#revived also still slaps too

[akuma-homura]

also, with me and dsmp, i'm not following it anymore and ultimately my interest with it was always MAINLY with ranboo, technoblade and the syndicate

also the music. a lot of the fan music kicks absolute ass.

since technoblade is... gone, and the rest of the syndicate group aren't continuing onto the next season, there's no reason for me to attempt to follow it along.

not to mention uh, other things and all going on, to where this is a good time to stop watching, but.

I still enjoy seeing c!techno and syndicate related things musings / analysis / art / ect ect though, thus why I'll still reblog those.

plus still listen to some songs. again, a lot of the fansongs slapped hard.

[sturniolobsessed]

NSFW ALPHABET - C.STURNIOLO

Warnings : SMUTT, swearing

Summary : A NSFW alphabet about Chris

Authors Note : I don’t know what order I’m gonna post these in but there is gonna be a Matt and Chris SFW version as well. Also, please let me know if you want me to add you to my taglist <3

________________________________________

A - Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

Chris is more playful and flirtatious but still sweet. He likes to caress your body and just worship you.

B - Body part (Their and your favourite body part of each others)

His favourite body part of yours is your eyes and your ass. He likes your eyes because he could stare into your eyes all day and your ass for obvious reasons. Your favourite body part of his is his hands because you think the veins are hot and you also like how it feels inside of you.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He would lowk want you to swallow it but if you don’t want to, he ofc ain’t gonna force you.

D - Dirty Secret (What is a dirty secret of theirs)

I think he would have a bit of a breeding kink but only if you’re on the pill because he isn’t ready for that kind of commitment yet.

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Kid has like 1-2 bodies but not like too much. He is a quick learner so whatever he doesn’t really know, he learns quick.

F - Favourite position (Goes without saying)

Chris is hitting backshots all the time but he lowk loves it when you ride him - he still finds a way to be the dominant one. He would also kinda fw missionary when he is feeling cutesy.

G - Goofy (Are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

Chris is like permanently making jokes but he definitely doesn’t do it as much during sex. He would probably make a joke every now and again if the sex is getting a little dry but other than that, not really.

H - Hair (How well trimmed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

He def has a bit but he would absolutely hate it when it gets too long. He also has a happy trail bc you can see it when he’s shirtless

I - Intimacy (How intimate are they in the moment?)

He loves sweet yet passionate make outs and it would 9 times out of 10 turn into something more.

J - Jerking off (Masturbation)

Chris would only pleasure himself if you’re not there to do it - which, imo, isn’t very often but if he was to do it, he’s moaning your name.

K - Kinks (What kinks do they have?)

As confirmed in one of their recent streams, Chris is an ass guy so I think he would love to slap your ass in bed and also just when he feels like it but other than that, I think it’s mainly just the classics. Also, he is 99% of the time dom.

L - Location (Their fav place/s to do it)

If Chris is horny, he will fuck you in most places. You’ve probably fucked on every surface in the warehouse, his room, probably the kitchen and living room. He is also not afraid to fuck you in the bathroom in a restaurant or somewhere in public but that doesn’t mean that he wants to be caught. He’s just horny. He’s acc really terrified of getting caught.

M - Motivation (What gets them going?)

He is a sucker for you in a short ass skirt, once again, so he can see your ass and he also loves when you sit on his lap. Obviously, if your just casually sat on his lap, cuddled into him, he’s less likely to get turned on but if you’re like, touching his chest, kissing him etc, he’d always have you sat on his lap. Also, before you start worrying, he don’t care how much you weigh.

N - No (Things they’re not open to in bed)

The same as Matt, he would never in a million years let you peg him but other than that, he’s open to most everything. He’s probably not too welcoming of like.. crazy shit but if there’s something you wanna try, of course he’ll do it.

O - Oral (Are they good at it? Do they prefer to give or receive?)

I think Chris would prefer to revive head, although he loves to make you feel good, because he loves to see you on your knees for him, doing as he says. He thinks it’s the hottest thing. And yes, of course he’s good at it.

P - Pace (Do they prefer sweet and sensual or fast and rough?)

Chris would probably prefer fast and rough, more fast than rough because he still doesn’t want to hurt you, but he also likes sweet and sensual when you or him have had a bad day and just want some sweet sex. Also, if you’re having morning sex, it’s only sweet and sensual because he’s tired.

Q - Quickie (Their opinion on quickies and how often?)

He would probably prefer to take his time with it and tease you, kiss you, touch you etc but he is definitely not against a quickie when it’s necessary.

R - Risk (Are they willing to take risks?)

Chris is very open to new things if you want to do them because he wants to make you feel good. As I said earlier, if it’s not too crazy, he’ll do it for you.

S - Stamina (How many rounds? How long do they last?)

He can go for 3-4 rounds but 5 if you haven’t had sex in a while. He lasts a perfectly average time but will definitely touch you and kiss you in between rounds so that you still feel good. He will also ask you to do the same for him.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? If so, how many and which ones?)

There is no doubt in my mind that Chris has like a fleshlight or something and then some stuff for you to make you feel good. He would probably have a vibrator but not a dildo because he wants his dick to be the only one to make you feel good lmao.

U - Unfair (Do they like to tease? If so, how much?)

His entire idea of foreplay is just teasing and getting you to just before you cum and then pulling away, leaving you whining for his touch. There is a good chance that he has reduced you to tears, just wanting to be touched.

W - Wild Card (A random headcannon)

He loves to just watch you touch yourself either while he touches himself as well or just watching, almost teasing himself because he wants to touch you but he won’t let himself.

X - X-Ray (What have they got going on under their clothes?)

We’ve already lowk seen what he’s got going on because of this video so from that, I’d say like 7 inches. He’s big but not too much.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Chris is very horny when he wants to be and when I tell you, when he wants it, there’s slim to nothing that will stop him. You would most likely have sex like 3-4 times a week and sometimes more.

Z - Zzz (How fast do they fall asleep after?)

He wouldn’t fall asleep straight away after because he wants to cuddle and stuff but he would be worn out afterwards.

________________________________________

Taglist : @astrolynnworld @moncherriis @mattybsbitch @mangoposts @sturniolo0ntop @bluesturniolo333 @mattyssluttt @strnzzvsp @sturnsem @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @loud-sturniolos @iheartmattsbeard @sturnsaver @sturnsdarling @sturnioloslife @stuniolvs @iheartmattsturniolosstuff @33sturniolo @sturnsxx

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hello!! May I request headcanons for Blade, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Kafka, March, Silver Wolf and Welt with a normally quiet and meek reader who very quickly turns no-nonsense and aggressive when fighting, and will use anything and everything they can get their hands on as (improvised) weapons?

Ebon Deer keeps reviving and healing? Get a bunch of alcoholic liquids, turn them into Molotovs and get ready to commit arson.

Trying to raid a Sanctus Medicus hideout? Get a crowbar and pry that door open. Keep it on your person as a bludgeon.

Heliobi outbreak? Get something you can smack them around with (hammer, bamboo stick, whatever causes pain) and slap one of Huohuo's paper talismans on it.

Dealing with Sampo? Pepper spray. Easy. Hot sauce and/or raw pepper juice also work.

And if the opposition turns out to be less capable and far more helpless but they're still struggling, just slapping them across the face and knocking them to the ground (almost) always works.

Things reader has also used as weapons, including but definitely not limited to:

That backscratcher nabbed from Sanctus Medicus

Broken wine bottle

Shoe

Scarf (for strangulation)

Wrench

Pipe

Foldable chair like in IWE (Interastral Wrestling Entertainment; don't question this one, I just made it up on the spot)

Electrical circuits

Coffee mug

Pencil

Firecrackers

Diting

Pray for the enemy if reader can use computers and the battle zone is somewhere with a lot of technology and automatons; reader may just find and hack into a terminal and turn the whole environment against them

Someone: "How do you know how to—"

Reader: "I grew up in a bad neighborhood."

Hi Anon! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like the headcanons!

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Characters: Blade, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Kafka, March, Silver Wolf, and Welt Yang x gn! Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You, someone who is normally very shy, go completely no-nonsense during fights, reaching for anything near you to use as an improvised weapon. What do the characters think of your unique battle strategies?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blade thinks you’re wonderful. When he first met you, he wasn’t so sure since you were so quiet but as soon as he saw you fighting, he knew you were far more complex that he had given you credit for.

His personal favourite improvised weapon of yours was the broken wine bottle. He thought it was classy. However, he was also rather fond of you simply slapping and enemy and knocking them out.

He’s definitely got the backing to make technology a permanent feature of your fighting style but then he wouldn’t be able to see the improvised weapons and that would be a true shame…

He might hold off on that for now. After all, who is he to stand between you and a box of firecrackers that just happen to be nearby? He’s just dying to know how this will end.

Why? Why does he always get partnered up with people who go crazy in battle? And why did he have to fall for this one?

Dan Heng does have to admit he admires your creativity at times though. The coffee mug attack was particularly inspired: it just would have been better if it wasn’t his mug and if there wasn’t coffee inside.

He finds your personality switch fascinating. One minute you can be timid and too nervous to ask for a napkin from a waiter, the next, you’re leaping into battle with no inhibitions.

He thinks your computer skills are quite impressive as well. He’ll find a way of incorporating those skills into every battle you encounter, if only so you stop using anything you can get your hands on as a substitute weapon.

Gepard is torn on this one. Sure, he’s glad you can defend yourself anytime and anywhere. But those improvised weapons are likely to injure you as well as your enemy and that just won’t do.

Oh, he was cheering you on when you used pepper spray on Sampo. Those two have an…interesting relationship in my mind so while Gepard was concerned about any permanent damage, he certainly wasn’t about to stop you.

He likes that you’re not always a chaotic as you are in battle though. He already has to deal with a lot of over-the-top people because of his work. Your quiet nature is a nice change of pace.

I can see him trying to keep you out of harms way a lot, in part to keep you safe, and in part to keep everyone else safe as well. Sure, they might be enemies, but they deserve some mercy…

Ooh, you’re an interesting one aren’t you? Jing Yuan thinks you’re a wonderful addition to any fight. Something interesting is always bound to happen when you’re around.

He’s so used to people around him fighting with the same weapons in the same way every time they fight that your fighting style is a breath of fresh air.

His favourite improvised weapon was probably the scarf since he probably gave that particular item of clothing to you after he had to leave for a while.

Despite what anyone else might think, he saw it as a bonding experience for the two of you. You used a gift of his to take down your enemy? How romantic!

Kafka knows you’re one to look out for. She’s glad you’re on her side at the moment but should anything happen between you, she knows she’d have to watch her back every moment of the day.

I see Kafka as someone who likes control and, while she has that when you’re calm and quiet, once you get into a fight, all semblance of control goes out the window. Nothing can hold you back now.

She was particularly fond of the shoe incident and made sure to grab the shoe after the battle was done as a memento. Now, she has it tucked away as a reminder of your strength.

Much like Blade, Kafka has the resources to supply you with technology so you can use it in every battle you fight. She likes to think this will give her some amount of control back but isn’t hopeful. She knows what you’re like when a battle’s upon you.

If there’s anyone here who is likely to match your energy in battle, it’s March. Sure, she takes it seriously, but she’s gotta have some fun with it too!

The first time she saw your personality shift from shy to no-nonsense, she was delighted. Finally, someone she can goof around with who can also stand their ground in a fight.

For her favourite improvised weapon, it’s the folding chair through and through. She thought it was so smooth the way you calmly stood up, folded the chair and swung it at your enemy.

I think March would like to try and learn from and copy your techniques to see if they’d work for her fighting style. Sure, she has her normal weapons, but it can’t hurt to branch out once in a while.

Silver Wolf loves going on missions with you! Not only does she get to hang out with her favourite person in the world, she also gets to finally have some fun.

Sure, Kafka lets her get away with some entertainment but she’s also pretty strict about keeping a low profile. With you around, there’s no chance of staying stealthy once things start heating up.

She’s also so glad there’s someone else on the team who has good computer skills. She’ll lend you any equipment she doesn’t have an immediate use for and make you some equipment of your own as well.

Of course, her favourite improvised weapon was the electrical wire. An enemy had broken some of your equipment but that didn’t mean you weren’t able to use it anymore.

He’s so tired. He thought you were going to be a nice quiet addition to the otherwise chaotic team of the Star Rail, but no. You just had to have a chaotic side to you.

Of course, this doesn’t mean he cares about you any less. He just worries when a fight stars and he sees you inching towards the nearest object, whatever it may be.

He is glad you can defend yourself though. It’s important that people can fight with things other than their usual weapons and he supposes if he had to chose one, he’s glad you’re adaptable, if nothing else.

I don’t think he would have a favourite improvised weapon but the ones that surprised him most were the pencil and the backscratcher. Both of those occasions took him a moment to process.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

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[pigeonpeach]

A casket for one but a grave for two

Jingliu x dead foxian fem reader

Random drabble because i haven’t written in too long!!! This isn’t edited so please excuse me if it suck!!!

Also warning: reader is dead :(, desecration of a corpse/ gravesite (Its not sexual) but jingliu misses her wife and digs up her grave to celebrate what should’ve been their anniversary, angst

The night is young, the moon is full land vibrant. Its bright pearlescent colors match what remains in the casket Jingliu digs up, its lid its released as the stench of death washes over. The swordswoman doesn’t falter though, the smell of a skeleton is better than the smell of the battlefield. They’re still dressed in the beautiful hanfu she saw them in. When flesh hung on their skull, a constant pink would linger on their cheeks. They used to smell of the ocean with sea themed perfumes, their hair was always well kept, she’d run her fingers through it when stressed. The hair has since fallen off. But Jingliu isn’t herself anymore. She knows that. Something grows within her. Those cursed yellow leaves climb out if her throat with a heavy and hurtful cough, as if the roots of the ambrosial arbor grew within her lungs and tore at her veins. This day was one tragedy already, years ago, her beloved having passed in wore. Their death… the cause is starting to blur. Jingliu wonders if this cursed disease will rid her of everything, her love, her life, the memories of her wife… What had she done to deserve this cursed fate? She fought valiantly, she held her ground, and the aeons or whoever wrote the details of fate decided to play the cruelest joke on her. That her beloved would lay alone in the ground, and she would be unable to join them… not anymore. Perhaps it was the pain of the roots and leaves growing, perhaps it was the anger and homicidal reaction that drove to such extreme. In her worst moments in life, her wife was there. The sight of her alone would ease tension, her hands would work into her shoulders and her voice was the siren’s call. But she’d never hear it again, she’d never see her again. The mara cannot revive, at least that she knows of. Yingxing’s corpse had been fresh when Dan Feng committed that sin. But there is no muscle ontop of the bones, it’ll do

“Tonight is lovely isn’t it?” Jingliu held the skull of her lover in her hands with the gentleness and fondness she did in life. “Today.. today would be our 40th anniversary..”

“Actually it would be our 100th.” Jingliu could hear her say that in her head.

“It doesn’t matter the number. What matters is just how much we love each other right?” She peered into the skull, trying to mentally piece the flesh onto the bone, the eyes into the socket, the hair into the skin, but it was blurry. She felt a surge of distress, no.. she couldn’t forget. She can’t forget her. She couldn’t protect her to the end the least she can do is firmly protect her memory. Jingliu hissed in pain, clutching her head as it began to spiral with thoughts. A storm brewed, a flame ingited, a endless stream of water filling the room (metaphorically), sowing thd seeds of a rage and berserker that could cause her to further fall into the trap of mara.

“Jingliu~” a voice called, a siren’s melody that cleared the air in a instant. The night was quiet now. Nothing made a sound. Not the heliobi roaming in the gardens, nothing. But the silence didn’t feel threatening, she couldn’t explain it. She looked back at the skull. “Fight as you’ve always had. That is my wish. Do not let my death hold you back.. save them.. for me.. please..” Jingliu’s wife’s final words to her acted like a slap as she held the skull to her chest.

“I avenged you dear.. Hoolay.. he is locked away.. tortured for eternity.. never will he be able to hurt your people again.. you didn’t die for nothing.. I promise you.. I did it..” Jingliu wept silently, staring at the moon, as if to pray.

“I love you.. Jingliu..”

“I love you too, for eternities and centuries.. my love will never die even if I someday become a wretched beast.. I promise even then will your voice be my medicine…” Jingliu pressed a kiss to the skull, her lips only meeting hard snd cold teeth. She laid back on the ground, the skull on her chest, wanting to enjoy this peace for a little bit longer

[seiwas]

Hiya! I love your writing and I'm so glad to be seeing you on my dash bc I haven't in a while! For your writing revival game, can I suggest:

"Incandescent" and either Ushijima or Osamu?

hi cheesy! 🥹 this is so nice of you to say, thank you 🥹 i've been a bit on and off here and there over the past few months because work has just been so busy 🥺 but i'm glad to be back here too!! thank you for sending in a prompt 🥹

contains: established relationship, halloween outfits, miya dynamics

osamu + incandescent

there are a lot of reasons why atsumu loves you for his brother―you bring osamu food when he barely has time to eat in the shop, and you send picture updates in the group chat you have with the two of them and ma. you also give him your extra onigiri when osamu says he's had too much.

you're there for osamu in times when he can't be, and for that, he's grateful.

this time though, he thinks he might just be indebted to you.

"people're g'na ask ya to sit on me," osamu glances at your costume before staring at the mirror again. from the dining table across the room, atsumu is holding in his laugh, doing his best to keep the water in his mouth.

tonight is onigiri miya's annual halloween party, and you've managed to somehow convince osamu to dress as a burner―red incandescent light and all.

"so i will," you smile sweetly, adjusting the foam handle of your outfit. the theme for the party is: onigiri miya, and truly, what is more essential to the shop than an electric burner and its pan?

from the side of the room, you think atsumu nearly chokes.

"it'll be cute," you step towards him, reaching for the black switch along his hip, "plus, you even light up!"

in an instant, he glows red, the spiral pattern along his chest lighting up like an electric burner heating up. atsumu snorts, erupting into a fit of laughter as he slaps his knee.

"shit," he wipes a tear while holding up his phone camera, "can't wait f'ma to see this."

osamu looks at him from the mirror, deadpan, "yeah, show'er ya shitty dye job too."

because atsumu doesn’t look any better at all, dressed as none other than osamu for halloween―black long sleeves with an apron, a pair of gloves and osamu's actual work pants. the cap on top of his head rests on temporarily dyed jet black hair, but he's done it in such a haste that his blonde roots are still showing.

you laugh, never quite getting used to their antics despite being a witness to it for years. halloween with the twins is always a memory you look back on fondly, and you don't think this year will be any different at all.

[shannonsketches]

I overanalyze the hell out of everything but! While we're here--

I think a lot (and am too lazy to make the many many comics in my head) about how Vegeta was having fun with these androids (even being sportsmanlike with Piccolo about it!) until he found out who Trunks was (and also that they were the wrong androids). Then between that reveal and Bulma getting shot down, he switches back into Spite and Fury, and I just chinhands I think a lot about what a shot to the chest it would be to learn that you die -- you die in the future, you lose to these surprise enemies -- and your son, with his mother's machine and knowledge of the events, comes back to the past to make sure someone else lives.

"It's just because Goku's the first to die, so it's a domino effect!" Yes, but,

Vegeta was standing right there when Bulma said her strategy was to destroy the androids before they became an issue. Vegeta knows that Bulma feels very strongly that this is the move, and that waiting is stupid. He also knows that she watched him dabble on Earth for a year and a half before Goku came home.

So he knows that she could've sent Trunks back earlier, and had him talk to Piccolo. Vegeta could've used that entire ~12-18 months to train for a specific threat, or even just to prepare for Frieza's return.

He also knows that she could've just as easily sent Trunks back while they were all on Namek, and taken care of the issue before any of them were even made aware of it. That was her suggestion in the present! Trunks could've left Goku's medication with Roshi, or Popo, and just let it remain a mystery where it came from and how it got there.

But instead, Trunks came the day that Goku came back. So he could meet Goku. And talk to Goku. So he could make sure Goku survived. So Goku could save everyone. Because Goku would be there to win the day. Because Goku's is the strength they trust to be enough.

The way that must corrode your insides and just flood you with envy, and spite, and poison. The way he behaves for the rest of this arc despite the clever strategist we saw on Earth and on Namek, despite the cautious observation, the patience, the snarky humor, the distinct recognition of a threat that needs eliminating before it's too late -- despite all these things we've seen him be and have and do, after this point he's reckless and fuming and desperate to prove himself to the detriment of everyone around him.

As a punishment, maybe? For choosing Goku over You?

As necessity? Because you've spent 30 of your 31 years having the value of your life measured solely by your ability to win?

As a distraction? From knowing that you spent your life fighting tooth and nail for all that you are, only to die, humiliated, at the feet of your enemies having failed to do the only task you felt you were alive to do, then be revived by mistake, then learn that even your own child would prefer the person who succeeded at that one seemingly impossible task?

It's really no wonder, at this extremely low and fragile point in Vegeta's life, that he went from quietly standoffish to actively erratic from this point. It's not until Cell slaps him with the reality check of losing those precious few who continued to choose him despite his profound personal and operational failures (which were likely a death sentence, where he's from) that he settles back down (in the manga) to being quietly standoffish, strategic, and cooperative toward the higher goal.

Then spends the next seven years learning it never had to be like that because it turns out people on this planet mostly still want you to be alive and come home even if you fuck up real bad and you actually don't have to be The Star Executioner to be valued and welcomed and even?? Loved?? Which sucks to learn after you've already gotten your son and your rival and very nearly your rival's son killed by being an insecure jackass and making everything worse than it had to be.

But don't worry, it'll only happen one more time and it'll only take like 40 minutes to publicly murder like 2000 people and almost destroy the entire universe because you had something totally different to prove this time, it's a minor relapse at best, it's fine, everyone's fine, we're all gonna wish that memory away from all the innocent people and only think about it at 2am when you're awake laying in bed trying to figure out why the fuck you're still allowed in this house and you can spend the next 4-6 years turning your shit around and embracing that soft emotions are okay to feel and you're not a defective specimen being slowly deconstructed on a backwater space rock and it's actually normal to care about stuff and it's everything you were ever taught before this that was toxic and wrong and had to be unlearned so you could grow and change and harness true strength instead of chasing shallow power so it's fine!! It's totally fine. Everything's fine. He's fine. He's good.

[benevolentcalamity]

Once a Father, Never a Daddy [Abusive!Doflamingo & Fem!Child!Reader][1/2]

I do not know him enough so I'm not at all confident in my ability to write him, so I apologize in advance. So I'm very happy accepting criticism/tips. (I'm just after Thriller Bark btw.)

Disclaimer: This fic contains graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect and may be considered triggering. Please do not read more if you cannot handle these themes. If you or a loved one has gone through this, you're absolutely not alone, and help/better days are always there.

Also, this is split in two because when you get fics too long, Tumblr just starts lagging and that REALLY annoys me. So I apologize in advance if pacing's not as stellar as most of my stuff. I'll make it up to you.

CURTAINS!

"DADDY, LET ME OUT!!!"

Your little hands bang on the impossibly still door until the skin splits on your knuckles. With all your might you scratch, slap, and pound on the wood, feeling it press a little stronger against you with your resistance. Tears pouring down your cheeks your hair stands on end as the darkness behind you settles in; a punishment you know too well.

"PLEASE DADDY, I'M SORRY!" You scream, hands already raw from struggle. "DADDY, PLEASE, LET ME OUT! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, I PROMISE!"

A harsh pound that rattles the door, resounding through your room, sends a piercing chill through your stomach and sends you to the floor. Scooting back and hurrying to your feet, you prepare for the doorknob to twist, for him to come barging in and demand you not make any more noise. But this is enough to scare you into silence - and he seems to know that now.

Softly you sniffle, reaching out as the all-too-familiar sound of the knob being secured and locked clicks. Wiping away your tears you stand, reaching and just barely wrapping your hand around it. With all your might you grab and attempt to twist; it doesn't budge an inch.

"... Please let me out..."

There's a sound like feet retreating from the door, and the loneliness finally hits as you back up, defeat weighing your shoulders. Slinking away, you turn back towards your room. First thing to catch your attention is your nightstand, bereft of the lamp Uncle Rossi gave you to cut through the dark. It had a smell to it, somehow, and you really liked it.

Without it you can't stand the dark - and as punishment for not doing what daddy said, it's gone. Wiping a stray tear from your cheek you grab your stuffed lamb Cuppy, putting him on the bed before pitter-pattering to your wardrobe.

creak

Your eyes shoot to the door, back stiffening as your hair stands on end. Every limb freezes, and your heart leaps into your throat. Swallowing, your hands go up to prepare to shield your head, lest your noise have bothered anyone. As your fingers chill to the bone, your knees lock and the darkness creeps back into your senses.

The doorknob twitches. Your hands fly to your mouth to keep from shrieking. Tears revived and leaking, you await on bated breath... It does make daddy especially angry, after all, when you try to hide from him.

You still have the scar on your arm.

A lump forms and engorges, threatening to choke you if you don't make a sound. You learned better from screaming "Go away" or "I hate you", so that's simply not an option. Gritting your teeth you step more into the open, hoping that an effort not to hide would let you get your lamp back. Hiding, running away... all of it is pointless.

After an eternity it jimmies and then turns after a few small clicks, and a familiar black and red lit up by the hallway relaxes you into relieved elation.

"Uncle Rossi-!" You whisper-yell, him putting a finger to his lips and looking behind him.

With quick movements he beckons you forward, and you rush to him in the time it takes to put a plate full of food on the small chair near the door. Kneeling down he pats your cheek and kisses your forehead, giving you a toothy, reassuring grin.

"Don't forget to eat out the window, and drop it once you're done. It's okay, dad won't notice one plate being missing," He whispers, ruffling your hair. "I'm not letting you go to bed hungry." He's done this every time. "... It's going to be okay, little cutie. I promise."

You nod. "... Does daddy still love me?"

For a moment he's quiet. His expression falls solemn, head lifting to look over his shoulder again. With a sigh, his hand ruffles your hair one more time, before suddenly he smiles again.

"I love you!" He chirps. The words wrap around your heart, like a soft fleece blanket, and like a charm, your sorrow is calmed, and your tears finally stop. "Don't forget that, okay? Uncle Rossi loves you."

Nodding, you finally manage to smile. "I love you too, Uncle Rossi."

His head snaps up again, and he pats your head and hurries out. The doorknob again is secured, and his feet fade out quickly. Swallowing, you grab the plate, carefully bringing it to the window. Unlatching it you crouch as the panes swing over your head, setting the plate of food - bouillabaisse - on the ledge and chowing down.

The moonlight peers out from the clouds like your only friend, and peace returns again to your heart.

"... It'll be different tomorrow..." You tremble. "I won't be bad again, I promise..."

Finishing with urgency, you drop the plate and fork into the sea, pushing the window closed and locked. Crawling into bed, you listen to the footsteps above your room, to the sea calming outside. Yawning, you drift into the now placated shadows, hugging Cuppy close to your heart.

___

A sound like something dropping to the ground above you wakes you with a start. Swallowing harshly you're quick to climb out of bed, little time to spare, and wipe your mouth as you rush to your wardrobe. You're just quick enough to grab one of your favorite cotton shirts, a pair of shorts, and a clean pair of underwear as the doorknob is unbound and unlocked.

You swallow, harshly, rushing towards the center again as dad's blond hair peeks atop the door. As he straightens back up, his head doesn't need to look long to find you. Feet planting in place, you watch, hands clenched to keep from shaking and lip wobbling, as he approaches.

"Behave, maggot," He hisses, holding his hand out.

Eyebrow quirked at you managing not to flinch, he impatiently taps his foot as you reach up to it. Harshly he grabs it, yanking you forward. His large pace forces you into a jog, matching his pace with every third step. At first you're staring up at him, waiting for him to even turn his head your way, to ask how you slept, or even just what you want for breakfast. Or maybe, just maybe, that he loves you and today it'll be different. Better, even.

None of this happens. Your bottom lip wobbles as the familiar doors to the bathroom appear past the corner.

"Take a damn bath." He shoves you to another crewmate, not even giving you a glance. "Watch it, keep it away from me."

Your hand reaches for him as you're guided into the bathroom. "Daddy?" Without a glance or gesture, your lip wobbles further, heart tying in knots. "DADDY!"

A dark cloud weighs on your shoulders again, guiding you to the bathtub as said crewmate puts some soap beside it and a towel. Patting your head in pity, he kneels down to murmur in your ear.

"Disobedient children aren't rewarded." The words are an icy dagger in your stomach. "... If you want your daddy to love you, maybe you should be a good child that deserves to be loved."

With that you're left alone, breath hitched in your throat as your heart runs cold. Staring at your reflection in the water, you cast aside your dirty clothes, stepping into it and sitting. The lukewarm water manages to chill you to the bone, to where you need to hug your knees to feel warm. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance at the door, waiting... and waiting...

You sigh, pinching your nose and turning sideways to completely submerge. Curling up, your [h/c] hair waves out in tendrils as your legs minutely twitch in unease. As your lungs slowly grow sore, you momentarily wonder if it's even possible to be good... What did you do? Why won't dad look your way?

Sitting back up, you gulp down air as the answer to your question comes from the red syrup of your shampoo.

"... Just do what daddy says?" Would that make him happy? Will he love you? Do what he says without complaining... Yea, it's as simple as that, isn't it? "... I'll be a good girl. I won't complain about daddy's work."

Yea. It's as simple as that.

Rinsing your head clean, you comb the conditioner from your hair under the running water. Reaching you grab the towel and brush, drying off and putting yourself together, painstaking as the process of brushing your hair is. All the same you finish, tying it back. Sliding back into your shoes you jump up onto the knob, it turning in your hold, and let the door swing open, taking you with it. Lowering back onto your feet, you turn-

"Get your ass to the poop deck." You're shoved into a pace, which you continue with a nod. "Captain's orders, help out with scrubbin' if you want breakfast."

"I understand."

__

It's unbearably hot.

Dunking your brush in the cold, soapy water, you wince at the glare of the sun on the sea, washing away dirt and scum. It takes a few swipes, being as small as you are, but you manage. It's a process that sees you biting your lip so hard in concentration that it bleeds, but you do your best, scrub until your arms are sore, and repeat.

"-and as I was saying, Rosinante, it's complete bullshit."

Dad's voice makes you perk up, and you turn a bit to see where he's coming from. A big smile is what you present as he and Uncle Rossi ascend from below deck, waiting for him to look your way. Dad doesn't but Uncle Rossi gives you a massive smile and thumbs up before dad jabs him, regaining his attention.

"We've had issues with this same supplier awhile now. The frequency of our visits is starting to annoy me."

Standing up from scrubbing, you take a deep breath. Pittering over to him you find his leg, swallowing. Rearing, you take a small leap, wrapping your arms around it like a peach tree.

"Daddy~!" You let out, hugging him tightly-

A harsh kick to your stomach, sending you all the way back to your bucket and straight onto your ass.

...

... Oh.

I'm not doing enough... You turn back to the bucket and brush, biting back tears. Just keep going... Do your best. Daddy will love you if you do.

All the same, your tears keep falling onto your hard work.

A hand on your head, ruffling your hair, tugs you from your sorrow. Looking up, Uncle Rossi crouches down beside you, pointing at your bucket. Now it's too cloudy and dirty to clean efficiently. Managing a nod, you wipe your tears with your arm, standing up and dumping the bucket.

Keeping a tight hold on it, you pause just as you're at dad's side, gaze turning from below deck to him.

"... Do you love me?" You ask.

Not even a glance. You raise up on your tippy-toes, tilting your head.

"Daddy?" You ask again. "Do you love me?"

Lowering, you wait, staring and waiting for what... really has to be forever. Before long though tears blur your vision, and you bite back a sniff as you rush below deck. Not good enough - you're just not good enough yet. If you work to the bone, if you're so to-the-letter it's painful, that's when he'll look your way. You just have to remember that.

Be perfect, and nothing less; push past your limits; endure and don't cry. It'll be unbearably hard, but if you manage to do all of this, dad has to love you.

It's not a long walk to where there's more water by any means. Operating the pump, that's the real test, but you manage just by jumping up onto it. It pinches down on your wrist every time it comes back down, but it doesn't hurt long. Rubbing the red marks it makes, you begin the arduous task of carrying the bucket.

Sloshing and rocking against your body, you stiffen your legs anytime you feel yourself wobble. When the water reaches and touches your chin you wince, staying still until it stops. Every maybe three steps and you're losing your grip, but still you try.

Something swipes the bottom of your feet, and your shrieks are drowned by the water pouring onto your face as you fall onto your butt. Bucket landing perfectly onto your head to hide your face, the cruel laughter of passing crewmates resounds through the rotting wood.

"Better mop that up, kid! You made that mess!"

For a moment you're stuck, legs too heavy to move. You try to move your arms, but there's no feeling. Swallowing, you try to open your mouth to complain, but the lump in your throat takes the sound before you make it. A mix of tears and water pours down your face, your jaw starting to wobble. Biting your lip harshly you force yourself back to your feet.

The bucket slides off your head, falling harshly to the floor. For a moment your gaze turns back to the steps leading above deck.

... Mop first.

Clutching your shirt tightly, your shoes squish against the floor as you go to find the mop, usually near the bathroom. Sniffling harshly, you wipe your face, shaking your head like it'll get rid of this horrible lump. Still your lips purse, and still everything hurts when the supply closet door opens. Reaching, you take the mop in your hands and take a deep breath.

Do your best...

'Watch it, keep it away from me.'

It. You.

... Get out of the way. Maybe that's what he wants.

As much as you want to go back, to try again, maybe it'll just be better to put yourself away. It'd be... a nice reprieve, maybe. And maybe they'll have something good to eat for lunch, seeing as you might not get breakfast after all. That's just what happens sometimes, after all.

You want to puke; to cry; to scream; to just run to Uncle Rossi. Everything and anything feels more like a dead end the more you think, until you've come up blank on what else to do.

"... I hate this..." You whimper, rubbing your arm as you pitter-patter back to your room. I don't know what's wrong with me...

... Someone, please...

Tears well up in your eyes.

Someone tell me what's wrong! Tell me what's bad! Please tell me, someone-!

Your pace picks up, eventually zooming past countless doors and shapes.

Just... How much longer...?

In what must have been a blink you're safe back in your room. For a second you turn back to the door, cheeks waterlogged and red, waiting for footsteps. Wanting someone to just scoop you up and hold you, tell you what's wrong with you - or that maybe nothing is... Is there?

Meandering to your window, you crack it open, and dad's voice is the first thing you hear.

"... Where's the problem?"

"What do you mean, Doflamingo sir?"

"I mean, where's the fucking maggot." Your heart feels a sharp, cold sting.

"She- it went back below deck. I can fetch it so it can keep scrubbing-"

"I didn't give it an order to do chores, I gave you an order to keep it away from me. Looks like it knows what that means. But enough about it. We're arriving to Foam Town shortly, for the supplier. Don't forget the orders."

"Get the Devil Fruit, and kill him, right?"

"Mhm. I don't take kindly to someone holding out on me. Especially when I've been so kind and generous. That won't happen again, though."

"Do you need Corazon to keep an eye on the kid?"

"Tch. It won't be an issue. Just as long as it doesn't get in the way of our business, I don't care what it gets up to... Ugh, but I'm going to hear it cry at some point today. Have someone get it some food."

"Understood, sir."

Backing up once you hear the sound of heavy footsteps, you meander to your shelf. Tugging a worn book from it - a collection of fairytales dad let you get when he looked at you - you hurry to your bed, jumping to get onto it without a hitch. Swallowing harshly you open it to a page with a family of rabbits stealing food from a mean old farmer's garden.

You like these stories, very much. But the pages are falling out, and you can't ask for a new one right now.

Just when you're absorbed enough to where the lump in your throat is gone, there's a knock at the door.

"Got your lunch, kid." That's not Uncle Rossi or dad. The door opens a crack and a bowl is haphazardly dropped on the small table. "We're landing soon. Be on your best behavior."

"... Thank you," You manage, the door slamming your reply.

Putting the book down you slide out of bed, going to receive the meal. It's a lobster risotto, dad's favorite. Tears well up again as you take the bowl back to your bed to eat and read. Dad doesn't care that you do so, you've been told, but you're still careful.

"... Foam Town. Okay." You mutter, something lighting up in your chest.

... This time, it's different.

[nethhiri]

Chapter 56: Prometheus

Warnings: Torture, murder, violence, body horror, references to rape

It was deeply satisfying to watch dullness enter Warthin's eye, the one that you hadn't blown through his head. It wasn't enough. You needed to kill him in the worst ways a hundred times over before it would be enough. Warthin's brains slid back into place, followed by the fragments of his skull that had shattered into the wall behind him as your devil fruit pulled him back from hell. The livid state you were in didn't allow for failure. He would be coming back to face his well-deserved punishment. A yellow glow made a veil over his abdomen as his intestines knit themselves back together, and the skin over them. Warthin was still for entirely too long. You slapped his face until his hand twitched and he inhaled a loud, gasping breath as his consciousness returned. Confusion clouded his expression.

You laughed. "Oh you thought that was it?" You landed a solid punch across his face. "You stupid fuck." You punched him again, hard enough that he drooled blood. You spit onto your fingers and smeared it across his dry, bloodshot eyes. "That's better, isn't it? I need you to be able to see everything that's coming to you." 

He started to say something and you hit him across the face.

"Shut the fuck up." You spat at him. "You'll speak when I tell you to speak." You punctuated it with a kick into his stomach. 

You wanted to do so much more to him. The energy it took to heal him had taken a lot out of you and you weren't so sure that you could do it again today. So you could either fuck him up to the brink of death without killing him, or play with one of the other prisoners. There was always the option of doing both. You also didn't want him to accidentally die on you, since you weren't sure if there was a time limit to reviving him. Not enough of your anger was alleviated by your quick killing of Warthin. You weren't ready to leave this room, not ready to face any of the crew. 

You walked up and down the wall of tools, running your hands over the options. Something painfully slow would be best, but you also needed something that allowed you to vent. Most people were afraid of the larger tools. Those were the least frightening in your opinion. They usually killed quickly. The worst ones were the tiny tools. Those could make torture last for weeks. That must have been why they were your favorite. You selected some needles of varying sizes, along with nails and a hammer.

You walked back to Warthin tossing the hammer in your hand and catching it. He appeared as if he was going to be sick. "After everything you've done, you're afraid of a hammer?" You set it down, along with the nails. "The hammer is for later. You can stop being so dramatic." You held the needles up in your hand. "These are for now."

Taking one of his hands, you chose a finger at random. He tried to wrestle it from your grip though he was too weak to do so. You placed the needle under his fingernail and slowly pushed it as far as it would go. Warthin managed to hold it together for the first few. As you jammed another under the same nail, he was crying and begging for you to stop. 

"If I recall, I don't believe you showed me kindness like that at any time. I'm very much into the whole 'eye for an eye' thing." 

You moved on and did the same thing to his other fingers until you were out of needles. Shame. You had wanted to do his toenails, too. You paused to think before yanking some of the needles out of his fingers, ripping a scream from him. You would simply spread the love with the needles from there. The toenails he tolerated far less well. He tried kicking and screaming and begging. He was going to run out of voice soon and this wasn't even the worst of what you had planned. 

Blood dripped from his feet and the tips of his fingers. Should have saved one for his cock. Oh well. There was plenty of time for that later. You picked up the hammer and some of the nails. You held the nails between your teeth casually, as if you were putting up a picture frame. You were hanging up a masterpiece... of sorts. Your lip curled as you tasted metal on your tongue. It reminded you of Kid, reigniting your anger towards him. Flipping a nail around between your fingers, you decided hands and feet first. That would force him to be still. You centered a nail on his hand and pressed it flat against the wall. When you brought the hammer down, the fleshy crunch of the metal separating bone and connective tissue was almost completely drowned out by Warthin's screaming. The next hand was the same. The feet were harder to nail down because of their shape, naturally. The problem solver that you were, you broke his ankles with the hammer so you could bend the feet to your liking. Then you nailed those down, too. 

Next, you meticulously placed nails so that they were just under the skin, nailing them along his arms and any place that was flush with the wall. The idea wasn't to hold him in place with these. It was so that he would be forced to hold still. If he didn't, the nails would rip through the thin layer of skin. The evenly spaced drips of crimson running down his body really did look like some sort of macabre art. You stood back to admire it before taking the hammer to his kneecaps. The sick crunch that they made gave you goosebumps. At this point, Warthin was sobbing.

"Just kill me... please."

"Oh I will, you fucking worm." You licked your lips and got into his face. "I will kill you over and over again, until I'm satisfied. And every single thing that you did to me, and I mean every single thing, will be repaid." You pulled another needle from his hand and held it in front of his face. You dragged the point of it over his cheek before putting it at the entrance of his nostril. "Plus interest." Pushing the needle in, Warthin started shrieking again, his voice cracking with fatigue. You didn't stop until you felt the tip hit bone, just before tickling his brain.

You sighed, feeling a bit better. Still, not enough to sate you. Your eyes bounced among the remaining prisoners that were staring blankly in fear back at you. You mushed your hand against your cheek and grumbled in thought.

"Mini, I can't choose." The boar had been patiently guarding the door. "You pick."

The boar rose from her sitting position and her hooves made distinctive footsteps across the flooring. Her broad, pink-tinted nose glittered in the low light and you could see it twitch. The boar's head hung with intent and she sniffed each prisoner. You whole-heartedly believed that animals could smell fear, and that animals took after their owners. Although you considered Mini to be a partner, not a pet, she still adopted some of your personality. Minerva came to a stop in front of one of the men chained to the wall. Her head turned slowly towards him and her ears flicked forward. The man instantly pissed himself, further solidifying your beliefs.

"Him, huh?" You sat on one of the torture racks. "Hmm. You start. I'm tired."

Minerva bit down on one of the man's legs and pulled. Unfortunately for the man, he was still chained to the wall. Once the chains pulled tight, Minerva shook her head like a dog. Underneath the rattling of the chains, you could hear wet pops and cracks as joints tore. 

"My mistake. Let me help you with that." You touched the chains and they unlocked with your devil fruit, returning to your seat afterward.

The man was free. He tried with all his remaining strength to get to you, knees and ankles bending unnaturally. Minerva went after him, but you put your hand up to stop her. You wanted to watch him crawl so desperately across the floor. Chuckling, you called after him, like a dog. 

"C'mon. You can do it, Fido." You clapped your hands. "You dumb fucking mutt."

He continued to move towards you, sweat rolling down his forehead with pain and effort. When he got within arm's reach of you, you waved Minerva to continue. The boar grabbed his foot in her mouth, jerking him backwards. She tossed her head and threw him up in the air. The ceiling wasn't very high, so the poor sap hit the wood and fell back to the floor. In a very excited way, she flung him in the air again and caught him with the business end of her tusks, impaling him. Dark red blood ran down her snout, soaking into the fur and dripping from her chin. She shook him around like a rag doll and warm blood spatter hit you. It was like watching a puppy play with a dead squirrel. The iron taste hit your tongue as you laughed. So cute. The boar dragged him against the wall to slide his body off her tusks. The she grabbed his leg again and hit him against the ground and the wall. The man had stopped screaming a few minutes after he was gored. He bled out. 

There was a pile of barely recognizable humanoid flesh at Mini's feet. You rose from your seat to select one of the cleaver type blades. What kind of host would you be if you didn't feed the prisoners? With one solid whack, the blade severed the lower leg. That didn't have enough meat on it for your liking. A few more good hits and the thigh was freed. If not for Mini breaking the femur, it would have been a lot more difficult to get through. It was a lot heavier than it appeared. You tucked the cut of meat under your arm and left the rest for Mini to dispose of. 

You dripped blood all the way to the kitchen. You had no idea what time it was and thankfully the it was not in use at the moment. One, you didn't want to see Killer and two, you had to play chef. Placing the meat down on a cutting board, you pulled out a big pot. You left bloody fingerprints on just about every surface as you boiled the partial leg. Killer would be pissed and that made you smirk. It smelled a lot like pork, and looked a lot like pork, and it probably tasted like pork, too. You wouldn't be indulging in the delicacy, however. You shredded the meat off the bone and piled it on a plate. 

When you returned to the dungeon, Mini had finished off the prisoner. There was nothing left but a red stain on the floor. Soon they would all be red stains on the floor. You were eagerly hoping to force feed Warthin the same way he did to you. What you weren't accounting for was his ravenous hunger after several days of starving. You pushed handfuls of his comrade into his mouth and held your hand in place until he swallowed. This was fine, too. You didn't think that any of them had caught on yet, too focused on their bellies clawing from within. You went around the room, like the good little waitress you were and gave everyone their share before coming back to Warthin and giving him the rest. 

"Did you like that? You may speak." A smug grin made its way to your lips. 

"Yes." He didn't look you in the eye.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Captain L/N."

"Be grateful that I even cooked it for you. You could have had it raw, like Mini here." 

The man in front of you turned green, and his living comrades that understood did as well. "W-what do you mean?"

"Uh uh." You tutted. "You better keep it all in. It's good for you."

"W-what is it?!" His tone was more panicked.

"Don't you mean 'who'?" 

You heard vomiting behind you as you watched Warthin struggle to keep from heaving. 

"If you throw it up, I'll make you eat it from the floor." 

He started crying again. "I didn't do this to you!"

"I said I would repay you plus interest. This is interest."

"You fucking bitch!"

You put your hand behind your ear. "That's what I like to hear. Writhe for me, worm!" 

Unfortunately he was able to keep everything down, so you couldn't make him eat his puke. You left with Mini, completely spent. You wanted to keep going, but your powers needed to refresh. At least you were courteous enough to return the plate you borrowed. When you returned to the kitchen, it had been cleaned up of your mess. You climbed on the counter to get to the top cabinets, where the good liquor was kept. The best liquor was kept in Kid's room. You weren't about to go in there no matter how much you wanted to get shitfaced though. You grabbed two bottles and made your way to the deck. 

Leaning on the rail at the bow, you pounded one of the bottles and chucked the empty glass into the sea. The other one you nursed as you watched the dark waves. It was sometime at night, probably not long after everyone tucked in. There was no moon tonight. No light reflected from the waves, only blackness. It seemed fitting for your mood. Your legs felt tingly and warm as the liquor kicked in, followed by the rest of your body not long after. 

"That doesn't count as dinner." A soft voice behind you said. "Let me make you something."

You ignored him and took a long drink from the bottle. 

"Y/N..."

"Don't pretend to care now. Fuck off, Massacre Soldier." 

It hurt his feelings that you wouldn't even call him by his name. "I do care!"

"You won't be fooling me again." You finished the rest of that bottle, too, and walked past him without even giving a glance in his direction. 

Killer didn't say anything else. Whatever he said while you were like this would be used against him somehow. He hated seeing you hurting, especially because it was at his own hands. 

You wanted to be alone. There was no where for you to go but the infirmary. You didn't want to be there and you hoped the door between the infirmary and Kid's workshop was closed. In fact, you were going to get rid of it. No need for it anymore. You didn't want to see Kid's face at any point in the near future. The lights were off when you went in and the door was shut, as you had hoped. You placed your hands against the door to the workshop, testing to see if you could muster enough power to transform it back into a plain wooden wall. The hairs on the back of your neck rose a half-second before you felt a presence behind you. 

"What do ya think yer doing, bunny?" 

"Getting rid of this." 

"No the fuck ya aren't." The smell of alcohol overtook you as Kid hovered over you from behind. 

"Watch me."

Kid roughly grabbed your shoulder, spun you around, and shoved your back to the door, pinning your hands above your head in his metal hand. "I'M THE CAPTAIN. WHAT I SAY IS LAW. AND I SAID YA AREN'T!"

"I was blind, not deaf."

Kid grabbed your cheeks with his flesh hand. "Always such a smart mouth. That mouth can be hurtful ya know." 

"Like I said to Killer, FUCK OFF." 

"See that's exactly what I'm talkin about. Talk nice to yer captain." Kid's hand shifted until his thumb toyed with your lower lip.

"Not in the mood, Eustass." 

"I see." Kid laughed. "I'll play along." He bent down to kiss your neck. 

"What? No! I'm being serious. Get off me!" You tried to tug your hands out of his grip. When that failed, you pulled your legs up and kicked him square in the chest. "I fucking mean it!"

Kid dropped you and staggered backwards. "Fuck! Okay!" Kid held his hands up, still stumbling a little, either from being drunk or from your kick. "I don't know why yer so upset anyway. We only did what we thought best for ya." Kid reached out to touch your cheek and you flinched.

"Because I thought you wouldn't- I thought you wouldn't- " You couldn't say it, not even half-toasted.

"Want ya anymore?" 

You nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Kid laughed and pulled you in for a rough hug. "Don't be sad, my wee bunny. We wouldn't give a fat damn if yassstayed blind," Kid slurred.

That was their way of showing they cared even if it wasn't how you would have liked. Deep down, you knew that. The superficial trauma that was lurking preventing you from seeing that clearly. There was more than one person in this relationship, which meant there were three points of view to see things from. You thought about forgiving him in the moment, at least before he fucked it up in the worst way possible, classic Kid. 

"Who cares if yagot eyes? Yasstill have a cunt, aye?" Kid howled with laughter at his joke. 

Something that was meant to lighten the mood, snapped the last heartstrings holding you together. He always seemed to say the wrong thing. In spite of the fact that he didn't mean to, he confirmed your worst worries. You were only valuable for one thing. It was hard to discern if he was truly joking. What if those were his true thoughts coming out while he was drunk? The way you were right now, in this fragile mental state, reality and your perception of reality converged and diverged at random intersections. It didn't help that you had also been drinking. This was part of the reason you didn't want to talk to either of them until you calmed down, though you thought you would be the one to say something you regretted in your anger. 

You pushed him away from you, looking up at him with wet lashes. "Why would you say that?" 

He was still laughing when he noticed your wet eyes. "Hah? Whass wrong?" 

"Is that what you really think?" 

Kid had forgotten the last bit of what he said, only referring to the first. "Course, doll."

You swallowed thickly and turned away from him before you could shed a tear. 

Kid ruffled your hair as he left. "M'na go find Killer."

You slid down the door and hugged your knees to you. There was anger and sadness, and you were so sick of feeling those things. Instead, you chose to feel nothing. Tears spilled over but you didn't even know what you were crying for anymore. Because you would consider staying and living as an object just to feel like a part of something? Because you were mourning the loss of someone other than yourself giving a shit about you? Or was it that you were mourning your past self, someone you could never go back to being? You were irreversibly changed will no option to go back. You would have to move forward. 

You woke up on the floor, feeling like shit. It was time to stop wallowing in your feelings. You weren't going to let your emotions take control of you. You were the Sea Snake, the Marine Killer. You were not some lovesick little girl. And you had marines to kill.

Your eye was glazed over as you went back to the dungeon with Mini. There was one thing on your mind and it was violence. That always made you feel better. As you did the day prior, you sealed the door. You were not to be interrupted. The smell in this room was enough to fell a horse. It reeked of decomposition and death, a sickly sweet, sulfurous stench. By the time you were done, the rookies would have a hell of a time cleaning up. 

"Good morning, fuckwads." 

You knew exactly what you wanted to do today. Going straight for the knives, you picked out some of the smaller ones. Warthin was first. He would always be first. First, you ripped out the needles from underneath his nail beds. You may have missed a few. Who cares? Next, you made a move to take the nails out of him, but you stopped. Instead, you removed his shackles so he was only attached to the wall by the nails. 

"Come on. Come get me. You're free," you taunted. "Here. I'll even give you this." You curled his fingers around one of the knives. "Come on then."

False hope rose in his features. He really thought he had a chance. With a roar, he pulled himself from the wall, some nails staying embedded in it and ripping his skin off. Others were still in him. He took a step toward you and fell immediately. There was no strength in his muscles. You stepped on his wrist until he let go of the knife. You picked it up and kicked him so that he was face up. You stepped on the nails that remained in his flesh, pushing them further in. In a matter of minutes, you had him hung from the ceiling. 

Picking all the nails out of him and throwing them on the floor, you circled him. "I'd like to start with a fresh canvas." You paused. "One moment." Before you healed his injuries, you needed to see him die again. You strategically placed small cuts all over his body, watching the blood create intricate designs as it poured down his skin. The rhythmic pattering of his blood trickling onto the floor was soothing. As the flow slowed, you focused your attention to his eyes, watching the life fade out of them again. After using your devil fruit to heal him, he gasped back to life. He looked healthy as ever. It was a warm feeling, knowing that you would give him a brief moment of relief before you would rip it all away again. 

Grabbing one of the small knives, you began the painstaking process of skinning him. The first cuts were always the most satisfying, watching the bright orange-yellow fat poke through as you separated the layers. You grabbed the skin layer and began to cut it away, the silvery fascia, like a spider web sewing the skin down, gave way to your blade with a sound like peeling a sticker off glass. It was music to your ears, the chorus of which was Warthin screaming and sobbing.

"Too bad you don't have any tattoos. It would be fun to send your skin to marine HQ." You blew air out of your nose. "It's no good if there's no way for them to recognize that it's yours. You get it. You did send my eye after all." You briefly stopped what you were doing. "Actually... yeah let's go ahead and take care of that." 

"N-no. No. No. NO!" He screamed louder and louder as you approached his eye with your blade. 

"Shhhh. Don't worry. I'll put it back tomorrow and we can start again. This devil fruit power is really great, isn't it?"

You dragged your knife under his eye, marring him the same way that you were marred. It was unnecessary to do that to remove the globe, but he needed to match. You slipped your thumb into the socket and popped it out, blunt dissecting the muscles off so that it was free. You dangled it in front of his other eye before tossing it in Mini's mouth. Then you went back to what you were doing. You sighed. Skinning was very therapeutic. 

Hours had gone by before you were done. There was no light down here, so there was no sense of time passing. It was more for the prisoners, though it was true for you too. Because of your focus, you didn't really get thirsty or feel hunger. All you cared about was doling out punishment. 

"Oh, fuck." You were on the last portion of Warthin's skin when you buttonholed it. You made a noise of disapproval. "Well, we're gonna have to start all over again." 

Warthin took a break from screaming to glance at you, horrified. You smiled back at him.

His skin looked like a discarded leather jacket on the floor. After putting it all back on him, a few hours more and you had re-skinned him perfectly. In fact, maybe you would turn it into a leather jacket. Was that too far? To wear human skin? You looked at the remaining prisoners. This opportunity shouldn't be wasted on destruction. There was creation to explore. 

You pulled two prisoners off the wall. They were still shackled to it, but had room to walk. Ever since the day with the fruit, you had wanted to try this. Placing a hand on both men, they started to glow and seemed to be sucked together, melting into each other. They became one person. The way they were twitching and stumbling, it was possible the brain did not meld correctly. Using your devil fruit, you separated them again. That didn't go correctly either. One had three limbs and the other had five. After shuffling them together a few more times, they were back to being two separate people, mostly. They might not have the correct amount of fingers per hand, but they added up to ten. 

You played with them like they were dolls, taking them apart and putting them back together again. One man had four arms now. Another had feet for hands. You gave one a third eye, then harvested it and transplanted it into Warthin. He looked cold so you made him a jacket from another prisoner's skin. You had placed his skin on one of the tables and started to fill it with organs you made copies of from the others. You borrowed a few bones from the prisoners as well until you could make a complete skeleton. You had everything but the head and the muscles. From one of the men that didn't come back so well from being fused, you stripped muscle, just the major ones. It would take too long to do all of them. You borrowed his spinal cord too. With your devil fruit, you were panting as you wove everything together into a fucked up humanoid body.

The man who you borrowed most everything from, you took a cleaver to his head, severing it. You would need it to keep Warthin's body alive. Taking the same cleaver, you separated Warthin's head from his body. Quickly, you fused the other man's head to Warthin's body and Warthin's head to the patchwork mannequin you had made. The other man shrieked so you knew that was successful. Warthin's head, however, was not doing anything. You punched the chest of the meat suit a few times with no luck. There were some limitations to your powers. You couldn't create life. 

Growling in frustration you ripped Warthin's head off the failed body prototype and traded it back with the other man so that he was reattached to his original body. 

"YOU'RE INSANE! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Warthin screamed when his consciousness rebooted. 

"If you have enough energy to scream like that, then you must not be hurting enough." You took a step towards him.

"DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER, YOU PSYCHO BITCH! HELP! HELP! GET ME AWAY FROM HER!"

"That's hurtful. You liked me plenty when I was the one chained up. How does it feel to be a piece of meat for my pleasure?" 

"HELP! ANYBODY!" 

With a wave of your hand sound no longer are out of his mouth. "You're annoying me." You wanted to get rid of his mouth altogether, however you had plans for his mouth. You released him from the ceiling and dragged him to one of the other prisoners. "I'll give you your skin back. If you suck his dick." You nodded your head to the other man. 

He looked at you with pleading eyes. 

"Be glad it's only your mouth today." 

His eyes went wide and he paled. 

"Yeah, no. Unfortunately you did rape me quite a lot. And I have to keep my word that I would repay every single thing you did to me." You turned your attention to the others. "Shouldn't be a problem with you guys, right? You love to rape." You shoved Warthin to his knees and kicked him closer to the other prisoner with your foot. "Get to it."

NEXT

Tag List: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin @wgwingguns

[gingersnaptaff]

(Okay, so I know I said I was gonna do marriage laws and queenship stuff in regards to welsh laws - and I will! - but here is a nice, quick round-up about BARDS

*SHREDS ON A HARP*

Okay, so this is inspired by @gawrkin 's recent posts on bards because the laws surrounding them are SUPER FUN. And Wales LOVES LOVES LOVES their bards. (Myself included.)

Right, so, without further ado, ONWARDS.

*shreds harp aggressively again*

So the 'spurious triads' the author is referring to are presumably to do with IOLO MORGANNWG *ominous thunderclap*.

I shan't go too much into him as suffice to say, we gotta keep this shit SHORT, but he was a massive forger from Glamorgan (that's what Morgannwg means. It's his bardic name. Iolo is Edward.) who made up a bunch of triads and Celtic / medieval manuscripts including some of the Welsh Triads. Also, he is the reason why the Eisteddfod has the Gorsedd of bards.

So a mixed bag, y'know.

ANYWAY. They're very high-rank on account of being the literally Yellow Pages of Celtic and medieval Welsh societies. If you had a question that needed answering you'd ask a bard. They were like Google. They would know a man's lineage (and Welsh lineages are confusing. There were men named Dafydd ap Dafydd ap Dafydd ap Dafydd. No, I'm not joking.) battles, monarchs, myths, songs, stories. Anything.

And they had to SING. And play an instrument. Namely either a harp or a crwth.

This baby is crwth! It's a little like a violin but much darker in tone. They were extinct for a while but they've undergone a revival and they are FUN!

Also, the court bard had to SING to the queen about Camlann 'in a low voice.' I've heard various reasons suggested as to why and one of them is to remind her that Gwenhwyfar's infidelity was the main reason for King Arthur's downfall, but I think it's probably because of The Slap. Idk though. I'm just guessing, buddies.

Still, it's cool that the queen got a special sing-song.

Also, the bard being 'invested with a chess board' suggests to me that the game of Gwyddbwyll that Arthur and Owain play in the Mabinogion signals that they're bards. Gwyddbwyll being the type of chess the bards would've been familiar with. Plus, we know Arthur is somewhat of an amateur bard (Culhwch and Olwen being the prime example where he sings his terrible englyn about Cai to his face. Arthur, ur a fuckin BASTARD.) so it's in keeping with his character.

Also, I think it's adorable that the harp 'always descended to the youngest son.'

If you want a story that deals with bards and their privileged position in Welsh society and also wants ur heart RIPPED OUT may I suggest 'The Assembly of the Severed Head' by Hugh Lupton. It deals with a bard in a monastery after he's almost perished in a raid and the monks writing out the Mabinogion so they can give it to Llywelyn Fawr. It deals with war, love, loss, and also stonking good historical context. Also lots of poetry!!!!

Final fact: bards in Wales weren't wiped out by Edward the First. That's a fuckin myth. Don't come round here with ur fuckin myths. Old Longshanks has done enough already. May he eat shit.

(Also, Taliesin gets all the good rep but what about my boy Aneirin?)

Okay, BYEEEEE!!!!

P.S.: have an Eisteddfod chair!

[brekwrites]

Howdy Brek!! I hope you're doing well! I love your writing, especially where Sun and Solar are the protagonists, you write their relationship in such a beautiful, sexy and tender way.I hope this isn't taken the wrong way, but there's a scenario between the two of them that's been on my mind since the last chapter of "What if". And since I don't like the anguish of pure pain without comfort because my heart and soul are weak, I couldn't help but think of a scenario where even though Solar revives with bloodlust, that doesn't necessarily mean there has to be a sad ending, because it would be a Solar who at times becomes a feral vampire and that idea besides being terrifying can also be VERY SEXY if it turns into something romantic.Imagine Sun helping to control the ""thirst"" of him boyfriend Solar (it doesn't have to be just bloodlust, it could be hunger for star power too, perhaps... and other instincts and primitive needs heheh) until New Moon finds a way to "cure" him. But Sun would definitely be safe because he's the vampire Solar's partner.I personally would love to throw New Moon into that mix but I understand that some people don't like the concept of polyamory where siblings share a boyfriend.Anyway, this is by no means an order, just an idea I thought someone who enjoys Sun and Solar's sexy and romantic content might like.You don't have to reply to this message if you don't want to ok! Take care and again, I love your stories!

Hi!! I have actually been turning this idea over in my brain since the recent episode. I agree with you. Maybe the combination of bloodlust, but it’s still physically Solar, who doesn’t need blood to survive, but still needs to sate those urges? And blood itself isn’t doing anything for him, and he’s so hungry even though he’s eaten, and he ends up biting and feeding on Sun or New Moon. I honestly like both ideas, but as divergent possibilities.

I could see a Solar that was already in a relationship with Sun being brought back, Sun trying to comfort him and being so close and he’s so hungry. Sun realizing what he wants and offering himself up, and we get that nice topping from the bottom vibe I enjoy with them. Solar’s physically dominant, he’s feeding on him, but he’s being so, so careful, and Sun is the one that’s in control, because he has what Solar needs, and in the beginning he’s having to reassure Solar that it’s okay for him to have this, he’s willing to give it to him, he wants to give it to him. Yeah, that shit slaps.

I could also see a Solar that was crushing on Moon before he died being completely embarrassed that the object of his affections is seeing this side of him. Moon is trying his best to help provide for him, but it’s not working, and one day he gets too close at the wrong moment and Solar’s instincts kick in and he can’t help it. He bites him. And Moon makes this noise that’s… hmm. Queue lots of flustered apologies and both of them retreating to think about wtf they just learned about themselves. Eventually Solar goes to apologize and Moon just blurts out that he didn’t mind it, actually, and he really likes Solar, actually, and he wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.

I’ll add both to my possible fic list, and maybe you’ll see them in the future. My idea list is LONG tho, so it might be a bit! Could make a nice halloween special lmfao.

Thanks for yapping with me, this was fun! If anyone else wants to send me fun ideas to theorize about and get a quick little blurb like this one ^ and MAYBE (no guarantees) a future fic if the inspiration strikes, feel free!

[bumblebee-is-best-boi]

Woah...

Just sitting here at nighttime thinking about TFFL... and how the war started in that universe.

(Reminder, this is my fan continuity)

(stuff down below the cut)

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Megatron might have started using the Decepticons to attack the Senate, blow up many things, and just overall went strong... Orion was the one who actually started the Decepticons in the first place. He was the one who brought up the idea of forming the Decepticons, even rallying up a few and starting it off along with Megatron. He planted the idea of a full on revolution in Megatron's mind.

But Megatron was so mad at the Senate he wanted them completely gone. Erased. Orion wanted them to step down from power, Megatron wanted them dead.

When it came to the point where this specific idea about what to do with the Senate started to become closer, Megatron and Orion started clashing, to the point where Megatron just couldnt take it anymore, severed the conjunx bond, and forced Orion out to take over the Decepticons completlely.

Somewhere along the line, Orion becomes Optimus (how he becomes Optimus is hush hush for now :D), and he decides to start up a new group, the Autobots, to try and take down the Senate in the way he planned.

Now the Senate has to deal with TWO rebellious groups trying to take them down, in different ways. And these groups are going against each other, clashing at times, sabotaging each other, trying to be the one who takes down the Senate.

The Decepticons win in this race. They take down the Senate their way. This was not how Optimus wanted it to end, but the Autobots cheer, and he couldnt help but cheer at the Senate's fall as well.

At this point, it would have easy to just have ended the whole rivalry and just celebrate over the downfall of the Senate. Of course, thats what Optimus comes over to do, to bring over a sort of alliance so that they could try to fix Cybertron as they dreamed when they were younger.

But... Megatron was too far gone in his anger. He had done what he wanted, but he was also so mad at Optimus. So mad that Optimus became a Prime. To him, it was just all a slap of the face that made it felt like if he was being mocked, that this was a way that the world told him that Optimus was actually better than him. That Optimus was the perfect hero, and Megatron was not. It seemed like being a Prime was the only thing that made Optimus so well liked, according to Megatron. He couldnt understand how Optimus was getting so praised...

And you know who praised Primes? The SENATE. Megatron thought Optimus had abandoned his ways, and wanted to bring back the Senate. This brought him over the edge. Now all he wanted to do was to erase Optimus, which he thought would stop the Senate from ever returning.

And thats how the war officially started.

Megatron wanted to erase a reminent of the Senate... that wasnt even there... over the time, as the war went on, battle after battle, this constant shadow wore down on him, but then, it wore down to the point where he forgot about the reminent and wanted just to take Optimus down. Like when you say something to yourself over and over again, but over time it starts warping until it becomes something else entirely.

He gets so focused on that... that he does things that he would normally have never thought of doing (The Triple Changer Experiments are one of the biggest examples. Before the war, he would have never thought of dooming any Cybertronian to such a scarring thing). His original ideals... gone. He kept chasing a ghost that never existed.

He only realizes that he lost his way when he finally gets what he wanted and kills Optimus.

Breaking down, realizing he had become the very monster he was fighting, he then ends the war by surrendering, after Primus does his little god thing after the Final Battle.

But of course, he still has to face the consquences. Optimus, after being killed by Megatron (then revived), is less inclined to stand up for Megatron. But hes still willing to give a little mercy.

So he jails Megatron.

Which is probably a very safe idea, since alot of the Autobots, and even some of the Decepticons, want him dead coughcoughTheTripleChangerscoughcough.

So basically, Optimus and Megatron were in love, but Megatron fell out of love.

Optimus still loved Megatron, and tried to fix what was broken, even while he was with Ratchet. Optimus might have not wanted to conjunx with Megatron again, but at least they could have been close again like how they were when they were younger.

Then Megatron killed Optimus.

After that...

Megatron realized he still loved Optimus after all these years.

But Optimus, after being revived...

The fact that Megatron killed him killed a big chunk of his love for Megatron.

So... when Megatron fell back in love, Optimus fell out of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

oh man i just realized how much i have written.

Also im a teeny bit sleepy so i might have been babbling bullshit T>T

If you want to ask me anything about what i have here im always open to talk!

[sophieinwonderland]

Honestly, my biggest fear is that Democracy is a fad. It feels like humans are just predisposed to eventually hand power over to tyrants. Whoever wins, it's way too close considering one is a felon who tried to illegally overturn the last election.

And when Democracy dies, what happens then?

Who would give up power to revive it?

I'm not just angry about the state of the United States. But also about how a majority of Russians seem to be backing the invasion of Ukraine while slapping even heavier restrictions on LGBTQ right. And about how China has overturned their term limit restrictions to allow their leader to potentially remain in control indefinitely. I think about how the Taliban has recently gone so far as to ban women from speaking in public in Afghanistan.

Days like this... it's hard to see the good in humanity.

I mean, the upside is that this is still one of the best periods in human history to be alive.

But that also just shows how utterly bleak human history has been.

[morphean42]

Favourite Falsettos/Marvin trilogy song and reasons being? 🎤

Ah oh my this is gonna be so difficult.

Okay I’m gonna list three, one from each musical, because I cannot just have one.

Nausea Before The Game— I remember vividly listening to this song in my car and crying because oh, nausea, that’s what that feeling is when my girlfriend wants to kiss me. It’s just such an incredibly personal song for me and I will never not love it. It feels like a good representation of Marvin’s internal thoughts and why acts the way he does without letting him off the hook for his wrongdoing. Special shout-out to How Marvin Eats His Breakfast though, that shit slaps too.

Late For Dinner— specially the original version because I love Michael Rupert’s vocals in it. This song feels so representative of Act 1 and I love every bit of it, Whizzer and Trina’s moment will always destroy me. Also, going off the revival, I love Whizzer’s ‘why is it always ourselves you have to change.’ It’s just the song that shows who each character is more than anything else, and I could analyse the whole thing like a motherfucker.

Jason’s Bar Mitzvah— listen, I love ‘What Would I Do’ and ‘You Gotta Die Sometime’ and ‘Holding To The Ground’ and ‘Unlikely Lovers’, but this one just hits different. There’s this sense of hope still, this desperate hope that Whizzer will still get better. They’re all pretending everything is lovely, the vocals all mesh splendidly, and it feels like a whole beautiful moment before the devastation. Just simply Mendel calling Jason the son of Whizzer makes this song my favorite, because, ow. I adore sad songs, but there’s so much love and happiness here still that it makes me insane. Also also also Jason looking like Marvin????? And this being treated as a good thing?????? When Jason has been terrified of turning into his father the whole show???? But now when he’s going to lose Whizzer (and Marvin too eventually) he realizes maybe there are parts of his dad(s) he’ll he proud to inherit????

Thank you for this ask!

[sapphic-agent]

I think the biggest thing I've learnt from the more critical side of MHA is: don't let your favoritism affect your story. I think it's natural that you're gonna like more characters than others. But if it's like noticeable to a point where the audience sees it, it's a big problem. Or if the character is a fan favorite, they'll praise it to sky heaven. The fact that Izuku VS Shigaraki has been oddly side lined so much in favor of Bakugo VS OFA or him rescuing All Might is... weird to me. Like, I get it. He was dead for a year in our time. But... this IS Izuku's story not Bakugo's. Even if Bakugo is a deuteragonist, he's still not the MAIN protagonist. Shouldn't we be shifting more or less to Izuku VS Shigaraki? MHA has been building up their final fight for 8-9 years, and we're oddly all focused on AFO and Bakugo? And for AFO's backstory, I care less for the potato man. Shigaraki is the villain of MHA, not potato man. Such as Izuku is the protagonist of the story, Bakugo isn't. And it's so baffling to me to see MHA twt praise this series to high heaven and just don't oddily notice that Izuku is just oddily fucking quiet through out this fight?? I know he's focused on stopping Shigaraki, but nothing???? Like the Toga and Uraraka and Todoroki Family arcs got all the attention they deserved, so why tf isn't Izuku and Shigaraki?? I understand they were gonna be last, it IS the final battle after all, but it just seems it's gonna go downhill from there.

Plus, how tf is Izuku gonna be able to save Shigaraki?? Izuku is at his witt's end, and Bakugo said he would take care of AFO. Because if it's ACTUALLY Bakugo & Izuku VS Shigaraki. I'll just- I'll be so done. I get the whole "Izuku doesn't have to do everything on his own" but like- Shigaraki literally KILLED Bakugo and got revived from his goddamn blood exploding. (That shit is still funny to me.) like good Lord, can Izuku just have HIS moment??? If all of the cool power ups and cool moments go to Bakugo instead of Izuku, and Bakugo somehow saves the day.

The fucking ending is gonna be ruined by favoritism. Again, this is just an IF. But I felt crazy reading twt's and no one noticing Izuku hasn't said anything of a) Bakugo being brought back to life b) or just reacting to anything. It just seems like Izuku is just there as a device to carry us towards the ending, at this point.

You're right and you should say it.

Mind-boggling how people will look at this shit and still say Horikoshi doesn't favor Bakugou. Like, what? He is 1-v-1-ing the big bad of the series. The villain who killed almost every past OFA user (would also like to add that these are the same users he insulted and looked down on, so if he is the one to finish AFO, that's a slap in the face to every single one of them). The man who incapacitated All Might. The Demon King who's ruled the underbelly of Japan for the past 200 years.

And you mean to tell me that Katsuki Bakugou of all people is his final boss? That's just embarrassing for AFO tbh.

But the fact of the matter is, yeah Izuku's fight with Shigaraki should have been the main event. Instead, it's being treated as a side quest. Hell, it's being treated as less than a side quest as both Uraraka & Toga and the Todorokis & Dabi were given more attention.

It's sad, not only for Izuku but for Shigaraki too. Horikoshi was so close to making him a complex villain, only for all of his character progression from Deika to go down the toilet. He can't be saved because he's been written to be so completely detached from his humanity.

In general, Izuku and Shigaraki should have had more moments together throughout the series. This interaction between them is meaningless because Izuku doesn't understand Shigaraki enough to save him. It's why he's getting frustrated because there's really no feasible way for him to save Tomura. He isn't Eri or Kota who were just kids in danger and who wanted to be rescued.

I hate to say it, but Izuku hasn't had enough development to be able to save Shigaraki. It's not his fault (it's Hori's), but it's true. For him to understand Tomura, he needed to broaden his worldview and Horikoshi hasn't allowed him to do that.

It's an utter disservice to both characters

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (1/?)

Summary: "I dare you to sit alone in the Storybrooke Cemetery until after midnight." Who knew a game of Truth or Dare would become an issue of life or death?

A/N: Much thanks to @kmomof4 for giving this a once over for me. This checks off the cemetery square of my Bingo card and the next part (coming soon) will earn me a BINGO!

Rated T for now / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

I dare you to sit alone in the Storybrooke Cemetery until after midnight.

Emma Swan hated her friends.

Why couldn’t they have dared her to something more typical of a college student on Halloween? Why not dare her to slam a beer, or kiss one of the random guys that had crashed the party, or go streaking down the quad?

Because they obviously hated her as much as she hated them.

Okay. Maybe hate was too strong a word, but still… she had unfriendly feelings toward them at the moment.

A curse slipped from her lips as she tripped over one of the flat gravestones that littered the area of the cemetery closest to the public park. She’d decided it would be best to not park her bright yellow bug at the actual entrance of the cemetery, seeing as visiting interred loved ones after dark wasn’t exactly permitted.

After traipsing through the treeline that separated the public park from the cemetery with nothing more than an old flashlight and its quickly dying batteries - leave your phone in your car. You have to be completely alone - it was no wonder she’d nearly lost her footing. There was practically no moon and the faint solar powered grave lights adorning a few of the headstones did little to illuminate more than the names and dates of those long passed.

Trudging a bit further into the center of the cemetery, Emma found a tall headstone to rest against. She spread out the blanket she’d brought with her, sat down, leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This is stupid,” she muttered, refusing to let the intrusive, ridiculous, superstitious, completely irrational thoughts currently parading through her mind make a home there.

There was nothing to be creeped out about. There was nothing scary or unnatural about a graveyard. All she had to do was sit here for…

A frustrated sigh huffed from her chest. Without her phone, how was she supposed to know when midnight was?

There was nothing for it. She’d have to go back and get her phone so she could keep tabs on the time. There was no way she was staying out here a second longer than she had to, and not because she was scared, or creeped out, or had chill bumps already forming on her arms. Nope.

Leaving her blanket behind, Emma set off back towards her car. She’d only managed to walk a few steps when the flashlight batteries finally gave up the ghost… so to speak, plunging her into darkness.

Slapping her palm against the infernal thing in the hopes of reviving it, Emma let out another expletive.

“The fuck am I gonna do now?”

“Good question,” a voice said from behind her.

Emma screamed and spun around. The face of a strange man, being illuminated by his own flashlight shining up from beneath his chin, had her stumbling backward. If not for his quick actions, she would have tumbled over the back of a headstone and probably landed on her head. Instead, she found herself wrapped in his embrace, having pulled her back onto her feet in just the nick of time.

“Whoa there, lass,” he said, adjusting her in his arms to ensure she was steady. “You don’t want to go joining these poor souls before it's your time.”

Attempting to wriggle out of his hold, Emma straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Let go of me.”

He did as he was told, staying close for a moment to make certain she was sure on her feet before stepping over to where she had left her blanket.

Gathering it from the ground, he held it out to her. “Best not linger here, love. The cemetery is no place for the living after dark.”

Taking the blanket from him, Emma’s eyes narrowed at the man - the handsome, heart-flutter inducing, accented lilt that could make her toes curl, while giving off an air of danger that just made him an impossibly more appealing type of man. Dismissing the erratic beat of her heart as something simply caused by the fright he’d given her and not the lop-sided smile and smoldering eyes currently fixed her way, Emma hugged the blanket against her chest and demanded to know, “What are you doing here then?”

“I work here,” he informed her with all the confidence and authority of a practiced liar.

Because it was a lie. Or half-truth at the very least. Emma could always tell.

Letting out a quiet hum that expressed her doubt, she clocked the way he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear before glancing around them as though he expected someone else to make an appearance.

Was there someone else in the cemetery with them?

“Look, love,” he began, his tone a bit tighter and more urgent. “I really must insist that you leave here at once. For your own good. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Emma scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”

“All you need to know is that if you stay here you’re putting yourself in danger.” Before she could pull away the man grabbed one of her hands. “Here,” he said, placing his flashlight in her palm. “Take this and get back to your vehicle.”

“But you still haven’t told me what you’re…”

Her words fell away, choked out by shock and a fresh swell of fear. When she’d cast the beam of the flashlight after the man who was quickly rushing away, she caught sight of a mound of freshly dug earth on the other side of the cemetery. A shovel was sticking out from the pile and she could barely make out the dark chasm of the grave that had been newly exposed.

Was he some sort of grave robber?

Emma turned on her heel and made a beeline for the trees. Her only thought was to call the police, but before she reached the boundary of the cemetery a cold gust stole her breath away. A shrill shriek forced a ripple of terror to tremble down her spine and a silent petrified scream tried to force itself from her lungs when a ghostly figure of a woman manifested right in front of her.

“Get down!” the man shouted and Emma turned in time to see him brandish a shotgun.

Dropping to the ground, a blast went off overhead and she felt small, hard pellets rain down on her as another shriek pierced her ears.

“Are you alright, love?”

The man hauled her to her feet, and unlike the last time it was Emma who now clung to him, her hands holding fast to his upper arms as she tried to reconcile what had just happened.

“W-What was that?”

“That,” he said softly, his gaze filled with obvious remorse as he confirmed her worst nightmare. “Was a ghost.”

“A g-ghost?” Emma shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” he said, brushing the substance he’d fired from his shotgun off her head and shoulders.

“A ghost,” Emma repeated, her mind still grasping for reality as her grip remained tight around his bicep. “Who… whose ghost? How did you…? Is she…?”

“Her name was Cruella,” he told her. “She died in the 1920s and has been haunting the park since her family home, which used to reside there, was torn down in the early 80s. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“About de Vil Park?”

The man nodded as Emma searched her memory for the tales people often told about the public park. It had been donated by the family whose estate had once been the central landmark of affluence until a murderous scandal had tarnished the de Vil name. The mansion had fallen into disrepair and was ultimately condemned and bulldozed, the land left to the city for public use and made into a park.

Emma had heard stories about people refusing to walk their dogs there, something about the trails making the animals skittish or aggressive. There had been a public health scare when she was in middle school. One fall several kids had been bitten by varying animals - squirrels, a raccoon, and maybe a possum? - and one of them contracted rabies. Most people avoided feeding the animals in the park, fearing attacks, and although after dark activities were allowed, few went there after sundown.

“Is she the reason that animals act strangely there?”

“Aye,” the man said, his eyes casting about and the muscle at his jaw pulsing. “More recently though, she’s taken to tormenting a local woman who unknowingly purchased one of Cruella’s fur coats from an antique store.”

“And you’re here to…”

His eyes cut back to hers, locking on with an intensity that had the same breath stealing effect as the ghost - for different reasons obviously - and causing her to nearly miss the vow he uttered in a low, gruff timbre.

“To put a stop to the bitch. For good.”

“How?”

His reply was cut off by another screech and drop in temperature.

“Bloody hell! Get behind me, love.”

Emma did not hesitate, clinging to his back as the apparition appeared. With practiced skill, he opened the shotgun chamber, loaded two shells, snapped it shut, aimed, and fired a spray of something that made the ghost vanish once more.

“What was that?” Emma asked, following at the man’s heels, his destination becoming clear as they approached the freshly unearthed grave.

“Rock salt,” he answered. “It won’t destroy a spirit, but it does act as a deterrent, forcing them to dissipate briefly.”

“What does destroy a spirit? How does one kill something that’s already dead?”

“You have to salt and burn the bones of the person,” he said matter-of-factly, reaching into a duffel bag and pulling out a canister of salt. “And any earthly object the spirit might be tied to.”

Jutting his chin down towards the grave, the man turned her attention to the ghastly scene six feet below. The lid of her coffin had been pried open, the decaying, partially skeletal remains of Cruella de Vil exposed to the elements for the first time in a hundred years. She’d been laid out in a black gown and once luxurious fur, her fingers and neck draped in jewels, and her hair, still attached to patches of skin affixed to her skull in contrasts of black and white, had been fashioned in a split bob which had been popular in her day. At her feet rested a well kept, white fur coat with black spots, and Emma could only surmise that it was the very coat he’d mentioned moments ago.

A shower of salt crystals rained down on the corpse and coat, followed by a flood of lighter fluid. Emma’s nose wrinkled at the fumes wafting up from the grave, and she finally tore her eyes away from the body when he warned her to step back.

She complied while watching him dig a lighter from his pocket and held her breath when he flipped open the cap and set his thumb against the flint wheel. Another angry gust swirled around them and Emma was too late to call out a warning when the ghost of Cruella appeared once more.

“Look out!” she screamed, but the spectre already had the man by the throat. Hoisting him off his feet, she slammed him against a nearby crypt, his face turning purple from the crushing force against his windpipe. His hands desperately clawed at fingers he could not touch and his eyes began to roll back in his head. With great effort he managed to croak out, “Burn her!”

Emma scrambled about on her knees in the grass at the foot of the grave, knowing he’d dropped the lighter there when the ghost attacked. With shaking hands she flipped open the cap and swiped at the flint wheel futilely a few times before a flame finally sparked. Dropping the lit lighter into the grave set off a cacophony of screeches, shrieks, screams, and wails. Emma covered her ears and balled herself up as a means of protection. Wind whipped around her, the chill of the air and the cries of the ghost causing her to shake violently.

An eerie silence fell over the cemetery, broken only by the sound of the flickering flames consuming Cruella’s corpse and a soft, aching moan groaning from the man as he picked himself up off the ground.

“Are you okay?” she asked, uncoiling herself yet unable to stand just yet, not trusting her legs to hold her.

“Aye,” he croaked, lumbering towards her. “Thanks to you, love.” Rubbing his neck, he looked down at her with awe. “You were bloody brilliant. Amazing.”

She let him help her up, the two of them staring into the other’s eyes, their chests heaving in tandem.

“So, um,” Emma began, pausing to wet her lips and noting how his gaze fell to follow the action. “What now? Is she… gone?”

“She is,” he assured her. “And we should probably vacate as well.”

“Right,” she said, shaking herself from the attraction she should absolutely not be feeling for the ghost hunting, grave digging, creeps about in cemeteries at night, dark and mysterious man.

He also broke away, scratching that patch of skin behind his ear once more before telling her he needed to fill in the grave.

Unsure as to whether she ought to stay until he was finished or leave now, a thought suddenly occurred to her, prompting her to ask, “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”

He paused and pulled his phone from his back pocket to check, then told her, “11:53. Why?”

“It seems stupid now, but, um… I’m supposed to stay until midnight.”

“Midnight? Why midnight?”

Embarrassment prickled over Emma’s skin as she admitted, “I was dared to during a game of Truth or Dare with friends.”

The man laughed and began filling the hole once more. “Truth or Dare, huh? I couldn’t tell you the last time I played Truth or Dare.” Pausing again he pondered the thought for a moment then stated, “Actually… I’m not certain I’ve ever played it.”

With a shrug he set to work again and Emma could not fight off the compulsion to explain herself and why she’d played the childish game in the first place.

“Yeah, well. It’s my senior year of college. I graduate in May and it seemed like a fun thing to do. You know… before I have to seriously start my adult life and whatnot.”

Shut up, Emma. You’re rambling like an idiot!

The man made a sympathetic sound, another shovelful of dirt landing in the now shrinking hole, and admitted, “My adult life began the day I went on my first hunt. I was eleven.”

“First hunt? You mean…”

“Ghosts?” he supplied, when she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. “Aye. Although, they aren’t the only supernatural entity we hunt.”

“We? You mean there are others like you?”

“Fewer now than there used to be, but…”

His words fell away and his attention jumped towards the cemetery entrance.

“Fuck,” he muttered, quickly wiping down the handle of the shovel. “Someone’s called the police.”

Emma spun towards the entrance and saw the red and blue strobes of police lights pulling into the parking lot.

“What do we do?” she whisper-yelled at the man who was stuffing his things into the duffle bag, the wiped down shovel cast aside atop the pile of dirt he hadn’t managed to return to the grave.

“Where did you park?” he asked, zipping up the bag and taking the flashlight from her.

“At the park. Why?”

He grabbed her hand and rushed them towards the treeline. “That’s where I’m parked as well,” he informed her. “Less conspicuous that way. With any luck we can get to our vehicles and get out of here without being seen.”

In their haste, Emma nearly forgot about her discarded blanket, but they managed to locate it before exiting the cemetery. They came out of the treeline near his car, a classic 1970s Chevelle, and he wasted no time stowing his duffel bag in the trunk and stripping off his jacket and outer shirt which were covered in dirt.

“I, uh…” Emma began, unsure of what to say, but it didn’t matter. The presence of red and blue lights, preceding a cruiser that was about to turn into the park had her pivoting. “Come with me,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading them back into the treeline.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded in a frantic voice. “We can’t go back that way, they’ll--”

Emma cut him off, her fingers pressing against his lips as she urged, “Help me spread out the blanket.”

With confusion knitting his brows, he did as he was told then knelt down beside her on the now flattened blanket.

“Kiss me,” she said, causing the man to balk.

“What?”

Knowing time was not on their side, Emma grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled his mouth to hers with enough force to topple them over. He grunted as they hit the ground, but didn’t pull away when she slid her lips against his and threaded her fingers through the back of his hair. It didn’t take but another quick beat for him to catch on to her plan, and when he did, he threw himself into the ruse with great enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm and passion and heat and… oh my.

His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and his hips shifted, settling into the cradle of her thighs. Emma groaned and pulled him closer, the taste of him and need of air making her lightheaded. His fingers grazed a path along her ribcage, his thumb tracing the swell of her breast, awaiting a silent cue of consent before he cupped her in his hand and began to knead the needy flesh trapped beneath her bra.

With one hand still held fast in his dark, silken tresses, she raked the other down his back until it reached his jeans, pulling noises from him that made the heat in her belly and throb between her legs intensify. Slipping her hand into his back pocket, she gripped his ass and lifted her hips, grinding against the rigid length that hardened further as something akin to a growl rumbled in his chest.

An honest to God whimper quivered off her lips when he pulled away, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp wanton gasp at the feel of his hot, rough tongue outlining the shell of her ear.

“Gods, love,” he murmured hoarsely, his teeth nibbling at her earlobe while he rocked his hips into hers. “Tell me your--”

“Who's there! What are you two doing out here?”

She and the man both froze at the sound of the policeman’s voice, and Emma had to squint past the shine of flashlights to make out a second officer coming towards them from the opposite direction.

“You heard him,” the second officer shouted. “What are you doing out here?”

“U-Um…” Emma stammered from beneath the man whose attention was set squarely on the first cop. “Truth or Dare?”

~/~

“Let me get this straight,” the officer said, continuing to scrutinize their IDs. “You were at a Halloween party, playing Truth or Dare, and he got dared to come out here. Then a little bit later, you got dared to join him.”

“That’s what the lass said,” the man replied in a derisive tone.

“And what is the lass’ name?” the officer questioned with a smug expression.

“It’s uh…” Furtively, the man cast his eyes to Emma’s before sheepishly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“You didn’t get her name before you--”

“I would have gotten it before we parted,” the man said in an attempt to defend himself and Emma was struck by the truth she heard in his statement.

“Did someone report our vehicles or something?” Emma asked, attempting to throw the officer off his questioning. “We told you why we’re out here. Why are you?”

“Someone called in a disturbance,” the officer replied. “You two didn’t see or hear anything?”

“We were a bit preoccupied,” the man quipped, tossing a smirk at Emma. “What sort of disturbance?”

“Someone dug up a grave and set fire to it. You two know anything about that?”

“Bloody hell!” the man exclaimed, his disgust and shock perfectly believable and authentic sounding.

Emma hoped hers did as well. “Seriously? Who would do something like that?”

“You didn’t see anyone else out here?” the officer asked again, his focus intently set on trying to ascertain whether they were being truthful.

“No,” they both emphatically insisted.

“Are you saying they did this recently?” Emma said, pressing into the man’s side. “While we were out here?”

The man put his arm around her shoulders and held her close, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her arm while casting a nervous glance around them. “And you’re certain they’re gone?”

“We aren’t certain of anything,” the other officer said with a sigh, returning from the cemetery to inform them, “Crime unit just got here. You two are free to go.”

Emma snapped her head towards the man who met her gaze. Before either of them could move, the interrogating officer said, “Hold on a minute.”

Joining the other officer, the cop asked in a low tone, “Are you sure? Don’t you think we ought to take them in for further questioning?”

“They’re just a couple of horny college students, not grave desecrating whack jobs,” the other officer countered. “You’ve got their info in case we need to follow up. For now, cut them loose.”

Emma did not have to be told twice. As soon as the officer handed them back their identification they made a beeline for their vehicles.

“Do you know the diner around the corner from here?” the man whispered in her ear.

“Granny’s? Yeah. It’s a popular hangout. Why?”

“Meet me there,” he said, opening her car door for her and letting her slide in behind the wheel before snapping it shut and heading towards his Chevelle.

His engine purred to life a moment later and Emma warred with whether or not to follow him. Chewing her lip, she watched his tail lights disappear and a buzzing sound pulled her attention to her phone.

Twenty-six texts and three missed calls.

Ruby: Remember. No phone!

Ruby: You better not have your phone

Belle: I hope you’re okay.

Belle: And I hope you aren’t too mad at us!

More of the same from Mary Margaret and August. A couple of texts from her brother, demanding she call the moment she’s back at her car. A few more from Ruby with links to ghost story articles. A missed call from David at 12:01. Another at 12:07. The last from Mary Margaret at 12:21.

Emma made a quick group text and sent them all a message.

Back in my car. Safe and Sound. Is the party still going? Gonna run to Granny’s for a hot chocolate then I’ll come back if you guys are still partying.

With her mind made up, Emma set off towards Granny’s and did her best to ignore the constant buzz of her phone during the short drive. When she walked through the door, the bell chiming overhead, her mystery man’s head snapped up from the steaming mug he had wrapped in his hands and a wide smile bloomed across his face.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” he said, reclining back in the booth and draping his arm along the back. “Thought you might have ghosted me.”

His brows danced over his eyes, his smile turning mischievous and Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes while attempting to swallow back an amused response bubbling up from her chest. Stopping at the booth, she waved off his offer to take the seat opposite him, preferring to stand.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets and scuffing the tile at her feet with her toe. “Would that have disappointed you?”

The man shrugged and shook his head. “Nope. ‘Cause I would have just gone after you.”

“Oh, really?” Emma said in a dubious tone. “And why’s that?”

Leaning forward, he caught her with a sultry gaze and crooned, “Because… I know how you kiss.” Resuming his previous posture, he added, “And I enjoy a challenge.”

“That would be a challenge, all right,” she replied in a taunting tone. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Your usual, Emma?” Granny questioned from the counter, pulling a grin and deep chuckle from the man.

“Emma, is it?” he cheeked. “Does my saviour have a last name?”

Rolling her eyes again, Emma answered, “Swan. Emma Swan, and I’m no saviour.”

“I don’t know about that,” he countered. “You certainly saved my ass tonight. Twice, in fact.”

“Yeah, well… you saved me first, so… we’re even, I guess.” Turning to the counter, she called out to Granny, “Can you make that hot chocolate to go?”

“To go?” the man questioned with evident disappointment.

“Yeah.” Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she said, “My friends keep blowing up my phone and if I don’t get back they’re liable to call the cops and I wouldn’t want them to blow our cover story, so I…”

“You can’t stay.” His eyes had dropped to the table, an expression of resignation set in his features.

“I was hoping,” she began softly, earning her a hopeful glance from him. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, I thought you might want to get lunch or something?”

He smiled up at her but it was bittersweet in its corners. “I would love nothing more. Truly. But I have another job to get to. It’s a few hundred miles from here, so I have to get on the road soon.”

“Oh. Right. Sure.”

“However,” he said, sliding his phone across the table towards her. “If you give me your number, I’ll call you the next time I’m in the area.” Sincerity poured from his forget-me-nots depths as he declared, “I would very much like to see you again, Swan.”

Emma tried to smother a self-satisfied smile and picked up his phone from the table. “So you know my name and now you want my number, yet… I have no idea who you are.”

“Fair point,” he conceded on an amused breath. Standing from the booth, he pressed in close to where she stood and took her hand in his. “Killian Jones,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “At your service.”

With her lip caught between her teeth, Emma pulled her hand from his and punched her number into his phone before handing it back to him.

“One hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon to-go,” Granny announced from the counter, a taunting tone underpinning her words.

“Thanks, Granny,” Emma replied, ignoring the woman’s knowing expression as she took the cup and turned back towards the man, who she now knew to be Killian Jones.

“So…” she drew out in an effort to stall a bit longer. “Thank you for a most memorable evening.” Killian chuckled at that and the sound absolutely did not make her heart stutter. “And um, good luck on your next job.” Realization of what that next job might entail had her insides growing cold for a moment and she took his hand, squeezing it tightly, as she implored, “Please, be careful.”

Killian threaded his fingers between hers, entwining their hands and assuring her, “You don’t have to worry about me, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

The truth in his words did not give her much comfort. How many times had it been tested in order to be proven true thus far? Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Perhaps sensing her continued concern, he added, “I’ll be careful, Swan. I promise.”

Her back pocket began vibrating once more, a deluge of texts and calls from her friends, no doubt. The buzzing must have reached his ears.

“You should go, love. Don’t keep your friends worrying about you.”

“Right,” she said, forcing herself to take a step away from him. Then another. Then another. “See you around, Jones.”

“Count on it, Swan.”

~/~

One Year Later…

“What do you mean, we released a ghost when we uncovered that skeleton in the wall?”

“Exactly what I said, Neal! We’ve got an angry spirit in the house and we need someone to help us get rid of it.”

“Who the hell is gonna help us get rid of a ghost, Ems?”

With a long suffering sigh, Emma admitted, “I just might know a guy.”

Part Two - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @kday426 @djlbg @fairytalepretzkle @maggiegreenvt

@natascha-ronin @ilovemesomekillianjones @iamstartraveller776 @deckerstarblanche @shadowsaur

@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Is Lula Anti-American? It's complicated.

It’s the question in Washington that won’t go away: “Is Lula anti-American?” Since returning to Brazil’s presidency on January 1, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has repeatedly caused alarm in the U.S. capital and elsewhere with his comments on Ukraine, Venezuela, the dollar and other key issues. An unconfirmed GloboNews report in June said President Joe Biden may have abandoned any intentions of visiting Brasilia before the end of the year because of frustration with Lula’s positions.    

The question causes many to roll their eyes, and with good reason. Three decades after the end of the Cold War, some in the United States continue to see Latin America in “You’re either with us or against us” terms. Washington has a long record of getting upset with Brazil’s independent stances on everything from generic AIDS drugs in the 1990s to trade negotiations in the 2000s and the Edward Snowden affair in the 2010s. A large Latin American country confidently operating in its own national interest, neither allied with nor totally against the United States, simply does not compute for some in Washington, and maybe it never will.   

That said, there is a long list of reasonable people in places like the White House and State Department, in think tanks and in the business world who are perfectly capable of understanding nuance — and have still perceived a threat from Lula’s foreign policy in this, his third term. The list of perceived transgressions is long and growing: Lula has repeatedly echoed Russian positions on Ukraine, saying both countries share equal responsibility for the war. In April, Lula said blame for continued hostilities laid “above all” with countries who are providing arms—a slap at the United States and Europe, delivered while on a trip to China, no less. Lula has worked to revive the defunct UNASUR bloc, whose explicit purpose was to counter U.S. influence in South America. He has repeatedly urged countries to shun the U.S. dollar as a mechanism for trade when possible, voicing support for new alternatives including a common currency with Argentina or its other neighbors. Lula has been bitterly critical of U.S. sanctions against Venezuela–”worse than a war,” he has said��while downplaying the repression, torture and other human rights abuses committed by the dictatorship itself.    

For some observers, the inescapable conclusion is that Lula’s foreign policy is not neutral or “non-aligned,” but overtly friendly to Russia and China and hostile to the United States. This has been a particular letdown for many in the Democratic Party who briefly saw Lula as a hero of democracy and natural ally after he, too, defeated an authoritarian, election-denying menace on the far right. And for the record, it’s not just Americans who feel this way: the left-leaning French newspaper Liberation, in a front-page editorial prior to Lula’s visit to Paris in June, called him a “faux friend” of the West.  

To paraphrase the old saying, it’s impossible to know what truly lurks in the hearts of men. But as someone who has tried to understand Lula for the past 20 years, with admittedly mixed results, let me give my best evaluation of what’s really happening: Lula may not be anti-U.S. in the traditional sense, but he is definitely anti-U.S. hegemony, and he is more willing than before to do something about it.  

That is, Lula and his foreign policy team do not wish ill on Washington in the way that Nicolás Maduro or Vladimir Putin do, and in fact they see the United States as a critical partner on issues like climate change, energy and infrastructure investment. But they also believe the U.S.-led global order of the last 30 years has on balance not been good for Brazil or, indeed, the planet as a whole. They are convinced the world is headed toward a new, more equitable “multipolar” era in which, instead of one country at the head of the table, there will be, say, eight countries seated at a round table—and Brazil will be one of them, along with China, India and others from the ascendant Global South. Meanwhile, Lula has lost some of the inhibitions and brakes that held him back a bit during his 2003-10 presidency, and he is actively out there trying to usher the world along to this promising new phase—with an evident enthusiasm and militancy that bothers many in the West, and understandably so. 

Continue reading.