. Locked. And all mine. A grin pulled at his lips and he strode over to the table, pushing aside a picture of Sukuna’s cat to sit on the edge. If it wasn’t obvious to his professor then, it was now. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He put one leg in between the other man’s spread ones, almost hitting his crotch dead on. It gave just the slightest view to his dripping folds, slicked with his juices, and aching to be touched. Ryomen glanced over at him, eyes trailing down and slightly widening at the sight of a pussy. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed rather pleased. A whine of pre-enthusiasm escaped his lips as the teacher pressed his hand into Satoru’s thigh, sliding up to cup his squishy hip. It was warm as he dug his short nails into the skin, kneading it like it was fresh dough.��

“I saw your profile,” he said, without looking up from his college student’s cunt, “I was intrigued as to how someone so… innocent could post those photos of himself,” his eyes flitted to the other, making Gojo’s mouth salivate. Was this, possession? Had his professor been lusting after him as much as he had been lusting too? God!!! This turned him on so much!! But he couldn’t outright say, ‘Hey I’ve been kind of stalking you, marry me :D’.

So instead he leaned forward, an air of seduction to his voice as his right hand's index finger extended and drew a line up Ryomen’s neck, tilting his face up by his chin with ease, “I wanted to show off. Especially in class. For you,” he purred, lids fluttering closed and eyelashes brushing against his cheek. Satoru’s hand caressed his lower jaw, before grabbing his chin with force, a devilish grin taking hold of his features, “I know you liked it. You got so worked up. It was obvious…”

Ryomen was clearly stronger than him, so it made him clench to realize he was letting himself get moved. He was letting this obviously submissive twink take control, even if it was for a minute, to tease and taunt him. His cheeks were burning, and god it was hot. How could such a man exist? His professor opened his mouth and tilted his head to the side in a jerking manner, signaling he wanted something. He wanted … oh. Satoru happily complied and adjusted his hand, sinking his thumb into the other's mouth with ease. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the digit, and began to suck. 

“I want you to,” Gojo inhaled shakily, taking ahold of his partner's other hand and dragging it toward his miserable heat, “To touch me. Can you do that?” Ryomen mumbled something against his thumb which was to the degree of yes, but he didn’t care as his thick fingers were getting to work. It was an instant pleasure, feeling three pads delicately rub long circles around his engorged clit. He had bottom growth, and it took the other a few seconds to adjust and pull at it lightly. Before settling on rubbing the tip ever so lightly. What a tease! What a fucking tease! Every touch was increasing his slick and every touch was giving him a taste of what was to come. 

It was only a few more seconds of teasing touches that Sukuna let go of his thigh and stopped toying with his cunt. He leaned back and let Satoru’s thumb trail out of his mouth with a faint pop. He inhaled and a small smile pulled at his features. It was devious. Utterly devious. Hungry… aching for more. Wanting to devour the twink until there was nothing left but his skirt as a reminder that he actually existed. His big hands fondled his waist until his pants were gone and what was left was a cock springing from his abdomen. God Satoru could just cry. That was one of the largest dicks he had ever seen, and it was apparent his teacher was only partially hard too. It was beautiful, slightly curved, bulbous and throbbing head, with trimmed hair at the base. What wasn’t there to like?

He didn’t have to be told anything, getting up and turning his behind to line up his entrance with the cockhead. “F-fuck…” Ryomen breathed out, two hands anchoring to Gojo’s hips to guide him down. Being this self-lubricated made it easy as he stretched down that massive log. It felt as though he was going to explode in ecstasy at any moment. Pushing further, his G-spot was roughly kissed by the tip. Satoru teetered a bit at the sensation, leaning up to get a small breath before sinking once again. It was sensitive and intense, just the feeling of bottoming out. And then … that was it. 

Satoru sat there in a bit of confusion as his professor wrapped one arm around his waist to pull him flush to his back, and used the other to pick up a pen and begin his work. Was that it? Is this how older men have sex, by sitting and letting you bottom out into nothing? I mean, he had to admit, it was hot. The way he felt every breath, every pulse from his cock, every twitch in his legs. It made him squirm. But … it wasn’t the rough kinky sex he had expected. 

“What exactly are we doing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the work. It was just busy work he had given the classes, and he was grading them as if he wasn’t having a twink swallow his cock whole. 

Ryomen laughed a bit, strained with an erotic breathy tone as he replied, his mouth dangerously close to Satoru’s ear, “I’m grading, brat.”

“I can see that. But I was expecting to be railed, you know. I got all dressed up for this,” a whine escaped his lips, not out of pleasure, but rather out of impatience. If he wanted to, he could have started bouncing. Well, he wanted to, but he definitely couldn’t. The man realized that Dr. Sukuna’s hand around his waist wasn’t to be intimate but to keep him from moving. That bastard! He was doing this on purpose!

He felt warm and soft lips press into his neck, kissing the skin like it was the finest prize. Satoru gasped and leaned his head to the left, giving his professor more room to kiss along the side of his neck, “But, I find that slow-,” and there it was. Ryomen slowly thrust up into Satoru’s clenched pussy, “-pleasure is always the best.” His breath tickled the white-haired male’s earlobe and for a split second he thought he was cuming, but he wasn’t. The pleasure was slow, and his professor was right it was so much better. It was building, low and deep in his lower stomach. A warm rut was burning and warmth spread across his folds. He could have sped it up by touching himself, but he wanted to see where this would go.

“H-hah…” Satoru found himself whimpering as he felt the cock drag along his walls and then slam back into him, just to repeat the agonizingly slow process. Fuck, it felt so good. And he knew that orgasm would be slow and drawn out, just like how his professor was fucking him. Ryomen’s mouth stayed on his neck, nibbling at the skin before making out with it like it was your second mouth. Tongue licked circles around your skin, before he rolled it around his teeth, then back to his tongue. Oh, he definitely had some kind of oral fixation. 

Sukuna was still grading, somehow. By God's strength and will, he was sloppily giving everyone A’s on an assignment they obviously Googled. His mind wasn’t on the stupid papers, it was on Satoru. How he smelt and especially how he felt. Walls clenched around his massive cock, which fluttered with each calculated thrust. It was so good, grinding up into him just to see the Twink's reaction. The professor couldn’t see it, but his student’s eyes were already back into his head, his hips fighting the urge to roll and speed up the friction.

“Grind back into me,” he soon cooed, warm sticky words clinging to his tongue as he groaned into Satoru’s ear, “Ye-a-ah, just like that,” Ryomen exhaled, pressing his forehead against his partner's nape, “Slowly now…” Satoru did exactly as he was told, slowly grinding back onto the cock he was warming. It was so agonizingly hot, feeling it drag in and out of his cunt and then this added friction. If he had a dick he’d be spurting bouts of cum everywhere by this point. I mean, he was close. So close he could practically see the orgasm on the horizon. Just a little bit more grinding.

It wasn’t until he started hearing Ryomen’s noises did it fully pushed him over the edge. It was a few grunts and panting breaths at first, but now he was divulging into being a slobbering mess. The student could feel drops of saliva fall onto his neck as he realized the professor was actively panting like a damn dog, sticking his tongue out as if it would enhance his pleasure. God, that was hot, and hearing him begin to lose his self-restraint was even hotter. His movements were slower, and his muscles were tense. Satoru knew he wanted to savor this as much as he, himself did. All that self-restraint was hot, but he wanted him to let go and fuck him into oblivion. 

When Satoru Gojo finally came, it was better than he could’ve expected. It was a fluttering clench deep in his pussy that erupted as his professor kept his thrusts taut. Warm waves of pleasure washed over him a few times until he let out a dramatic gasp and shudder, followed by a submissive sob. His body convulsed faster than the actual orgasm, which was the most painful part. The pleasure was so good, it was too intense. It almost hurt to move as he felt it wash over his clit and slowly begin to dwindle. That was until Ryomen let out a gasp and a guttural, “O-oh fuck,” and shot slow ropes of cum into his cunt. It sent a spike of sensitive pleasure in his pussy again and made the poor guy cry out. 

God! How much more intense could this shit get?

Professor Sukuna slowed his thrusts to a stop, dropping his pen onto the table and gripping the edge with white knuckles. Was that as good for him as it was for himself? I mean, he thought so. No man could have a mediocre orgasm and have that reaction. 

“Professo-” He was instantly cut off. 

“Call me Ryomen,” he rasped into his ear, a ragged breath being pulled from his lips. 

Oh. He must’ve really liked it then.

[kankuroplease]

I could never chose a favorite between the Uchiha & the Senju clan. They’re both elite. But lately I’ve been thinking more about the Senju & have a few questions since I love your Senju fanart.

What are your headcannons about the Senju clan? They’re culture & traditions? What are the common & not so common physical characteristics within the clan based on your headcannons?

Since you designed Lady Asako to have white hair & red eyes because of Tobirama’s cannon design, do you think that the Senju had diverse features? Or is Lady Asako & Tobirama the exception?

Only asking bc when doing my own research, I’ve seen a cannon still of the Senju clan where Hashirama is in the middle, Tobirama to the right of him, Toka to the left & behind them are other random Senju men. They all look different; blonde, brown, grey & even dark blue hair.

What do you think? 😊

Same 🫡

Ok, it’s been awhile sense I’ve answered a clan ask and it’s a bit nerve wracking to take on such a big clan with big deal characters, but I’ll give it shot

I like to think their clan name is in reference to the 1000 armed Kannon statue, which would explain the appearance of Hashirama’s wood release

This Buddhist deity used those thousand arms to help those in need and Senju can also mean thousand hands/skills

so given that information + Hagoromo and Ashura’s natures, I think they were more of a welcoming clan to those who weren’t of them originally and needed aid

I absolutely can see them having had marriages to clans like the Aburame, Akamichi, Yamanaka, Nara, and the Hyuga that were both political and romantic

Because that can explain why these clans felt comfortable settling in Konohagakure once it was founded

But if course having a hard line when it came to the Uchiha 💀

Which of course leads to a clan that pretty diverse in terms of appearance

The majority of Senju people have more darker hair colors, but on the rare occasion, they’ll have a Tobirama or Itama

With the split hair color being the rarest outcome, but the possibility of it happening to a Senju descendent is always there

A trait that’s extremely common is their immense, stamina and energy as descendants of Ashura

I can see childhood in the founders era being extremely short for the Senju and it being seen as wrong to coddle any child too much

Which made children who were bold enough to stand with the older soldiers be seen as a great pride and asset to their clan (which ofc boo child soliders, but they’re literally even present in the modern timeline of Nart)

This of course eased with time (a little), but the end result is that a lot of Senju’s may take things too seriously

The expectation being women; most of the girls are not raised to be strong fighters and are kept in more secure places to aid in the making of medicines but also to make sure there could be future generations

The girls that demand to train and join their brothers and fathers on the battle field are seen as rebellious in the best of ways

But was is generally an uphill battle for them to be taken seriously enough to risk their lives too

Their traditions would consist of festivals similar to Bon and Tanabata. Mostly days for boosting morale and honoring those who have fallen

Another common practice for them is meditation. Doesn’t matter if it’s seated or walking, they’re meditating at least once a day

Meditation would be taken as seriously as training

BUT, it’s also a very Senju way of showing romantic interest in a potential partner as it’s seen as making space for shared openness

Like, ramen together is cool and all, but do you want to have a couples meditation session? 👀

They’re old fashioned as heck. Spend three days at your lovers place and they’ll consider you basically married to your partner

[exilethegame]

what inhuman features did each of the gods produce when they merged with a human?

These aren't completely solid, but...

Darkness: Completely white eyes, black blood + tears, and the hair of the host would often turn completely black, taking on a smoke-like, shadowy quality. Similar to Phoenixes, the feet and hands would turn dark black.

Light: Golden eyes, along with golden hands + feet. The host's hair would maintain its original coloring, though it would fade into a blond color towards the ends that glows. Hosts have also been known to grow large, golden-colored wings.

Fate/Order: The host is given bright, vivid, pale green eyes. Their hands and feet would shift to be a similar color, and their hair would slowly turn red.

Chaos/Freedom: Freedom has never "merged" with a human for a long period of time (not including the time they were quite literally trapped inside MC's head)-- it goes against their morals. However, if they did, the host would develop Freedom's own bronze eyes and cerulean colored hands/feet.

Life: The host would come to resemble a dryad-- their hair would turn into some combination of leaves, vines, and plants, while their hands and feet would morph into wood and bark. Otherwise, the host's appearance would remain unchanged.

Love: The host is given bright pink eyes. While not a physical change, it's been noted that "golden chokers" are commonly worn by Love's disciples. Otherwise, the host remains the same as they were, though often with an "alluring" demeanor.

Joy: The host is given bright yellow eyes and will grow fairy-like wings and skin that has a glimmer-like quality to it.

Death: Death's hosts begin to rot slowly. While this may sound horrific, in the Old World, this was a common affliction to those who lived in Tistpreth, Death's realm, and who were particularly religious. Otherwise, Death's hosts will develop black sclera and white irises. The host's hair will either turn gray/white, or otherwise turn a muted version of the color it once was. Their hands + Feet would turn a dark grey, but not quite black.

Fear: Fear's hosts would have glowing purple eyes, and their hair would begin to turn black. Their hands + Feet would turn purple.

Sorrow: Sorrow's hosts would have glowing teal eyes and reflective irises. They'd also develop gills and scales, though these physical traits would only be truly apparent if the host was recently in water. Their hands + feet would turn teal.

[cognitivefunctionscomics]

INTP functions characters

Titania: Analytical, reserved, unconventional, and self-assured, Ti is critical and sometimes sarcastic. She strives for fairness and can sometimes come off as unintentionally arrogant, cold, self-absorbed, and even destructive. Her dream is to understand everything, setting aside human bias and limitation. She perceives reality as a system with hidden variables that could be controlled if comprehended. She doesn't intentionally exude a "back off" aura but is bothered by those she views as intrusive or disrespectful, especially when they invade her space with too many questions. As such, she’s wary of overly friendly or charming people. While observant, her focus isn't always on the tangible world, like what others wear or current events, unless there's a reason. Instead, she's keen on spotting theoretical flaws and is therefore hard to deceive. Even her friends are scrutinized; she prioritizes caution over instinct. She holds some misanthropic, deterministic, and nihilistic views, even if she identifies as "unbiased", to better deal with stress, ensuring she doesn't take things personally. She appears detached even when engaged, constantly building mental models to understand things from the inside out. When allowed the freedom to explore her often taboo interests, she's endlessly inquisitive. While Ti values intelligence, she sometimes overlooks the obvious or fails to consider the emotional aspects of issues. She adheres to binary logic until undeniable evidence proves otherwise and is irritated by elusive answers. Disliking incompetence and emotional reasoning, she thinks humanity should focus on conquering nature and understanding existence, freeing themselves from ignorance, making informed decisions, and not getting sidetracked by trivial matters, or worse, hindering scientific progress.

Looks: She dresses in practical urban wear, covered from head to toe. A large dark red zippered hoodie with pockets is worn over a turtleneck, paired with denim shorts, leggings, and ankle boots. Ti's short, layered orange hair is chin-length in front and cropped at the back. Her pale complexion contrasts with dark red eyes that seem to absorb light. These eyes often appear both distant and intense, accentuated by dark circles. Her expression, typically flat, gives her an air of fatigue or inaccessibility. When she does display happiness, it's subtle—a twitch of a closed smile.

Theme: Knowledge. With complete understanding, existence would lose its dominion over individuals, allowing them to manifest absolute individuality, control, and intelligence within their confines.

Nereida: Energetic and spontaneous, Ne is a dreamer. She's inventive, flexible, and inclusive, bringing a burst of bubbly energy everywhere she goes, but struggles with commitment to her grand visions. Going with the flow, she absorbs a plethora of information, always aiming to make last-minute optimal decisions. With a belief that every problem has a solution, she’s curious about everything, often applying knowledge from one domain to another. Her passion for learning mirrors Ti's focus, but Ne's is rooted in the joy of the process, always seeking to master her surroundings for maximum freedom. Disliking confinement, she occasionally gives up too quickly. Yet, when she persists, she finds ways to revel in challenges, cherishing the journey more than the destination. Although her plans can seem scattered, she thrives in unpredictability. She’s wary of those who wield power to control others, and in defiance, sometimes exercises her own control to observe the outcomes, which makes her morally grey. She thinks that it's her duty to challenge norms and pioneer change for the greater good when many are chained by ethics and fear, but has her own struggles, sometimes instigating chaos out of boredom.

Looks: Her attire is eclectic, pieced together from items she adores, without much regard for current trends. She sports a white buttoned shirt with teal insides, the sleeves rolled up and the front slightly unbuttoned to show a hint of cleavage. This is paired with a high-waisted, knee-length pleated teal skirt, ¾ leggings, and white Mary Janes with black heels. Her shoulder-length turquoise hair is pulled into a high side ponytail with a few loose strands framing her face. Her expression is vibrant, with large, curious blue eyes. Ne moves with a slight bounce, always seeming to be lost in a daydream and ignoring finer details.

Theme: Freedom. In a world without limitations, anything is possible.

Sienna: Grounded and diligent, Si is a model of consistency. She’s logical, practical, and knowledgeable, balancing her hardworking nature with humility and patience. She upholds tradition, believing that if everyone collaborates harmoniously, all aspirations, including universal comfort and understanding, are attainable. She derives a sense of duty and belonging from viewing herself as part of a whole, even if this sometimes stifles her creativity and subjects her to rigid standards. Si is at peace with her role but occasionally grapples with existential questions for not knowing herself in depth, or maybe suppressing philosophical musings. She values comfort, ensuring she always has moments of relaxation amidst her responsibilities, and appreciates nature and man-made wonders. Si always honors her commitments, but some may perceive her as mundane or lacking ambition.

Looks: Traditional and sensible, albeit slightly outdated. She dons a dark long-sleeved ruffled shirt buttoned entirely, paired with a lab coat, tailored trousers, and oxfords. Sleek glasses frame her earnest eyes. Her dark blonde hair reaches nearly to her waist, meticulously combed and pulled into a low ponytail, with bangs neatly clipped away from her face. While her movements are usually unhurried, she can be agile when needed, displaying remarkable dexterity.

Theme: Predictability. In a stable and comprehensible world, challenges would be preventable or at least manageable.

Felicity: Compassionate and giving, Fe is the embodiment of empathy. She is emotional yet fiercely loyal, often putting others' needs above her own. Her ideal world is one filled with loved ones she can protect and cherish forever. While she enjoys being the center of attention and reciprocated care, she sometimes neglects her needs, leading to periods of resentment. Her emotions can be volatile, especially when faced with disillusionment. Fe spends her days analyzing interpersonal dynamics, immersing herself in ethical discussions, and enjoying moral tales. Affected by poignant movies and easily manipulated, she doesn’t understand the saying, “hell is full of well-intentioned people”.

Looks: A blend of loose and tight-fitting garments. She wears a lilac boho dress that exposes her shoulders and collarbones with silk strips wrapped around her waist, neck, and wrists. Her footwear is burgundy heels with ankle clasps. Her purple hair cascades down her back, held in place by a ribbon, while her face boasts rosy cheeks and expressive eyes.

Theme: Unity. If everyone were the same, there’d be no conflict, and life would be fulfilling regardless of circumstances.

[spacemagictea]

Drifter Character Sheet

edit: fixed face screenshots cuz turns out I had the wrong aspect ratio the entire bloody time

Birth Name: Kaylessa

Titles: Drifter, Time Freak (‘title’ she gives herself)

Nicknames: Kay, Kayle, Marty, whatever Amir comes up with

Sex/Gender: Female

Birth World: Venus

Home World: Earth

Current Residence: Höllvania

Birthday: 30th June, year ???

Height: 170cm

Weight: middle, she’s got decent muscle

Eye Shape and Color: idk eye shapes well, visual reference above. Color emerald green

Skin Texture and Color: freckled, white, pale-skinned. Her body is littered with scars - arrows, cuts, claws, some burns, most notable however are a prominent scar in the middle of her chest from the usual method of execution by impalement she suffered in Duviri and tendrils of void scarring on her left hand and forearm caused by the severed hand of Lotus merging with her hand in Duviri.

Hair Style and Color: straight hair, usually shoulder length, kept in check with a bandana or tied in a ponytail if she lets it grow longer, crimson red color

Style/Fashion: 

casual wear: somewhat loose, comfy clothing. She loves turtlenecks and flannel. Often found wearing sunglasses and headphones plus a backpack. Pink, purple and black/grey.

battle fit: Armor that resembles Dax armor but with a closed mask with a plume at the top, black base with silver and golden parts and red cloth accents.

Age: Visually 30ish, actual age ??? (she was 13 when the Zariman Incident happened)

Personality Traits: Gentle, kind, honest, reckless, awkward, open-minded, curious, patient, protective

Likes: tea, plants, animals, floofs, books, music, good stories, tinkering with tech, AMIR.

Dislikes: pollution, Indifference, pointless cruelty, ALBRECHT ENTRATI.

Pet Peeves: hard to find whole leaf tea in Höllvania and these teabags SUCK

Habits: always keeps a tea set in places where she spends a lot of time, often fidgets with the bouncy glaives she can summon through her amp, likes to stay up late

Morals: never refuses to help others, tries to approach everyone with kindness, willing to avoid fighting if it’s not necessary, avoids dishonorable combat. She is vengeful, especially against people who hurt the innocent or things/people she cares about.

Phobias: seeing people she cares about die, having to go back to the future with no way to bring the Hex with her

Pros: good listener, will comfort you, bring you tea or any preferred beverage and tell you a story. Considers protecting others her duty. She’ll not disturb you if she doesn’t have to and you can basically chill alongside her doing your own thing.

Cons: often disregards her own well-being and/or safety. Tends to put others before her too much. A bit… touchy. She was very touch starved so if you don’t like hugs or touch, warn her beforehand because she likes to give hugs.

Personal Glories: getting Amir to date her lol 

Personal Trauma: had to kill her older sister when she turned mad because of MITW and as a result she always feels like she failed her in some way. Major survivor’s guilt.

Powers: time looping, Tenno Void powers - while she can perform anything her operator self can do, she has less control over these powers, for example, her void mode/cloak doesn’t always fully protect her or turn her invisible.

Abilities: melee combat, Kaithe riding, pistol/amp shooting. More recent abilities come from the Void powers obtained when she met with her alternate self and became empowered when they chose to have the Drifter be the more active person for the time being. Due to not being used to them yet, she might at times forget that she’s got some of these tools available - mostly concerning focus school abilities. Current main extent includes Void mode/cloak, Void sling, Transference and abilities of the Vazarin/Unairu schools of focus. Still working on the other schools and mastering what she’s currently got. Occasional void mode issues have her try to figure out if she can potentially do the partial void mode on purpose and for example only use the damage protection mode, without the invisibility.

Weapons: Sirocco, a pistol she uses in Duviri, Edun, melee spear she uses in Duviri (I know DE doesn’t let us but she also uses it outside Duviri) and an amp called Flying Blaze, which can project damaging Void energy as either homing, bouncing glaives or a pistol-like blast. When using Warframes, she’s got a variety of weapons to choose from.

Combat Affinity: Flexibility is key. Whether fighting as herself or using a Warframe, she adjusts to the role that is most necessary and controls the battlefield that way. She can switch from attacker to defender and vice versa quickly.

Warframes of choice: Protea Prime, Hildryn Prime, Nova Prime

Social Skills: She’s friendly and open but awkward. Years of isolation make her a bit hesitant at times but if approached, she won’t refuse interaction.

~Relationships~

Lover: Amir. The spark between the two ignited quickly, the common ground helping them develop a friendship that eventually bloomed into much more than that - a true love. They are truly open and vulnerable with each other like with nobody else, sharing their experiences, their nightmares, their joys and their sadness to the full extent. She loves him for all of him. And the most precious thing to her is how he sees beyond her powers and her heroics and sees her as a person. To many, she’s an admirable hero and/or a powerful asset. To Amir, she’s just Kaylessa. 

Family: 

Deceased parents, she forgot their names at this point but she remembers they were kind and loving. They were scholars.

Deceased older sister, Aurelia, who aspired to be an Archimedean and was a great inspiration to young Kay.

The Hex are kind of a found family to her. They’re both best friends and siblings to her (aside from Amir being her lover)

Friends:

Aoi: They enjoy sharing music sessions with fun beverages together. Aoi greatly encouraged Kay to take the step to confess her feelings to Amir and taught her where the most fun date spots are.

Eleanor: They share legends and stories with each other and hold challenging discussions. Eleanor teaches Kay about languages and the state of the world in 1999. She also helped her name her feelings towards Amir and encouraged to take the step further.

Lettie: finding a lot of similarities to her older sister, Kay holds the softest spot for Lettie. She loves to help her with medical duties and making sure that Lettie can earn a moment of respite. And Lettie helps keep Kay grounded.

Arthur: a relationship of great respect and true friendship, Kay helped Arthur open up and evolve as a leader. They also practice cooking together. He made Kaylessa, who used to be a lone wolf, consider how she works with a team more.

Quincy: while she does consider Quincy an asshole at times and still has a slight grudge about his early treatment of Amir, the fact that in the end he tries to do the right thing has her consider him a positive relationship. She finds how he takes care of the kids in Höllvania to be the most noble thing. She helps him find educational resources.

Others:

While she has close relationships to the folks of the present time, she still considers herself quite… separated from them, especially now that she developed deep relationships with the Hex.

The Lotus (Natah): a mother figure to the Operator, Kaylessa’s title of Champion makes her feel a bit weird but working under her guidance has been a great honor.

Teshin: her mentor and a father-like figure, she cares greatly about him and always appreciates his lessons.

Operator Kaylessa has a sibling-like relationship with Drifter Kaylessa, but the main role the Operator took was one of a mentor.

Ordis: Ordis treats both versions of Kay the same way, like a caretaker. To the Drifter, he’s kind of like an uncle.

Loid: a friendly guide, she deeply appreciates his efforts, but has a bit of a hard time telling Loid that if she saw Albrecht ever again, it’s on sight.

The Cavia: the animals are deeply precious to Kay and another big motivation for her vengeance towards Albrecht.

Dominus Thrax: she pities the child king, after all she created him and kind of made him into her personal punishment

Albrecht: enemy number two, after the Indifference

Viktor: enemy number three

Theme Song: Dead Cells - Clock Tower Dead Cells - ClockTower (Official Soundtrack)

What voice I imagine her having: Sandra Nasic from Guano Apes, especially the first three albums era

Biography: Kaylessa’s parents were biology scholars of good renown. Born in one of the first cities built on the terraformed Venus, Kay led a quiet and idyllic life, in tune with nature from birth as her parents took her and her older sister Aurelia on their research expeditions. Aurelia, being 6 years older, made sure to protect her little sister whenever she had an opportunity and show her the world to the best of her understanding.

Boundlessly curious, Kay took up to learning all about plants and animals, giving her parents great hope she’d follow in their footsteps. Her sister was an academic ace, especially excelling in genetics, with an early dream of becoming an Archimedean. The more reserved future Drifter did not think of such ambitious things yet, but she was no less knowledge hungry, often preferring to read books once she was able to read and look at the beauty of the natural world over interacting with others.

When Kaylessa was 10, her family was selected to be among the first colonists of Tau, boarding the fated ship Zariman Ten Zero, which was to be their new home… and ended up being the tomb for most of them. Three years later, she lost everything and everyone she cared about. Forced to kill her sister who turned mad then watching her parents tear each other apart when imprisoned left her with haunting nightmares and a major case of survivor’s guilt.

She ended up stranded on the Zariman when the deal she made with the Man in the Wall made it so everyone else but her was saved. Escaping into Duviri, she ended up stuck for a long, long time, until the New War’s paradox brought her salvation.

She took up a more active role between the two versions of her after emerging, hoping to give her child soldier self some respite from everything that happened. Until she had to travel in the past… and now she does not know if she’ll want to return, unless she finds a way to bring the Hex with her.

Other notes: ADHD and autism traits but do they diagnose that stuff in the far future? Probably not, up to you if because it’s considered a normal thing or because things are just ignored due to everything being gigafucked. She’s left handed so I mirror everything that defaults to right hand to left hand in my mind, like the Lotus hand. She’s demisexual. Her face scars are less prominent but even then, that’s why she got accessories on her to draw attention from the scars away.

------

As you can see I gave her a small look revamp - after they fixed the kiss cut scene it had me notice a few things that I liked more before fixes and some things that pestered me too much so, I adjusted her look.

Character sheet courtesy of @ashandshy https://www.tumblr.com/ashandshy/772406073411960833/drifter-character-sheets-of-2025

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 11

Entangled in the Brown Abyss

They say he's morally grey

What can I say?

Grey's my favourite color.

- ( The song of the chapter is 'Morally Grey' by April Jai and Nation Haven.)

"Hi, you are Khushi, right? I am Lavanya, Lavanya Kashyap."

A beautiful girl with slanted jet-black eyes and sleek shiny hair greets her in the garden of the resort. She recognizes her as one of the girls sitting beside Junior Rathore earlier at lunch today. Lavanya's smile is as gorgeous as she is. The highly fashionable white saree that she's wearing compliments her entirely. There is an undeniable playfulness in her demeanour, the kind that makes it hard not to smile in her presence.

"Hi, yeah, I am Khushi."

"I absolutely love your lehenga."

"Thank you", Khushi replies with an awkward laugh.

"You know what they say about you is true."

When Khushi gives a confused look, Lavanya continues, "They say you're the most beautiful girl in the society....They are absolutely right."

Red creeps into her cheek as she offers Lavanya a small smile. "You are beautiful too."

"Oh, thank you," Lavanya responds in a gleeful voice. "Sorry to be overbearing, but I've heard so much about you that I feel like I already know you."

"I don't understand."

"Neil talks about you all the time."

"Neil? NK?"

The mention of her best friend leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She has yet to deal with the betrayal she felt by him. It still stings, an unresolved wound festering beneath the surface, twisting inside her like a knife she has yet to pull out.

"Yeah, one and only, my honey bear."

"Lavanya, Tell her the story about how you and NK eloped to Vagus to get hitched." The other girl she saw earlier with Lavanya joins them. Her almond-shaped eyes glint with mirth as she teases Lavanya. The sequins in her orange lehenga sparkle in the evening light.

"Wait.....you and NK are married."

"Yeah, we are," Lavanya replies sheepishly.

"Not only that, they've been childhood sweetheart," The other girl chimes in. "Hi, I'm Payal Roy."

"Hi, Khushi Sen Gupta. Very nice to meet you, Payal," She says, smiling at Payal. "So, Lavanya, tell me..."

"Oh, we both were born and brought up in the US. We were together in everything... elementary school, middle school..High school. After high school graduation, we went to Vegas for some fun and got so drunk that we got hitched there. That's it...Happy now, Payal?" Lavanya huffs. "What fun do you get from making me repeat this story to every new person we meet?"

"Oh, come on, Lavanya, you know I adore you two. Can’t a girl live vicariously through you?" Payal teases sweetly, linking arms with Lavanya. "Hey, look! Pani puri ! Let’s go, Khushi, we’ll have some."

"Do you think it’s a good idea? What if someone sees us gossiping together?" Khushi asks, glancing around.

"Come on, it’s not like we’re discussing anything top-secret. The men in our family don’t share anything with us anyway." Payal says rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, like they’re a locked ancient chest, with the key long lost," Lavanya giggles. "You, at least, can go to Arnav’s room. I tried once, just to peek inside, and he practically glared me right out of there. The only female he tolerates is you. You can even make him do things he doesn’t want to do."

"Come on, Lavanya, don’t be jealous. You know how it is with Arnav."

'She can go to his room!! Who is she?! It's not like I care. Whatever.' Khushi mutters in her head. She looks back at Payal. She is stunning. Something unexplainable clenches in her chest. She brushes it away. 'Exactly. Who cares anyway."

"Speaking of him, where did he disappear to after lunch?" Lavanya asks as they made their way toward the pani puri vendors set up by the Oberois. It's the sangeet this evening. There is a concert supposed to happen. And the muhrat for the pheres have been set for midnight. Then tomorrow is the reception. Not only elites all over the country but also celebrities and movie stars are crowded around the sprawling complex.

"Akash said he went to receive his date," Payal replies, gesturing to the vendor to prepare pani puri for them as Khushi quietly listens to the conversation.

"Ohh...spicy..anyone we know." Lavanya wriggles her eyebrows at Payal.

"Helena Khan," Payal drawls out secretively.

"Ah, the leading lady of this year's biggest blockbuster. Totally his type," Lavanya says, rolling her eyes before mumbling under her breath, "Fuck 'em and leave 'em."

Payal slaps Lavanya's arm lightly. "You’d know his type well, wouldn’t you? You’ve known him your whole life."

"Payal.." Lavanya whines, rubbing her arm, "Be nice." Then she looks back at Khushi. "See you're confusing our friend here."

"Actually, NK is Arnav's cousin. NK's dad was Mr.Raizada’s—uh, I mean Arnav's father's younger brother. He lived in Chicago and worked for the 'Chicago Outfit.' You know, 'the Outfit,' right? That's where I'm from." Lavanya's voice drops conspiratorially.

Yeah, Khushi knows the Outfit. It's an organized crime group active in the US. She nods her head quietly, and Lavanya continues.

"So, Arnav's mom passed away when he was 14 and then he came to live with his uncle. That's when I met him. So yeah, I’ve known him since I was like, 6 or 7…and we spent pretty much every holiday together. He was super grumpy as a teenager. And it’s funny—I never once saw him date anyone or heard about him having a girlfriend." Lavanya glances around, checking if anyone might be eavesdropping. Lowering her voice, she whispers, "Then I got all the juicy details about his one-night stands from Aman. So that’s his type. One-night stands."

"Aman Mathur? His manager?" Khushi asks feeling slightly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation but equally intrigued.

"Yeah, they’re best friends. Have been since high school. So much so that Arnav brought him back here to India with him." Lavanya pauses, reflecting. "Actually, now that I think about it, he didn’t even have those one-night stands since he moved back. All he does is work. I don’t even remember the last time he brought a date anywhere."

The vendor interrupts their conversation, handing each of them a plate of pani puri. Khushi’s lips curve into a smile at the sight of the crispy, tangy delights. She picks one up, dipping the round morsel into the spicy tamarind water, her fingertips grazing the cool, wet surface as she raises it to her mouth. She parts her lips, feeling the shell break between her teeth, a burst of flavours exploding on her tongue as her eyes flutter shut for a brief second.

The tang, the spice, it all hits her senses at once. And then she feels it. It starts from the tips of her toes and ascends, spreading up her back, snaking around her neck, caressing the ends of her hair before settling in her chest making her heart pound, each beat echoing in her ears.

Dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak

The weight of a stare presses against her skin. Until now, she hasn't realised it's possible to feel a gaze without seeing the person. And yet, every inch of her recognizes that stare. She knows exactly who it belongs to.

She doesn't look his way.

She doesn't need to.

Without opening her eyes, she lets the moment stretch, savouring not just the food but the flame skimming the surface of her skin. She rolls the remaining bite on her tongue, letting her lips close around her fingers just slightly before she pulls them away.

And then she opens her eyes.

Deliberately, slowly.

Her lashes lift and the world around her shrinks. Everything else fades away, dissolving into a soft blur, narrowing her focus to the one individual she can't seem to ignore these days.

Him.

Her hazel orbs clash directly into the dark pool of madness. It's the darkest of all chocolate-brown.

A jolt of electricity shoots through her. She is caught like a prey under the gaze of a predator, but instead of fear, flame surges through her veins.

She doesn't look away.

It's not like she can.

She can't look away.

She's pinned right in that moment.

She swipes the tip of her tongue across her lips, clearing away the last traces of tamarind water glistening on them. They're burning, the spice still tingling. She bites down gently, trying to soothe the heat. Eyes still locked, she lifts another pani puri to her lips.

His jaw tightens.

Subtle but not subtle enough to escape her eyes.

She bites down on the sphere of flavors, letting the tang of the spice sear her tongue, but it's nothing compared to the burn in her chest as she watches the storm gather in his eyes.

It's raw and primal.

It's dark and dangerous.

It's thrilling.

She brushes the back of her hand against her lips, wiping away the spicy tamarind juice that escapes the corner of her mouth as the world around her clears a little bit. The corner of his lips lifts, just slightly, and then it is gone in an instant, so quick she almost believes she has imagined it. His presence is undeniable, even in a crowd. He stands tall in his impeccable attire, but that isn't what rattles her. It’s the woman at his side, draped over him like a piece of art—beautiful, poised, and clinging to him as if she belongs there.

But the sweet little angel can't take her eyes off the devil.

The sangeet concert rages on in the main hall, the vibrant music and cheers filling the air. But she slips away from the lively crowd, in search of some solitude. The sounds of laughter and music fade as she steps into the cool night, walking across the lawn. She follows the silver glow of the shimmering water reflected in the moonlight and ends up in a deserted poolside.

She takes a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air that mingled with the scent of blooming jasmine. The melodies of the sangeet echo in the distance, but here, in this secluded space, it's actually pretty quiet. She sits on the cool tiles, letting her legs hang over the pool's edge, dipping her feet into the cold water.

Her mind drifts to a time earlier this evening. She closes her eyes, trying to quell the flutter in her stomach that has yet to settle.

"Get a grip, Khushi," she murmurs to herself, shaking her head as if the motion can dispel the heat coursing through her.

She watches the stars twinkle above. There are tall, meticulously manicured hedges encircle the pool, decorated with strings of fairy lights. A soft breeze brushes against her skin, and she rather focuses on a different conversation.

"Khushi", Lavanya hesitated before she started, her voice softening, "Listen, I know you felt betrayed by him....But, you need to know that you are really important to him. He sees you as his best friend. If you two never meet again, I want to apologise on his behalf."

After a while, she continued. "He wasn’t spying on you, you know. The family didn’t need to keep tabs on you. His father died just after high school, and his mother didn’t want to be alone in the States. So we moved back here. NK just wanted to attend college but Mr.Rathore didn’t. He wanted NK to go back and join the Outfit in place of his father. But NK wasn’t ready to dive into that life....at least, not yet. So, Arnav made it seem like you needed to be watched, and he was the one chosen for the job... and now I’m rambling," Lavanya said, smiling awkwardly. "So, yeah, you get what I’m trying to say. He really is sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt you."

The sound of laughter interrupts her musing, and she turns her head to see Mr.Rathore and Sheetal Kapoor approaching the poolside, with Mr.Rathore already clad in a robe, likely wearing a swimsuit underneath.  Panic surges through her as she spots Mr.Raizada following closely behind them.

She looks around her. Desperate to avoid the confrontation, she turns on her heel, intending to slip away behind the hedges. However, in her haste, she misjudges the layout, only to find herself caught in a tangled maze of greenery. It's a twisted blind loop in the hedge design.

“Great,” she mutters under her breath. Glancing back, she half-expect them to spot her in this embarrassing predicament, but it seems she is completely hidden by the hedges. If she wants to leave, she’ll have to do it in front of them, and there’s no way in hell she’s going to do that. Apparently, she just has to wait here until they’re done.

Shit.

She leans against the hedge, the rough texture pressing into her back as she hopes for her early bail from this imprisonment. Through the gaps in the leaves, she can just make out the vague silhouettes of Sheetal Kapoor and Mr.Raizada sitting on opposite corners of a bench with their faces toward her. A mile between them.

"Are you sure you don't want to join me, Darling?" Mr.Rathore calls from the poolside.

"Yes, I think, I will just watch you from here, handsome."

Mr.Rathore slips into the water, effortlessly gliding through laps, while Sheetal watches him silently, a faint smile playing on her lips. Meanwhile, Mr.Raizada keeps scrolling through his phone, a champagne glass cradled in his other hand,

"What's wrong with you these days?" His deep, detached voice breaks the silence, asking the question nonchalantly, still to look up from the screen.

"Nothing," Sheetal huffs. A pause stretches between them. Then she whispers, almost as if testing the words, “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

"Huh",  he barks a laugh, then after a pause says, "..Really?" his tone is flat, almost disinterested.

"Yes," Sheetal replies, “Is it Stockholm?”

He doesn’t bother responding to her question. After a while she says, “What does it say about me that he’s treated me better than any man I’ve been with? And that he’s... a good lay?”

"I didn’t need to know that."

"Besides," Sheetal goes on, her voice softer now, almost reflective, "I thought I was pregnant."

"You thought?"

"False alarm. It scared the shit out of me." A sigh escapes her lips. "But it made me realize I don't want to be here anymore. If I get pregnant, I'd be tied to this world forever, tied to him forever. I don't want that."

"Initially, it was fun..." Sheetal continues, her eyes downcast. “...having a powerful man like him by my side, all that power at my fingertips... and to make it even better I got a double deal....." she pauses, chuckling as if she's sharing a secret. "But it doesn’t matter anymore. The money, the expensive gifts.......I just want peace and my baby boy... living a quiet life."

Khushi hears him exhale, a calculating look crosses over his face, illuminated by the mobile screen.

"Those are dangerous desires..... Give me a couple of months," his voice suddenly softer, almost negotiating.

"And then?"

“You pick a country. I’ll take care of the rest.”

"I can do that..." Sheetal agrees before her voice shifts, becoming inquisitive. "Now you tell me, what's going on with you these days?"

Without giving much heed to his non-remark, she adds, "I've never seen you this riled up before. My God, the threats you shot toward me that day. You didn't need to do that. I am in this willingly, with my eyes wide open..... You even threatened Aarav. You love my boy."

"Arnav Singh Raizada doesn't love anyone."

"Whatever you say, but my boy certainly does," the woman goes on, her voice softening with affection. "Every time I visit, he can't stop talking about how Mr.Raizada sent him the latest Xbox...Just last month, he was thrilled that you played basketball with him. I didn’t know you played basketball, Arnav."

His jaw tightens as a dark shadow falls over his features, but he remains silent, eyes glued to his phone.

"Oh, silly me," her lips curving into a playful smirk. "The golden boy Arnav, straight-A student, Harvard graduate—of course, he can play basketball as well."

"Careful, Sheetal, don’t push your luck," This whole time, he's not even looking anywhere other than his phone. It seems something really interesting happening on his screen. "Why don't you join, Mr.Rathore? He looks lonely."

"Will you watch if I do?" she replies, her tone teasing, almost flirting. Mr.Raizada doesn't even twitch. "Mind if I have your drink? You aren't going to drink it anyway. You never answer my question, why you don't drink?"

He wordlessly extends the drink toward her. "...And you aren't going to answer my question....again." she quips, taking the glass from him.

There's an indefinite pause fall over over then. Only the distance music and the shushing of water created by Mr.Rathore's swimming can be heard. Sheetal has gone back to watching Mr.Rathore as she silently sips the champagne.

"You know, I've always been curious about what type of women can rattle you. I think I might have found my answer today."  Sheetal let out a low chuckle, leaning in slightly. "By the way.....She is gor..ge..ous."

This time, Mr.Raizada looks up and fixes her with his infamous glare.

'What was the name of his date? Helena khan. Yeah, that's the name.' Khuhsi mutters to herself, remembering her name from a previous conversation.

"Seems like you don't wanna live anymore." His voice is dangerously low as he says that. But Sheetal just smiles at him broadly, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"What?!..I'm just saying." She shrugs her shoulders. "Hey, tell me,...Were you scared when I said I thought I was pregnant?"

"Why? It's not like it's mine," he retorts, annoyance lacing his voice.

"You know, if I had been pregnant... and managed to convince Mr.Rathore to marry me, I would’ve been a mommy by now." She grins at him, her voice dripping with mirth while her eyes sparkle with hidden secrets.

Mr.Raizada narrows his eyes and says in a hard tone. "Mr.Rathore is done. It's time for you to go."

Sheetal waves dramatically at Mr.Raizada before rushing toward Mr.Rathore, throwing her arms around him in a playful hug. Their laughter echoes through the air as they retreat toward the main building, their voices fading into the distance.

"The things my high blood sugar made me do. Now I have to do exercise while I am attending a wedding. Go figure...." Mr.Rathore's booming laughter rings out one last time, leaving the poolside eerily quiet in its wake.

Khushi breathes a sigh of relief, thanking her stars that it's finally over. She steps forward, eager to escape, but the universe seems to have other plans. A sharp tug at her hair and waist stops her in her tracks. Glancing down, she realizes with horror that the fairy lights wrapped around the hedges have somehow tangled themselves into her hair and lehenga, making her look like a Christmas tree.

With a frustrated groan, she raises her arms, trying to untangle herself from the shimmering lights, only to discover a tall, dark figure standing in front of her, watching her silently with his arm crossed over her chest.

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Khushi really can't catch a break, right? I'd love to hear your thoughts on these scenes and what you think will happen next! Drop a comment and let me know!

Until next time! 💕

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @titaliya @msbhagirathi

[thoraeth]

Words: 1800

TW: some violence, language, abusive family, morally grey characters, angst, physical self-consciousness.

Synopsis: Business is a war, war is a business; the Cross Guild knows it very well. When a partner requires a marriage of state, someone has to take a bullet for the team and that someone is Buggy.

Chapter 1 - You Do

CH2 > | Read on Ao3

They all laugh.

A violent, sour burst of laughter runs through the crowded chapel as the groom makes his entrance.

Everyone turn back to get a glimpse of that spectacle: under the bright stained-glass windows, he’s crawling on the floor, rolling over the red velvet carpet.

Two men are walking behind him. One is wearing a wide brimmed black hat, a huge sword on his back. The other, smoking a chunky cigar with a lazy grin, keeps kicking the groom forward.

The trio stops at the altar, leaving the soon-to-be husband on his knees. The poor thing is now a tangle of hair and ripped clothes, wailing in pain. And yet he does nothing to fight back or escape the ruthless amusement around him, he just lowers his head and grows quiet.

 A noblewoman comes towards them. She's slender, tall, extremely elegant. She reaches for the smoking man with her hand, expecting a courteous hand-kissing in vain.

“It’s lovely to see you back in Fugu Island.”

 “Cut the small talk, Lady Read. Hand over the contract.”

The woman replies with a stiff smile. ‘The manners of this rat suit his hideous scarred face’ she thought ‘Better settle the matter quickly and send these pirates back at sea’.

 “In due time. Is this him?” she pointed to the man on the floor

 “You asked for the boss.”

 “Indeed. And yet, know that I see it…” she giggled “Married to a clown!”

Laughter again. In the front row, guests stand up smirking and whispering to each other. The ones in the middle hold an agitated woman: she's rapidly breathing in her white dress, face hidden under a thick veil. Lady Meara Read grabs her arm and pushes her on the floor, next to her designated husband.

 “Crocodile, Mihawk.” Meara says “May we proceed?”

 “Let’s make this quick.”

 “As you wish, milady.”

 “Very well then. High Priest, when you’re ready.”

As an old man in religious attire mutters incomprehensible words, the wedding ceremony starts.

It could have been a normal event, except for one detail: the couple is completely ignored. No vows, no touching, no “I do”. Both the spouses keep their eyes fixed on the ground, absent minded while their companions force gold wedding bands on their fingers. Half an hour later, those fatal words:

“Buggy the Clown, Ava Read, I pronounce you man and wife.”

The veiled woman feels numb and weak, finding it difficult to think straight. It’s her actual wedding and it’s all so sad. Not that she’d ever hope for a fairytale, but this is just bitter. An old dress, those dirty herbs in her hands… and a man who doesn’t even want to be there.

Ava tilts her head to take a look at her assigned companion.

He coughs every now and then and his clown face is swollen, covered in scratches and cuts. She stares at the long blue hair that covers his shoulders and forehead, noticing knots and dirt he probably got from the aisle floor.

The pirate must have felt observed, because he turns his head towards the bride: two stunning blue eyes meet Ava but the sheer rage pervading the man’s face makes her drop her gaze immediately. ‘What if he’s as violent as the other two…’ she thinks, her stomach clenching.

Suddenly Meara and the Cross Guild men are upon them.

 “Up, lovebirds, time for business.” the scarred man grunts.

He and his fellow drag Buggy and Ava away, while Lady Meara addresses the rest of the room in a stilted tone: “Nobles of Fugu, our family really appreciated your presence here today. Please enjoy the feast that is waiting for you at Read Manor.”

The guests slowly walk away, leaving the chapel empty, deadly silent. No one’s in sight and negotiations kick off.

“Now that this charade is done, how long till you speak to Celestial dragons?”

 “It will take some time, Crocodile. I’ll urge them, but they notoriously take their time to answer lower relatives.”

 “They better change their mind quickly.”

 “Manners.”

 “Excuse him, Lady Read.” the swordsman interrupts “But indeed, we must hurry. We can’t protect Fugu if we are not allowed to move our men legally.”

“What?! You won't do anything until Cross Guild is given clearance again? Pirates could attack anytime!”

“Our hands are tied” said Crocodile, leaning against the altar “you insisted on doing things the noble way.”

“We respected your terms, milady, but there are consequences to any decision.” added Mihawk.

 “Right, so you did it all for nothing. Congrats, m-i-l-a-d-y.”

Buggy’s high-pitched voice comes from the altar's steps. He’s sitting hunched over, his cheeks squished against his knuckles.

“Shut your fucking mouth or I'll hook you.”

“You what?” the clown screams “I did what you two told me, I played the fool and behaved. What do you want now?”

“Buggy, please calm down.” Mihawk says gently.

“I'm calm. Very calm. But maybe I should act like my fake wife and pretend I don't exist.”

Ava stands right in front of him and she feels her heart sinking. Ears ringing from the nerves and the sickness, she forces herself to say something but words don’t come out. Meara steps forward, her voice cold and stiff. “You should be thankful to have a noble wife, jester.”

“You all forced me, I needed none of this. You could have just paid normal Berry as a normal person.”

“We are aristocracy, this is the way we seal a deal.”

“Who cares, it's stupid!”

“And yet you’re here because our ancestors married into people who can now save your venture.”

“To hell with you all! I’m out of here.”

Buggy sprints on his feet, but he feels awkwardly weak and dizzy. He tries to detach. Nothing happens.

“Really guys?” he yells, furious. “You’ve put seastone on me?”

Crocodile and Mihawk exchange confused looks. As far as they know, there is no seastone nearby, although Crocodile is now wishing he had brought some to keep that idiot at bay.

Buggy waves and pinches his captain coat, looking carefully around his arms and legs, swearing under his breath.

Mihawk approaches him tensely and grabs one of his wrists.

“Lady Meara, this is not part of our agreement.” His golden eyes pierce the noblewoman as he speaks.

“I couldn’t risk any unpleasant surprise.”

The swordsman shows Buggy his ringed finger. With an angry grimace, the blue haired jester takes his wedding band off and toss it at the two women. “We’re done here.” he says, stomping faster and faster towards the chapel’s doors.

“Wai-”

Meara gasps as Crocodile appears behind her and puts his sharp hook to her throat.

“High rank, low blows.”

“I…I swear…I didn't mean to harm any of you”

The hook presses harder.

“I would have just offered Buggy to rest here for a couple of days…”

Mihawk sits on the altar, planting his black sword in the marble pavement.

“You tried to kidnap a Yonko.” He states solemnly.

“N-no, I just…”

“Having the big dog here would discourage many crews, no doubt.” grins Crocodile. “Unfortunately, that has a very different price.”

“W-would Buggy consider it, if we pay?”

“Oh, no doubt. But save your berry, if you want my advice.”

Mihawk has had enough. He slowly walks towards the exit, leaving a crack in the ground behind him. His fellow joins him right away, pushing away Meara and leaving her shaky.

“You won’t have it your way this time, Read!” laughed Crocodile, relighting his cigar.

The two pirates get out in the open and are welcomed by the intense light of the setting sun.

At the vast harbor in front of the church, there’s an air of peace. Ships and fishing vessels move slowly in a gentle wind, few men still around mending nets. The sea sparkles in warm colors.

While going down the marble staircase, Mihawk freezes.

“You ok, ‘hawk?”

“Mh” he sighed “just a second, I think I heard something.”

“Fuck it. Fuck it all. I’m not going back with those assholes.”

Buggy is tinkering with a bundle of ropes, balancing in the middle of a swinging sailboat.

They said the wedding was fake, a trick to get those bloody nobles to pay fast.

“Seemed true to me.” he thinks “Can I undo it? There must be a way to reverse it...”

“Here you are! I’ve been looking all over the harbor for you.”

Buggy looks up, moving away his messy hair: It’s Mihawk.

The man’s smiling, standing on the dock. There's someone with him, but the clown couldn't care less.

“Get lost. I need some time away from you idiots.”

“I see. But I'm afraid you can't just go your way.”

“Says who?”

“Those six zeros still missing from Cross Guild’s coffers.”

Buggy bites his lips. They hold that fucking ‘you owe us’ thing against him every time. He can't even breathe without permission anymore.

“Anyway, I understand today was tough for you.” Hawkeyes says “So I persuaded Crocodile to let you enjoy a short honeymoon.”

“A what? Oh no, is it that girl there?”

“Buggy.”

“Did you hit your head or something? That was fake! Leave me alone!”

“Buggy, listen.”

“She’s better off here anyway!”

“They hit her.” Mihawk said, raising his voice “I found Meara raging on her. A pitiful sight. She must have given her something too, she barely stands.”

“And… what should I do about it?”

“I know a woman. On an isle, about one and a half days of sailing. Take the girl there.”

“You’re coming too?”

“No. Eat, drink, rest, do whatever you need until she’s ok. A week should be enough, I think.”

“Just so we're clear: then I have to take her in Karai Bari or…” the clown asked.

“You would never put your wife in danger, do you, Buggy? It's safer to have her stay with my friend. Permanently.”

The jester's eyes light up with hope.

“Fine! If you so insist, I'll prove my generosity once again. Ava, get a move on.”

The veiled woman is hesitant at first. “At least he remembers my name” she thinks.

Looking up at Hawkeye, Ava prays his doing is in good faith. She leaves the swordsman side and staggers to the boat, her legs too shaky and unstable.

“Take that stuff off your face, you'll see better.” Buggy croaks.

No answer. The woman gets in slower than an old granny, followed by the angry glare of the blue haired pirate.

“Oh, and don’t go off book. I can find you anywhere.”

“Fuck you ‘hawk.”

“Godspeed, lovebirds!”

Buggy takes something out of the water and the boat begins to move.

The distance between them and the stone dock increases rapidly, as the wind blows into their veils. The jester contemplates the horizon ahead while Ava sits in the back of the ship, none of them saying a word.

She stares at the view they're leaving behind, breathless. The sky has turned an intense blue with thick dark clouds and Fugu Island gets smaller and smaller in the silence of the night. The feeling of wind whistling in her ears, those cold droplets on her skin, explodes in Ava’s chest.

“I could…really live.” She whispers.

It is a happiness so great it almost breaks her.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

James Norrington x male pirate reader? Maybe the pirate got caught by James, heading to the gallows, but James free them instead?

Hello dear, thanks for your request.

James Norrington x male pirate reader 🏴‍☠️⚔ A matter of time⚓

Synopsis: James frees someone from his past from the gallows

Warning: mention's of hanging

The prison of Port Royal was rustic and unkempt; all the cells were lined in an orderly set of rows. Many men within the cells screamed and cursed names that shan’t have been brought to light. The officers at the entrance door wore red regimental coats and white shirts. Over the shirts were cross belts and grey breeches held by braces. They both wore black naval tricorne hats whilst their long hair was tied back with black ribbons. They held their Brown Bess muskets upright, gazing at a man formerly walking down the hall. The man wore a blue, full-skirted royal naval uniform made of wool fitted with very deep boot cuffs. He wore a white powdered wig with a black tricorn adorned with white feathers around the top. He held his hands behind his back, looking stern yet pristine, ignoring the prisoner's squabbles. The two lower-ranked officers saluted him, allowing him passage. He kept walking past all the cells while the prisoners shouted, “Oi, get’s me outta ere’!”, “Aye, I’m beggin ya”, “Lad, Lad, I’ll give ye three shillings fer tha keys”. He scowled at the sight of them, ‘good-for-nothing filthy pirates’ he thought. Scoundrels that held no honour or morals did all they did was steal, pillage, plunder, and commit the most treasonous crimes. His hatred for pirates stemmed from his childhood, ever since his father taught him. He despises any mentions of their names; to think anyone foolish enough to become one deserves a short drop and sudden stop.

The commodore halted in front of a particular cell, his eyes gazing coldly at the pirate seated in the corner. “I trust you’ve saved your prayers, for you shall hang at the gallows on this day”, he spoke with a deep, strict voice. The pirate in question was relatively quiet, unlike the others, he held no regard to acknowledge the commodore's presence. He was quite an untidy fellow, his hair in a mess, wearing a brown tricorn clothed with a brown frock coat and poet blouse. He wore black pantaloons and brown boots for shoes. The commodore had no care if the buccaneer wished to speak or act like a rapscallion. He was set to hang. “Do keep you’re your spirits high Mr L/n, I do believe your worthless life might just end quicker after all”.

The pirate, in turn, glanced up at the austere man with cold eyes. It seemed unfounded how a man had a deep detestation over one's life because they deemed themselves pirates. Had he known what true freedom was, one might say he would turn too. “Aye, keep yer knickers on, I know tis be me day of death, least I get ta visit fiddlers green in the afterlife”. James sternly spoke, “I believe where you’ll wind up, they’ll be no ‘fiddlers green’ but only your sinful damnation”.

The commodore ordered the naval officers to drag this scoundrel to the gallows. “Before ye send me ter me grave in Davy Jones’s locker, I ask why ye betrayed em’ commodore”. The statement in general, made James curious and halted the officers from opening the cell. “And what business do you wish to pry of mine, Mr L/n”.

“Cutler be at large, and ye stand thar a prideful man tha betrayed sparrah’s crew, hell, ye betrayed er—”.

“Whatever nosy rumours you’ve heard of is none of your concern.” The commodore furrowed his brows as his voice grew harsher.

“Aye but tis is, fer I recall a lass and lad back on that island searching fer a coffer” The pirate’s voice grew louder. “Why, don’t-che remember James, I was thar when ye ran wit tha chest, I saw ye leave Jack, Will and Miss Swann”.

“Don’t!” James growled.

“Yer guilty, tis written in yer deadlights”. It was impossible to reason; the pirate was a part of Jack’s crew and had pledged his loyalty to the captain. However, it all changed when the commodore came along, looking like a lost sod. He was a mess in a heap; his rank had become soiled. How could y/n not care for him? He was lost at sea in his state of well-being, drunk. Over time the two had formed a kindred relationship; they both bonded over the loss of their adventures and their devotion to their loved ones—James with Elizabeth and Y/n with Jack. Everything was going well when James betrayed the crew and turned y/n in. Left and set to hang for dead.

Albeit twas y/n’s fault for falling into such a bittersweet lie. Indeed, y/n cared for the commodore more than he should have. Oh alas, and ruin, a man’s yearning heart set on the beating beauty for a lass he is not.

James inhaled and quickly exhaled, displaying a sign of annoyance. He ordered the guards to open the cell and drag y/n out. With both on each side with one arm latched roughly around y/n’s, they began to head toward the gallows—or what should’ve been that way.

Upon exiting the building, the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops could be heard around Y/N. The individual took a moment to inhale the refreshing scent of the precipitation, relishing in its natural aroma. The droplets cascaded down from the sky, creating a stunning display as they contacted the pavement and pooled into small puddles. Y/N couldn't help but feel immensely grateful for the opportunity to stand in place and bask in the mesmerising allure of the rain. As they moved, he savoured every moment of his freedom, relishing every breath of air inhaled and exhaled. Closing his eyes, he felt the raindrops caress his cheeks, cascading gently down his face. As the naval officers led him to the gallows, Y/n took in his surroundings with a sense of calm. His last breath left him, and he opened his eyes to the sight of the rolling sea, gently lapping against the docks of the bustling port. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was soothing to his ears, and he imagined himself on a grand galleon, sailing towards the mythical Fiddler's Green with the wind in his hair. The view of the vast horizon was breathtaking, and he took it all in as he walked towards his destination. Every adventure he had flashed before his eyes, Jack Sparrow, Joshamee Gibbs, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner and—

James.

Suddenly, the naval officers stopped and pushed the rogue before them. Y/n opened his eyes, feeling disoriented by the new surroundings. He expected to see the gallows and an angry crowd chanting his name in hatred, but instead, he found himself somewhere else, without the Hempen Holter.

They stood by the wooden dock where a schooner was anchored. All the sailors were carrying cargo onboard. As Y/n swivelled around, they were met with a rather grave countenance on James' face. His hands were firmly clasped at his back, and his brows were knitted together in a manner that suggested deep concern. Y/n, perplexed by his demeanour, approached the admiral's chains that were still attached to their wrists and legs. "Care ta enlighten me, James? Are ye tryna hornswoggle me mind?” y/n asked. The admiral swiftly ordered the naval officers to be dismissed, leaving the two of them alone. James drew closer to Y/n and removed the chains from their arms and legs, freeing them from their constraints. Y/n exaggeratedly stretched his arms while moving his arms from side to side. “I must admit, yer surely an odd one James”.

James grasped y/n by his shoulders and revealed his true expression of genuine worry. “Quickly, you don’t have much time, get on while you can—I don’t expect you or Elizabeth to forgive me but I can at least atone for my sins by saving you”.

As Y/n fixed his gaze upon the magnificent schooner, his eyes were brimming with a sense of purpose and longing. "Come with me, together we can break free from our current constraints an’ embark upon a new path," he suggested with a hopeful tone, inviting his companion to take the leap of faith with him. “Our paths may intertwine in the future y/n, but I mustn’t let Beckett know of Elizabeth’s whereabouts—neither your own.

"Go, now” "Please understand," he stated firmly, his expression stern and unwavering. In a sudden surge of emotion, James took hold of the pirate's shoulders and pressed his lips against his with an intense force, leaving them both gasping for breath. Y/n found themselves wrapped up in James's embrace, feeling the softness of his admiral's coat against their skin. "Tif fate allows us to reunite in Fiddler's Green, each and every treasure chest will bear your name, and I shall cherish em’ with all me heart."

As Y/n stepped onto the ship, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness in his heart as he left James behind. They hurriedly made their way through onto the ship as they prepared to set sail. Meanwhile, James watched from a distance, his eyes locked on Y/n's retreating form, his hands clasping behind him, wishing desperately that Y/n could stay with him just a little bit longer. The helmsman shouted, “Prepare to set sail”. With one last look, y/n locked eyes with James and nodded as a departing gesture. “Aye, cap’n!” y/n shouted to the helmsman.

With a heavy heart, James gazed upon the ship as it slowly drifted away from the harbour, carrying away the one person who had captured his heart completely - y/n. As he watched the vessel shrink in the distance, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of worry and fear creeping up on him. He prayed fervently, hoping that his beloved would reach his destination safely and unharmed and that he would be able to find a new life filled with hope and happiness. Despite his own pain and despair, James knew that he had to remain strong and focused, no matter what challenges he might face.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

[plutobutartsy]

demon nun x angel club owner <3 they hate their jobs but both agree it's better than retail

ID under cut!

[ID:

Image 1:

A digital drawing of two women.

The first one is thin and tall with sandy skin and some scales here and there. She has thin eyebrows that are arched in a wave-like way, similar to a mime. Her eyes are yellow and snake-like with overly long eyelashes. There is a mole above the right corner of her lip. She is wearing a black and white nun's habit with gold accents and a peaked veil. From her belt hangs a black rosary with a downturned cross and a red gem in the middle. She is holding a rose to her nose while looking up through hooded eyelids.

The second woman is significantly shorter than the first, with dark brown skin and a chubby, yet muscular build. She has round, downturned eyes with grey irises and blond lashes. She wears her blonde hair in a big afro reminiscent of a halo. Her expression is neutral. She is wearing a long grey coat with white fur at the collar (supposed to mimic wings), a light blue crop top that exposes her belly button and happy trail and grey, wide legged pants with pin stripes. You can catch a glimpse of her light blue thong straps sitting anove said pants. Additionally, she is wearing silver hoop earrings, silver rings (one of which is adorned by a blue gem), a big silver cross necklace and black, high-heeled boots. She is also smoking a cigar.

Image 2:

A digital sketch of the same two characters as before. The taller woman (demon) is sitting with her back turned mostly towards the viewer and her face buried in the shorter woman's (angel) chest, who she is hugging tightly. The angel is sitting on the demon's lap and gently stroking her back and hair. Her eyes are closed and she is wearing an indulgent smile.

The angel is wearing a tight fitting shirt, small shorts and big socks, as well as a bonnet on her head. The demon is wearing a looser fitting shirt that exposes more of the scales on her arm and a pair of sweat pants. Without her nun's veil you can see her long, black hair and her straight horns.

There are two speech bubbles;

demon: *sob* it's like, humans don't even appreciate all the work i put into corrupting their morals!

angel: there, there

End ID]

[eyesthecolorofarson]

The batfam meet Danny Fenton and after weeks of research and one lucky blood test later there’s no doubt I’m anyone’s mind that he’s Damian’s long-lost twin brother.

But the day they go to his apartment to break the news someone else answers the door. Someone who looks identical to both Damian and Danny but is very obviously not them.

The new boy was albino and obviously a meta of some kind, his eyes a cherry red and his hair literally flaming white and styled a crowd braid. But his face shape was the same as Bruce’s, his eyes had the same curve as Talias, and his height the same as Danny’s.

“Oh, hi! You must be the Wayne’s. Danny’s told me about you. Sorry we haven’t been able to meet, I’ve been busy with classes.” He invites them in and the batfam take notes of his personality.

Danny was nearly entirely composed of snark and wit, able to run endless circles around not only rouges but their vigilante personas. He was wickedly intelligent, morally grey, and not afraid to resort to violence. He had a heart of silver; good intentions and beliefs but not afraid to get his hands dirty to achieve his goals.

As they talked with this boy, Daphne he said his name was, they learned he was just as sarcastic and witty but was also trying to stay on the positive side of things. He was intelligent like Danny, but had a chaotic lawful attitude similar to Danny’s chaotic neutral.

finally, Tim asked the question they’d all been wondering. “So, Danny’s never mentioned you before. Are you a new roommates or friend?” Daphne laughed, “Yeah, he’s really protective. He once got in a fist fight with someone for insulting me.”

Daphne smiled, and he was a carbon copy of both Danny and Damian. “I’m his twin brother.” There was a problem with that though. They knew for a fact that Daphne Fenton didn’t exist.

Everything was going great, Danny had though two weeks ago. He’d though that word for word and he knew it would come back to bite him in the ass. He just didn’t know when.

Dan–or Daphne, as he likes to be called now, said that the reason bad things happened after he said something hopeful was because he was ‘putting that energy out in the universe’. Daphne was always so positive, or trying to be, and it made it hard to remember that he used to be his future self hellbent on destroying the world.

Therapy had been a big help. They had Clockwork to thank for that, and for Daphnes new form. They couldn’t change his hair, no matter how hard he tried at first. It had made him incredibly upset and insecure, but nowadays he’d grown to accept his hair, saying ‘it’s a reminder of who I was and where I came from, and that everything’s ok now. I’m allowed to exist as the person I’d always wanted to be.’

Honestly, Danny couldn’t even begin to describe how proud he was. He’d come such a long way from the tyrannical King of the Infinite Realms to a scared, traumatized kid to the kind and gentle teen he was now. It’d been amazing watching Daphne grow not only out but in, growing as a person and a spirit.

And Daphne had helped him grow as well. It was nice, having someone so close to him and so aware of what he was thinking and how he acted because they were the same. So different but so similar. The first time they’d introduced each other as brothers, as twins, it’s felt right. Like that was exactly what they were supposed to be.

He got in a lot of fights after though. Not that any of them were Daphnes fault, who was holding him back most of the time, but there were just some assholes who, assuming Daphne was a meta, decided to insult him and even call him a few slurs. Of course, he knocked out one and broke the others nose.

There were a lot of people like this, people who felt it was ok to insult his baby brother–because no matter what Daphne said, he practically screamed ‘little brother’ vibes–felt it was ok to say hurtful things to his face because they didn’t consider him fully human.

So he got into fights a lot more often now, no matter how much Daphne begs him not to. But despite all those assholes things had been going great, despite it being, y’know, Gotham. He’d even made friend with a revenant and his family, who were weirdly nice and open about the whole ghost thing.

What a great surprise it was too when he got home and found that not only was Daphne back from school–he’d joined a lot of clubs and band–but that the Wayne’s were there and they seemed to be good friends already! Maybe Daphne was right; it was time he started projecting good vibes only.

[holeexplored]

FLASHING LIGHTS AND WE. TOOK A WRONG TURN AND WE. FELL DOWN A RABBIT HOLE. // WE FOUND WONDERLAND. YOU AND I GOT LOST IN IT. AND WE PRETENDED IT COULD LAST FOREVER.

boyd holbrook, homosexual, cis man + he/him, they/them → isn’t that stannislaw holden kingsleigh? i hear that they're alice from alice in wonderland. i hear they’re 40. they seem to be curious & witty, but also ruthless & complusive. their aesthetics include chasing a lead and questioning everything, tea and biscuits, knives and guns.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: [ STANNISLAW HOLDEN KINGSLEIGH ] NICKNAME: [ STANNIS, STAN, HOLDEN, KING, THE ALICE ] AGE: [ 40 ] GENDER: [ MALE ] PRONOUNS: [ HE/HIM, THEY/THEM ] FAIRYTALE: [ ALICE, ALICE IN WONDERLAND ] ETHNICITY: [ BRITISH, POLISH ] RELIGION: [ AGNOSTIC. ] LANGUAGE, IN ORDER OF PROFICIENCY: [ ENGLISH, POLISH, VARIOUS OTHERS ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: [ HOMOROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION: [ HOMOSEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT: [ DOM ] SEXUAL POSITION: [ TOP-VERSE ]

RELATIONSHIPS

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: [ TBD. ] PARENTS: [ TBA. ] SIBLINGS: [ TBA. ] FRIENDS: [ TBA. ]

PHYSICAL TRAITS

FACE CLAIM: [ BOYD HOLBROOK ] EYE COLOUR: [ BLUE ] HAIR COLOUR: [ BLONDE ] HEIGHT: [ 1.88 METRES ] BODY BUILD: [ ATHLETIC, BUFF ] FACIAL HAIR: [ LIGHT SCRUFFY BEARD CENTRED AROUND THE MOUTH, EXTENDING TO THE SIDE OF HIS FACE. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: [ VARIOUS SMALL TATTOOS. EARRING ON LEFT EAR. ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ VARIOUS SCARS FROM BATTLES AND ADVENTURES. PROSTHETIC LOWER ARM AND HAND (TO REPLACE THE ONE THE JABBERWOCK ATE). RED TINTED GLASSES. ]

PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS

PHOBIAS/FEARS: [ tba. ] MENTAL DISORDERS: [ tba.]

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: [ INTELLIGENT. STREETSMART. CAN TRACK DOWN HIS QUARRY WELL. HAS BUSINESS ACUMEN. ] LIKES: [ TEA. BISCUITS. TRYING NEW THINGS. ALCOHOL. ] DISLIKES: [ WITCHES. POWER HUNGRY ROYALS. ] ALIGNMENT: [ CHAOTIC NEUTRAL ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ CURIOUS, WITTY, DETERMINED ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ RUTHLESS, COMPULSIVE ]

COMBAT INFORMATION

WEAPONS: [ KNIVES. GUNS. SWORDS, CHIEFLY THE VORPAL SWORD. CROSSBOWS. TRAPS. UNCONVENTIONAL TOOLS. ] POWERS: [ TELEPORTATION. ]

AESTHETICS

AESTHETICS: [ CHASING A LEAD AND QUESTIONING EVERYTHING. TEA AND BISCUITS. ALOCHOL. KNIVES AND GUNS. GETTING HIMSELF INTO TROUBLE. WANDERING WHERE HE SHOULDN'T. EXPLORING HIDDEN DEPTHS AND QUESTIONABLE HOLES. GRITTY. GETTING HIS HANDS DIRTY AND BLOODY. MORALLY GREY DECISIONS. ESCAPING IN THE NICK OF TIME. ] INSPO: [ ALICE, TIM BURTON'S ALICE IN WONDERLAND. ALICE, ONCE UPON A TIME IN WONDERLAND. NEVE GALLUS, DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD. SUCKER PUNCH. HANSEL AND GRETEL: WITCH HUNTERS. INDIANA JONES. DONALD PIERCE, LOGAN. ] LYRICAL INSPO: [ I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SENT AWAY BUT THEY FORGOT TO COME AND GET ME. // MY FOURTH DRINK IN MY HAND, THESE DESPERATE PRAYERS OF A CURSED MAN, SPILLING OUT TO YOU FOR FREE. // IS THAT YOUR KEY IN THE DOOR? IS IT OKAY? IS IT YOU? OR HAVE THEY COME TO TAKE ME AWAY? TO TAKE ME AWAY // HE WAS CHAOS, HE WAS REVELRY. ]

KINKS

KINKS: [ BREEDING. COLLARS. LEASHES. VERBAL FEMINISATION. BOOT KISSING/LICKING. RESTRAINS/BONDAGE. CHOKING. HEADLOCKS. PUBLIC. HUMILIATION. DEGRADATION. SOMNOPHILIA. WATERSPORTS. FACE FUCKING. COCK WARMING. WORSHIP. GAPING. CONTROL. SPITTING. ] ANTI-KINKS: [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]

BIOGRAPHY

[ alice in wonderland interpreted with a more gritty, violent and morally grey take, wip ]

first fell into wonderland when he was much younger. exploring it in youth and innocence. eventually returned as an young adult (and other times in the future) to a land with witches and ruled by the red king. the tyrant ruled over wonderland with terror and the threat of the jabberwocky, prompting the white king to crown stannis as his champion to liberate the kingdom.

unwillingly, stannis returned to england during one of his adventures and got checked into a mental asylum for his hysterical ramblings. discovered his ability for teleportation and escaped. returned to wonderland. trained physically and in combat in order to hunt witches and defeat the jabberwocky.

over the years, spends his time exploring wonderland and other realms. hunt witches. eventually, slayed jabberwocky but lost his hand to the monster. throughout his adventures, he's always crossed paths with the knave, and actually saved the red king's right hand and been saved by him multiple times.

currently travels between england/poland and other realms for witch hunting, returns to wonderland often.