#sorry if its a bit clunky in parts

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[lux--nova]

im reading good omens and im feeling a little tricked right now because like. you guys did not talk enough about the racism in this book. theres the obvious stuff like shadwell being explicitly described as racist and misogynistic being played for laughs because "oh he hates everyone" so actually he's a loveable old bigot who you just can't help but like anyway but then there's the smaller bits like talking about japanese manufacturing and referencing "nigirizushi, japan" as a fictional town to joke about japanese people i guess?? idk I know this is an old book by today's standards and a lot if not all of this has been addressed by the authors and wasn't included in the show but like damn it is definitely interrupting the flow of just reading this book bc I have to keep stopping and being like damn it really said that huh

[shame-kink]

i do find it really funny actually that lots of sapphic terminology tends to evolve as a game of "spot-the-problem" whack-a-mole

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[5ueckers]

but i'm a cheerleader

pairing : paige bueckers x cheerleader!reader

warnings : smut. semi–public sex.

notes : this is highkey unrealistic af so don't think too hard abt it! also i got kinda lazy while proofreading and editing, so there may be some errors/might feel a bit clunky at times, sorry in advance 🫠

words : 2148

xl center erupts with screams and applause as the final buzzer rings out— the university of connecticut’s women’s basketball team, for the tenth game in a row, has come out victorious, winning with a whopping forty–seven points over their competitors.

you jump up from where you’ve been sitting cross–legged at the baseline of the court and shake your bright red pom–poms, yelling out one of your cheers. the rest of the girls follow suit after you, their captain, perfectly in sync as the pep band begins to play the uconn husky fight song.

you’re never not tired as hell at the end of a game— the exhaustion from your halftime performance starting to set in and your head dully aching from your tight half–up–half–down hairstyle— but none of that ever deters you. you’re captain for a reason, bringing sharp precision, clean lines, and high energy to every performance, whether its on a court, field, or stage.

but of course, even the best of best have their weaknesses.

yours has actually landed you in trouble before, just once— you missed a whole count because you were distracted by a pair of icy blue eyes watching you intently from uconn’s bench, her intrigued expression being replaced by a smirk once she realized she’d caused your mishap. coach really chewed you out next practice, but you got got the blue–eyed girl’s number after that game, so it was honestly kind of worth it.

your post–game cheer earns its own round of applause from the remaining fans in the stands, and you bow, shaking your poms the whole way back to the baseline, where your coach awaits you. she offers a few nice jobs and back pats, as well as a fair share of critiques, before finally telling you all you’re free to go.

while the rest of your team head for the cheer locker room, you start toward the opposite direction. “y/n?!” one of your teammates calls out after you, confused.

“go on, i’ll meet you guys later!” you reply, before running to meet paige at the other side of the court, by the stands.

there’s still a large crowd of fans waiting to take pictures and have their jerseys signed by your girlfriend, but once she notices you approaching, she yells out, “alright, y’all, that’s it for tonight! thanks for coming!”

her voice softens when she turns to you and smiles, “hey.”

“hey, you,” you say gingerly, hyper–aware of the cameras fixed on paige, and so also you, by extension.

she nods her head in the direction of the arena’s large exit doors, silently instructing you to follow her.

you keep a safe distance while you’re still in the presence of the fans and cameras and the media, but as soon as you’re both in the tunnel, so dark that no one can see you, paige is all over you. her hands fly to your waist if they’re under the control of a magnetic pull as her lips press to yours, gasping into your mouth. you shudder as you melt into the kiss, into her, throwing your arms around her neck. you part your lips, allowing her to lick into your mouth— you want her to eat you alive.

“you were so good out there,” you tell her once you part, voice breathy.

paige grins cockily, already knowing that she played well, and you can see that your red lipstick has transferred onto her mouth, making you laugh. “what? what’s funny?” she questions, confused but chuckling a bit herself.

you shake your head. “nothing, just—” you point at your own lips, which you’re sure have also gotten smudged. “you’ve got something.”

“ah,” she rolls her eyes, genuinely sounding irked, which only makes you laugh harder. “well, you’ve got something—”

she cuts herself off by simply kissing you again, a light peck, taking your hand into hers soon after she separates your bodies.

high on the rush of the win and each other, you two walk hand–in–hand to the women’s locker room— only to be met with aubrey, crouched at her locker as she finishes packing up her things. if not your lipstick literally being smeared all over paige’s lips, then the flush on both of your faces and the way you freeze and suddenly drop each other’s hands, even though both of your teams are aware of your relationship and you have nothing to hide, certainly tells the older girl everything she needs to know.

she simply stuffs a few more of her things into her bag before heading out, lightly punching paige on the shoulder and laughing as she passes by, “see y’all!”

one you hear the door close, you and paige just look at each other before bursting into giggles at the interaction. “she’s never gonna let me live that down.” the blonde groans, wrapping her arms around your waist again.

you just laugh, falling quiet as you find yourself lost in her eyes for the nth time since you first met her. those eyes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. she gets kind of sheepish whenever you look at her for too long, avoiding your gaze and blushing— you’re not sure why, she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “i love you.” you say, very seriously.

“i love you, too, y/n,” she responds, just as earnest, and leans in to kiss you, only to be stopped.

“wait,” you say, reaching up and finally taking that godforsaken ponytail down, feeling all the tension in your head release as soon as you do. you drop the hair tie and bow to the ground, haphazardly brushing your hair out of your face with your fingers as it falls out of the style.

“god, you’re so fucking pretty,” the blonde marvels aloud, before finally kissing you again.

your lips move together languidly as her hands move down until they’re cupping your ass, kneading the soft flesh in her palms. “paige,” you whine into her mouth, allowing your head to roll back as her lips trail wet, open–mouthed kisses from your jawline all the way down your exposed collarbones.

“yeah, baby?” she replies and then sucks harshly at a particularly sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“want you,”

“here?” she pulls back slightly to scan the locker room— everyone else’s belongings are gone, it’s just her bag and shoes left in front of her storage space. still, someone may have forgotten something and could easily walk in on you while trying to find it. “someone could see—”

you don’t care. you pull paige back in, connecting your lips again, pushing your tongue into her mouth and kissing her with the kind of fervor that makes it impossible for her to deny you. she guides you backwards until your back is pressed to the one navy blue wall that isn’t lined with lockers, her hands feeling you all over.

her fingertips find their way to the hem of your tiny skirt, pulling up until the fabric is bunched up high on your hips, revealing the even smaller red safety shorts you’re required to wear under your uniform. she steps back briefly to give you some space so you can push them and your panties down your legs, kicking them aside, before she slots her thigh between your legs. already knowing exactly what to do from experience, you grind down against her thigh, and it feels so good when you clit drags against her bare skin, you whimper and repeat the motion again and again.

paige uses one hand to hold you steady with a strong grip on your waist, while the other works at pushing up the top piece to your uniform and bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the locker room. she immediately leans down to suck and lick at one of your firm nipples while rolling over the other with her free thumb. the sounds are obscene— your moans, paige’s slurping, and the squelch of your wet pussy rubbing against her thigh all coming together to fill the room.

“fuck, p,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut. “so good.”

paige releases your nipple from her mouth with low groan, briefly licks at the other, before standing upright. she leans in, dangerously close and she whispers into your ear, “i can feel it, y’know. you really want my fingers that bad?”

you blush, flustered by her referring to the way your pussy keeps clenching against her thigh, showing how needy you are, but still nod. “need it, paige, please,” you whimper, hoping she’ll give in quicker if you beg for it.

you’re proven correct, because your girlfriend plants a quick kiss on your cheek, murmuring, “anything for my girl,” before removing her thigh from between your legs, dropping down to her knees and crouching in front of you. ever the tease, she starts by kissing at your thighs, whispering sweet nothings into your skin— beautiful, so pretty, good girl, all mine.

and then two of of her long, slender fingers are prodding at your entrance, easing in nice and slowly. your pussy clenches around the digits, welcoming her inside like an old friend, your walls slick and velvety.

you allow your head to tip back against the wall, eyes closing again, “oh my god.” paige knows your body so well, knows just how to angle her fingers and jab at that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes you cry every time. she adds her mouth to the mix, kitten–licking at your clit before sucking it into her mouth, sending shivers up your spine.

“i’m close,” you cry out, and paige hums against you encouragingly, sending vibrations all throughout your core.

what really has you tipping over the edge is the look in her eyes when you finally will yours open, staring up at you with such adoration as she gets you off. you always said those eyes would be the death of you; your kryptonite. you nearly fold over as your orgasm hits you, legs shaking as the pleasure ebbs throughout your whole body, sobbing out your girlfriend’s name.

“you good?” paige chuckles, amused by your struggling. her lips, covered in your cum and arousal, plus your lipstick from earlier, are glistening in the fluorescent lighting of the locker room— the sight is so hot, you almost feel ready to orgasm again. almost.

“y–yeah, i just—” you swallow thickly, heaving. “need a minute.”

paige’s hands grip your hips, holding you steady until she feels you’re able to stand on your own. only when she’s certain you won’t topple over does she let go of you, sweetly kissing you on your forehead when she stands up. “i’ll be right back, wait here,” she tells you, disappearing momentarily.

“dude! i look fucking insane!” you hear her yell out, making you laugh weakly. you figure she’s found a mirror.

she returns with a wet hand towel, having washed off her mouth, hands, and thigh. she’s gentle as she cleans you up, knowing you’re still sensitive. then, she grabs your panties and shorts from off the carpeted floor, bending over and holding them at your ankles to help you re–dress.

“wait, but i wanted to do you, too,” you whine, a genuine pout setting in on your face as you step back into the panties.

paige shakes her head. “when we get home,” she offers. “i don’t wanna… defile this place any more than we already have.”

you laugh, again, at her choice of words. paige helps you get back into your shorts, as well, and you pull your skirt, bra, and top back down to their regular positions, smoothing over your uniform with the palms of your hands, trying to look at least a little bit presentable for when you walk out of here. paige wanders off toward her locker, changing out of her uniform.

finally feeling stable enough to walk, you find your hair tie and bow on the ground, rolling the former onto your wrist. “wait, c’mere,” you wave paige over, just as she’s pulling a fresh t–shirt over her head.

“hm?” she hums as she approaches, but you just motion for her to lean down a bit. she complies, and you place your bright red bow in her hair, right at the top of her ponytail.

“awww,” you gush at the sight. paige just looks at you, trying her best to appear unimpressed, but you can see the smile playing at her lips. “so pretty! cheer captain!”

she spends all of thirty seconds pretending like she’s not enjoying this, before breaking out into a dance, very poorly imitating your cheer routine from earlier. you encourage her, nonetheless, clapping and cheering, “go paige! go paige!”

she finishes with a ridiculously complex move that you’re pretty sure belongs to some tiktok dance learned recently with kk, grinning, “how was that?”

“10/10, hands down!”

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Would've Could've Should've

A/N: Hi Babes! :D So uhh….me again with the never say never....this one's a love I've had for...20 odd years and comes clad in yellow spandex....

Another one that was meant to live in the WIP and has taken on a life of its own...

I didn't tell @ken-dom this one was being shared, so she's probably gonna lose it....Sorry xD love you big much.

She’s still been mad encouraging and I love her dearly for it. Without her none of these would exist much like everything I've written over the last year and a half.

As always, this NSFW 18+ (Not yet but like...it's getting there ok?)

I wasn't gonna share it today, but with the digital DP&W release I felt I should and @coggedcorset aggressively encouraged as they do <3

Y'all should know by now I rarely post one shots…..so yeah, this will be multiple parts….I’m just not sure on the final tally yet.

Enjoy my loves! <3 

You sighed glancing down the length of the bar; Logan sat there, like he did every other night of the week. Silent and unmoving, save for occasionally reaching for the half empty bottle sat on the bar top. 

Usually he minded his own business, and no one else paid him any mind…usually…the bar wasn’t particularly busy tonight, and you were bored. 

You made your way down the bar on the opposite side, stopping where he sat. He glanced up, his brown eyes meeting yours for a brief second before they dropped again to examine a particularly interesting knick in the polished wood of the bar. 

“You should eat something” 

“No” he spoke into the bartop and you rolled your eyes

“Mmm good, just going to destroy your liver twice as fast tonight, got it” 

You reached for the near empty bottle and his hand snapped out with lightning speed, the hint of his metal claws poking out between his knuckles; his fingers warm against the back of your hand…too warm thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his system. 

“Leave it” he nearly growled. 

“What are you going to do, cut off my fingers?” you rolled your eyes pulling the bottle out of his reach. “You’re done” 

He snorted with a laugh “Am I?” claws retracting back under his skin 

You ignored him, dropping the bottle back in the well “The spare bed is still made up upstairs if you’re interested” 

“Are you giving me an option?” he quipped as you walked around the other end of the bar, going to lock the door and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’ 

“Sure,” you smiled sweetly and he cocked an eyebrow “The couch is a little small, but I guess curled up on the floor is an option too” 

He barked a laugh, louder than necessary, but given how much he had had to drink you were shocked he was coherent at all. 

You flipped off the lights and the bar was cloaked in darkness, moonlight streaming in through the door and windows, giving you enough light to navigate back to where Logan still sat. 

He sat up straighter as you came to stand over his shoulder, but made no move to stand. You wrapped an arm around his torso, draping a muscled arm around your shoulders as you heaved him to his feet; this hadn’t been the first time and sadly you didn’t think it would be the last either. The two of you had gotten into a bit of a routine since you had started working here regularly. He leaned heavily against your comparatively tiny frame as you grabbed his worn brown leather jacket with your free hand, draping it over your arm as you lead him to the narrow staircase, minding his feet, knowing full well that one stumble in his clunky work boots would send you both crashing to the bar floor and he was significantly harder to pick up from there. 

“I swear you only make me do this on night’s I wear heels” you muttered, using the wall to support yourself in the almost too narrow stairwell as you pulled him up with you.

“I can walk” he slurred 

Despite his declaration, his weight leaned heavier against you and as if to prove your point, he misjudged the next step, toe catching on the lip of the step, sending him careening forward, forcing you to catch yourself against the wall, fingernails digging into the flesh of his hip to keep him from smashing his perfectly straight teeth on the stairs. 

He grunted, catching himself on the wall on the other side without much success and you sighed as he righted himself. 

“You were saying?” 

“Shut up” he muttered as you reached the landing, wrenching the heavy wood door open that led to your tiny apartment. 

“You should really fix that” he mumbled as you dragged him into the dark room before flipping on the light and kicking the door closed with your foot

“I’ll get right on it” you sighed, finally letting go of the grip you’d had around his waist, causing him to stumble slightly as you reached to pull your heels off. “You know where your bed is” you yawned, draping his jacket over the nearest chair.

“My bed?” he repeated to the back of your head as you made your way to the bathroom. 

You turned only enough to look over your shoulder at him standing on surprisingly steady feet, the first three or four buttons of his plaid shirt undone and you had to force yourself to meet his eye. 

He’s drunk the little voice in the back of your mind whispered It would be unethical 

You snorted at your own inner monologue before answering him “Well, no one else spends as many nights here” 

This seemed to be answer enough for him as he sat with a heavy thump on the couch, bending to untie his boots before kicking them off, leaving them haphazardly strewn on the living room floor. 

You made your way down to the bathroom, closing the door most of the way behind you as you ran the hot water to wash your face and change. 

When you reemerged, you  found Logan sitting on the edge of the spare bed, leaned against the headboard, snoring softly. 

You giggled softly and seriously considered leaving him there, but thought better of it. 

“Logan,” you whispered, touching his arm gently, careful to keep clear of his hands. Nearly being impaled once when you startled him awake the first time he had spent the night was enough.

He hadn’t even stirred at your touch. 

You sighed “Any other night and you’d almost take my head off” you muttered

You grunted bending to lift his legs up on the bed and he mumbled something in his sleep as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. Pulling the comforter up around his shoulders you turned off the small lamp next to the bed, nearly jumping out of your skin hearing a slurred “Thanks” from where he laid.

“Just don’t puke on my bed” 

You heard him scoff with a laugh as you made your way to your own bed, drifting off to sleep almost as quickly as he had. 

***

You turned over in your sleep with a heavy sigh through your nose; a heaviness pressing on your mid-section. You blinked sleep from your eyes as you took a deep breath as you turned over, you jumped slightly when your nose nearly brushed against Logan’s as he slept. 

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed a second time, his arm still heavy across your middle as you studied his face in the dark. His face was weathered…not that you blamed him, you knew he’d been through the ringer before he ever graced a stool at the bar. Some he talked about, most he didn’t…you assumed. He was handsome still though, ruggedly so. You watched as his forehead creased with worry; he was dreaming. 

He dreamt a lot, or more accurately had nightmares a lot. You wondered if he thought the drinking helped; they seemed to be worse on the night’s he drank heavier…you had tried pointing that out once and nearly lost a limb because of it. Logan wasn’t the most…level headed man; although you could say with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t ever hurt you…anymore.

You turned over to the best of your ability, still trapped under the dead weight of his arm. He hadn’t even noticed, just carried on mumbling incoherently in his sleep, jerking slightly. You reached with a hand to brush your thumb gently across his cheek and his features softened instantly as he relaxed under your touch. 

“Shhh” you cooed, feeling his fingers twitch slightly against the small of your back “It’s okay, you’re safe” you whispered, his arm instinctively squeezing tighter, pulling you closer. 

It was that exact moment that it occurred to you  that Logan was no longer wearing a shirt….or pants…

You pressed your lips together in a hard line, wanting nothing more than to shake him awake and immediately demand an explanation, but you didn’t. This hadn't been the first time you had woken up with Logan next to you…. although it was a first for him to be sparsely clothed. 

Instead, and in spite of yourself, you settled more comfortably against him, tucking your head under his chin and closed your eyes, letting the heat radiating from him lull you back to sleep.

***

The sun streamed in through the window far too early, and you cursed yourself for not remembering to close the curtains the night before. 

You tried to roll over on your back and were met with a wall of resistance. Very warm resistance. 

You shifted with a scoff, reaching to shove him. 

“God, get off me, you're so hot” you whined, trying in vain to move away. 

A grunt of response over your shoulder as Logan stirred awake. “Fuck” he growled, shielding his eyes from the light against your shoulder. 

“That's what you get for drinking half the bar” you quipped, immediately gasping with surprise as his teeth found purchase in that same shoulder and you twisted away, turning to face him. 

“Don’t bite me you weirdo” 

He smirked sleepily with a shrug “Didn't seem to mind it much last time”

“Last time doesn't count” you muttered and he snorted with a laugh

“Just because you say it doesn't count doesn't mean it didn't happen”

“Shut up” you snapped, attempting to pull yourself up out of bed, and failing; Logan's strong arm keeping you pinned against his chest. “You were drunk” 

“If memory serves, so were you” he whispered 

“Yeah well,” you shrugged against him “That’s the thing about memories isn’t it?” 

He sighed against your neck, his warm breath causing your skin to ripple with goosebumps

You closed your eyes and sighed as his fingertips toyed lazily with the fabric of your t-shirt “Logan” you breathed and he hummed questioningly against the hollow behind your ear

“Don’t,” you sighed heavily “W-we can’t” 

Another hum as you turned your head and the tip of his nose dragged along the line of your jaw.

“Logan…” you repeated; noses nearly touching at this point 

“Why not?” he whispered, lips brushing against yours as he spoke 

You could feel your whole body flush with heat as you swallowed hard; mustering up enough willpower to push him back gently by the shoulders; his brown eyes searching your face. 

“Because we said we wouldn’t, remember?” your voice was soft, but the words were shaky, you were on the verge of cracking and you had no doubt he knew it. You needed to move, needed to get out from under the delicious weight of his torso, needed to put space between you….

You cleared your throat and wriggled out from under his arm, throwing the blanket back as you clumsily got to your feet. 

“C’mon,” he coaxed, propped on an arm “We’re both adults” 

“Yes, exactly” you nodded in agreement as you turned away, pushing your hair back off your face “Adults who make informed sober decisions” 

“I prefer your drunken decisions” 

“You would” you scoffed “Get out of my bed”

“That’s not what you said last-”

“Will you shut up about last time?!”  You snapped

“You’re bitchy in the morning” he mumbled climbing out of the bed on the other side. 

“That’s rich coming from you” you rolled your eyes in spite of facing away from him as you pulled on a pair of jeans from the night before.

You came around the end of the bed, pushing around him as you pulled open the drawer to your dresser, digging for a clean shirt before looking up at him “Turn around” 

He scrunched his nose slightly “Why?”

“What do you think this is, a peep show?” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before” 

“Oh my god” you rolled your eyes again and Logan just shrugged

“Well it isn’t” 

You sighed, not really having time to argue, you pulled your t-shirt over your head, dropping it on the floor at your feet. You looked up at Logan and he wasn’t looking back, you had been ready to give him shit until you noticed his eyes were fixed on your collarbone, and the ugly scar that disappeared under your bra strap. You pulled the clean shirt on, the scar covered underneath…at least most of the way; half an inch or so still poked out from under the deep v of your shirt. Logan’s eyes hadn’t moved. 

“It’s fine” you spoke softly, snapping him from his thoughts and he met your eye. His usual grumpy scowl was more of a pout. “It’s fine” you repeated 

He just grunted in response and you made to move around him to finish getting ready. “Everyone knows I shouldn’t be allowed around sharp objects” you joked with a gasp as he grabbed your wrist as you walked by, stopping you from going any further and turning you to face him. He towered over you, the man was unnaturally large…you often wondered how you managed to haul him up here multiple nights a week by yourself. 

He hadn’t pulled you against him, but he stood close…too close. 

The hand not holding your wrist slowly reached to push back the collar of your shirt, exposing more of your scar. Your free hand reached to close over his, keeping it in place. 

The room was quiet for a beat before you spoke again, neither of you moved. 

“That’s not why” you whispered; you were looking at him, but he was looking at the jagged raised skin across your collarbone. 

You curled your fingers around his hand still resting against your chest. “I figured you would have forgotten” your voice still soft 

His eyes met yours then, no hint of humor in his features. 

“It’s fine,” you smiled gently “I lived” 

“Barely” he finally spoke 

“Well that’s what I get for trying to wake Edward Scissorhands from a nightmare” 

He just glared 

“Come on grump,” you changed the subject turning toward the door “Put some clothes on, you owe me breakfast” 

“Owe you?” he repeated, letting you walk away 

“Yeah,” you nodded, turning to look over your shoulder as you stood in the doorway “And I know most places have a pretty lax dress code, but I don’t think yellow boxer briefs are gonna cut it” 

***

Despite having gone your separate ways after breakfast, Logan found his way back to his favourite bar stool by nine thirty. You watched him reach over the bar top and grab the bowl of peanuts you kept tucked underneath for when he inevitably showed his face. He had changed, you noticed, swapping the red flannel he’d had on this morning for a blue one. 

You handed the guy across from you his change as he blatantly looked down the front of your top and you fought the urge to deck him as he dropped a twenty on the bartop. 

“So..uh,” he started and you would bet it took every ounce of strength he had in him to meet your gaze “What time do you get off?” 

You laughed lightly taking the money off the bar and shook your head “No thanks” 

“What?” he pressed, “You got like a boyfriend or something?” 

“Or something” you smiled politely 

“Well he’s not here is he?” the guy tried again 

“Well,” you shrugged, scrunching your nose and glanced down the bar before looking back to him. 

“That guy?” his face twisting in disapproval as he looked down the bar at Logan who was finishing off his first round of peanuts. “You know who that is don’t you?” 

You raised your eyebrows, straightening your stance 

“He-”

“You can leave now” you cut him off “Thank you” 

“But-” he looked from you down to Logan and back at you 

“What can I say,” you smiled “I like ‘em sloppy” 

The guy opened his mouth to say something more and thought better of it, closing it again. 

“Wise choice” you rolled your eyes before turning on your heel and making your way down to the end of the bar where Logan sat. 

“Fancy meeting you here” you smiled setting his usual glass in front of him and refilling the empty bowl 

He took the glass, nearly draining it before putting it back down “You changed” 

You laughed lightly with a shrug, handing him the whiskey bottle. “This outfit gets me better tips” 

He looked up with a raised eyebrow as you gently tossed the twenty you’d just been given on the bar in front of him. “Doesn’t have pockets though, hold on to that for me, would you?” 

“What do I look like, a bank?” he grumbled 

“No,” you smirked “But I owe you” 

His eyes narrowed again as he studied your face “You’re giving me your tip money?” 

“No,” you said again 

“But you owe me?” he asked, lines in his forehead deepening 

You giggled, walking around the bar, intentionally walking too close to where he sat, brushing against his broad shoulder. You knew you were flirting with disaster, but you had started to regret not taking him up on his offer this morning….against your better judgment…and getting under Logan’s skin was so easy, sober or not. 

“Stop it” he warned 

You stopped mid stride, chest purposefully pressed against his shoulder. “What?” 

He glared and you smirked “You're so easy to rile” you teased, messing up his hair  “I thought it was nothing you haven't seen before”

“You wanna play this game?” He narrowed his eyes 

“Who's playing?” You leaned to whisper next to his ear. 

He growled and you giggled before walking away to make your rounds.

[pinkwindowwithin]

do you have a timelapse or art process vid up somewhere to watch?

if not uhh- what's your drawing process? qwq

your line art specifically I find very cool and I want to understand how you do it :')

SO. I wrote up a really long response to this that tumblr decided to delete when I tried to post and I didn’t have any of it saved SOOO. If this comes off as rambly or incoherent I’m very sorry I tried 😭 ALSO THIS IS JUST HOW I DO IT, NOT HOW I THINK EVERYONE SHOULD DO IT!!! Do ur lineart in whatever way feels right and makes you happy!

I do most of my stuff in Autodesk Sketchbook, which unfortunately doesn’t have an automatic recording feature (and the recording option it does have is kinda clunky and distracting 💔) BUT. PROCREATE DOES, SO WE HAVE THIS

I focus more on the gesture and the shapes than trying to make it look “good”. Truly it’s a “going with the vibes situation”, because I tend to switch things up quite a bit when drawing (although that isn’t really shown here 💔). If there is a movement or particular shape in the sketch, I will try to capture its essence as much as I can (this doesn’t mean sticking close to the sketch, just means I’m trying to capture the general vibe or the line of action and trying to remain faithful to it)!! My favorite part of the process, and the part I focus on the most, is coloring so my lineart is really tailored to make coloring easier for me, so there’s not a lot of details or crosshatching or anything of that nature… I’m really just blocking stuff out to make coloring easier hehe

[trainsinanime]

I must once more ask fanfic writers to please stop apologising for your work. No "this may be bad" or "yeah sorry this sucks", especially not in the summary. Otherwise many people will go, "Okay, this seems interesting… but they already start by saying that it's bad, so I'll just scroll on to the next one".

More than that, it just puts me in a bad mood. When I read the title and tags and summary, I'm excited about your work! …until you tell me that you're not and I shouldn't be either. Talk about a let-down. And mind you, this is long before I ever read the first word of your story.

Okay, but what do you do if you really think your story might be bad, but you want to publish it anyway? My suggestion is lying. Just pretend it's a great story, worthy of being published. No apologies, just present it as if you were someone who is proud of what you wrote. You may feel like a fraud, but just give it a try.

The secret trick here is that many (all?) people who publish their works without apologies also feel like their work might not be good enough, and feel like frauds. Certainly if they don't have that many stories and/or are trying something completely new. You're not actually a fraud, you're just a normal beginner.

And the second secret trick here is that you are probably bad at telling whether your story is any good. You are the only one who can compare to the written text to the abstract jumble of ideas in your head. You know all the fun ideas you couldn't include because of three fun options, only one could go in there. You know the parts you didn't write because you didn't find the words. You know the clunky parts you had to write to connect the fun stuff. But nobody else knows any of this stuff. They just see the story as written on its own, and you may be surprised how much they like it. Give them that chance.

If you really absolutely feel like you have to, you can put something like, "first time writing fanfic" or "first time writing bank heist" or similar in the notes, but that's strictly optional. Just don't apologise. Let us be excited.

(Same thing applies to fan artists. But due to the way most sites show you the picture first and the caption second, it's a bit different there. It's actually kind of funny to see an incredibly gorgeous drawing, and then scroll on to see an apology for how bad it is underneath.)

[haveihitanerve]

Heyoo school just ended and I got an idea 🔥

Bruce in a meeting with WE executives (before Tim becomes CEO) and no matter what he's talking about, he's somehow interrupted by one of his kids and/or one of his superfriends.

They're only doing this because it's his birthday and he somehow forgot.

Lex hated meeting with the Wayne corporation. Not only did very little good ever come of them, the deals he wanted to seal never happened and it only ended with Wayne himself insulting Lex's very existence, but they were rarely ever alone, as Wayne had apparently taken his charity way of life to heart, and adopted more than just the one orphan or street kid. Not to mention his friends.

Needless to say, Lex was not feeling high spirits when he was escorted up into Wayne's meeting board office. "Luthor," Bruce plastered on a massive smile, so forced it looked painful, but it was all a part of their game, reaching out to clasp his hand. "It's been too long." Lex laughed along, squeezing back just as tightly.

"And somehow not long enough." he answered with equal cheer, and Wayne laughed, gesturing him to a seat as he poured them both something to drink. Something they agreed on, for once, in order to get through these meetings, they needed alcohol.

"I know the interruptions that befall us do annoy you," Bruce began apologetically, and Lex braced himself. "So I have cleared my day. Only the two of us this time." His smile seemed to lose a bit of its insincerity. "I promise." Lex nodded back crisply in thanks, not believing him for a second.

But... as time wore on and... and Lex actually got one of his deals, and there were no interruptions... it was. It was a trap. He just knew it. There was no way- and then it happened.

Glass exploded around them and Lex ducked, looking around wildly, only to find the Wayne Enterprises heir, Tim Drake, slurping a slushie, looking bored. Bruce hadn't even moved from his chair, staring at his son. "I specifically said no interruptions." He said gruffly. Drake shrugged.

"Sorry." He returned, not sounding sorry at all. "Just wanted to drop this off." he plopped a brightly, poorly, wrapped lumpy shaped thing, saluted Lex with his middle finger and dropped back out the window. Lex didn't even bother to comment on it. Crazier stuff had happened in a Wayne meeting than just windows breaking.

Bruce sighed, sweeping away the shards of glass with his foot, and asked his secretary to please get new glass installed, then turned to Lex. "Apologies Luthor, I truly asked for no-" Lex jumped back, cowering behind the couch. Superman, his Superman, was hovering the in hole in the window. Bruce frowned but turned, frown deepening when he saw the hero.

"Yes?" His voice was unkind at the least, downright cold at most. Superman raised an eyebrow, extending a marginally less bright, better wrapped package.

"Just dropping this off." He murmured, eyes darting to Lex and back again. "See you around Mr. Wayne." The super glared once more at Lex before turning and flying off.

Bruce sighed, plopping this box down next to the lumpy one, and gestured Lex to take a seat again. Before he could, two shadows dropped from the ceiling. One black, shadow color, the other purple.

"Delivery!" The purple one chirped, far too cheery for an eight am meeting. Bruce was downright glowering by now, but the two demons didn't seem to mind, shoving two extra packages under his arms, one large and clunky and obnoxiously purple and glittery, the other small and simple and well wrapped.

Bruce dipped his head to both of them and they high fived, jumping back into the vents like nothing had happened. Bruce hefted the larger package onto his shoulder, setting it against the wall, and let the little one on his desk.

"Quite uh, the collection of packages today. And delivery services." Lex chuckled nervously. Bruce was eyeing the packages with narrow eyed suspicion, but nodded, finally returning to his seat. "Yes.."

They managed another five blissful minutes of uninterrupted work, until the door slammed open and the man Lex recognized as Bruce's first charity case, Dick Grayson, strolled in, streamers draped around his shoulders like a scarf, wheeling in a girl in a wheelchair, who had another collection of bright packages on her lap.

"What is this?" Bruce finally asked in frustration, standing. Dick blinked at him, as well as the six other children and thirteen adults that trailed him, each also holding either packages or food. (Dick, Babs,- Tim, Jason, Damian, Duke, Steph, Cass- adults: Clark, Lois, Diana, Hal, Barry, Victor, Arthur, Selina, Ivy, Harley, Alfred, Leslie, and Luke Fox)

"B, tell me you didn't forget." laughed one of the older kids, holding a T-shirt cannon that was dangerously aimed at Luthor's head. Bruce's brow furrowed as he looked between them all. "What?"

The kid laughed again, firing the cannon right at Wayne's stomach, Bruce easily catching it, and dropped the gun. "Its your birthday, old man."

[sgiandubh]

Hello! I have a new drinking game suggestion! If you haven't listened to that podcast yet (the part about Outlander and Sam starts at 51:00) how about a sip every time she mentions her recommendations for watching the series, stressing that it's something scorching? Also, every time it is said that he is single and dates a lot, in addition to being 🔥 The segment lasts about three minutes, surely no one could get drunk in such a short amount of time!

Dear Drinking Game Anon,

Please forgive the delay - almost everybody, even the trolls, answered the salvo of Deux Moi (that is a bastardized translation of 'Me Too', I bet the farm) Anons and perhaps you found me wanting. Oh, well: I never gave three dried shits about being FIRST.

Not even #sorry for the length, Anon.

That podcast is some mighty BS you are kindly asking me to dissect for you. So I just listened to that S focused bit again, as I am writing the answer. Fasten your seat belts.

I mean, where the hell do I begin? Everything is so unlikeable and so cheap about that podcast, I could start wondering if *urv is not poor man's Deux Moi, if you see what I mean (she came in first, alas). No, they don't give a flying fuck about S, in fact both of them have no idea even who he is, since they are mispronouncing his name repeatedly and need to check Wikipedia for his basic trivia. Their cackle does not really bring anything new to the table and it has all the predictable bits: his fandom 'who thinks he is dating his costar' (zero about the Mommies, its most vocal part, who definitely think he doesn't - interesting, huh?), him being on Raya and 'obviously dating' (yeah, yeah, we've seen the results, Dubai Hooker and then 'No Toxic People' on top), OL being a 'historical fantasy series, like GoT' (Lord give me strength), but you know, chock a block filled with sex (😱🤣). So it all boils down to the girl being 'identified in DMs' (by who, I wonder? 'Always Hands On' *urv?) as a 'creative type'. The core of the debate was, in fact, whether it was or not a first date and what about the lack of drinks on that table - it never occurred to them Einsteins that was a dead giveaway of those pictures being totally staged, eh?

Nothing to write home about and I honestly fail to see where the fuck did those women notice the girl 'lovingly gazing' at S. At any rate, this is so artificial I could cry and it does sound like a quid pro quo type of favor Deux Moi did to PR. It actually gave me the same 'shoehorned in' feeling as C's Remarkable Weekend non-photos featured in that magazine, in 2019. The two 'gossip columnists' clearly didn't prepare anything at all about it and DGAF pretending to be plausible liars. One more time, it felt cheap and a desperate retcon of the Dubai Hooker Walk of Shame, plus the added insult to injury Alice Don't Panikian was.

But, as always, there's more to it. And at this point, I do wonder why and actually how on Earth nobody in this fandom ever thought to find out what the fuss was about Deux Moi, at all.

[I was brutally cut, just here, Anon, by the worst power outage in our neighborhood for ages - heat does that to old, clunky European capitals. Sorry for that.]

Deux Moi came out of obscurity during the COVID-19 pandemic, when people were locked down at home, bored and depressed. It markets itself as a gossip column with a twist, almost never checks facts and apparently has no problem being seen by many as a neo Hollywood Dumpster Diver of sorts. To counter all sorts of possible legal problems, it launched itself and prospered because of the mandatory 'Anon pls' opening to each and every submission. It allows them to never feel or take any responsibility for the content it posts. The reason she can do this is the US Supreme Court's 1964 decision New York Times vs. Sullivan, which allowed media (including gossip sites) more liberty in expressing their opinions. It only sanctions actual malice in doing so, which simply means that if you hate Steven Cree (random example) and publicly comment he is a talentless bore, there is nothing he or his PR can do about it. But if you publicly comment that Steven Cree is a pedophile or a drug addict (OTT made-up stuff inserted here on purpose) and you fail to prove it with facts, well - that is actual malice all the way. You'd better pawn your silver spurs and sell your first born, because they will come to get you and won't do it with grace. In fact, as recently as 2022, the US Supreme Court refused to revise its doctrine on this particular point of law, further linking it to the US Constitution's First Amendment, that deals with free speech and strongly protects it:

[more on this, here: https://edition.cnn.com/2022/06/27/politics/supreme-court-new-york-times-sullivan/index.html - make no mistake, this is a very high profile political decision, for obvious reasons; therefore, I shall not further comment, you make up your own mind about it, according to your own creed. But I know what I think, and what I think is the analogy was promoted by a very conservative Supreme Court].

Deux Moi will never be that sophisticated, but that does not mean it was never above any possible threats & scandal. Its public image heavily relies on the mystique of an incognito mastermind, who, like the Mahdi, Shia Islam's Hidden Twelfth Imam, walks this Earth and sees/knows everything. From there to eternity, victimization is never far away:

[full article, here: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/celebs/a43620663/deux-moi-identity-dark-side/ - I don't believe a single word of what the person shares, just so you know; for many reasons].

I mean, she is no Louella Parsons, no Hedda Hopper, hell - not even Liz Smith. And funny she mentions Taylor Swift (who I like more and more by the day, hahaha), who went for her via her PR, recently, in quite a clear fashion:

Wow, mother of all dragons: ' a marriage ceremony in the UK', that 'wasn't (...) legal (...) and wasn't made official'. Excuse me? RINGS A FUCKING BELL IN OUR OWN BACKYARD? Hell yes, rings a fucking steamer foghorn. Anyways, Tree Paine was not amused at all and the excuses were paltry, to say the least:

Sorry for the long quote, Anon, but I found Glamour's piece very enlightening, for once:

[our Spanish mafia girls could read the whole article here: https://www.glamour.com/story/taylor-swifts-publicist-tree-paine-thinks-deux-moi-needs-a-reality-check]

I still wonder why this 2021 'Anon pls' was never disputed and at least partially proven true:

Even better, check out this Reddit thread, just to see what The Casuals commented:

[whole thread, here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Fauxmoi/comments/nzx8mw/ok_i_am_dying_to_know_who_this_is_about/]

I wouldn't describe this as people being exactly 'shocked'. Interesting reactions, at any rate, and not a Stan in view.

Go figure, indeed.

I hope this answers your ask, Anon. It took me a long while to write, due to unforeseen reasons, but I certainly did it with pleasure and two or three well-placed grins.

[rhenuvee]

On Thin Ice [Figureskater!Kaeya x reader]

A/N: Based on this post here! // Sorry for inactivity and lack of fics! School had me STRESSED which is why I've been so busy.

Warnings: I have never figure skated (don't come after me figure skaters), flirty Kaeya

➽────────────❥

4:42pm

Perfect, is what you think to yourself when you see that time displayed on the giant clock above the empty rink. You don't even go to the change room, instead going to the nearest spot on the bleachers and sitting down to tie the rental ice skates you got.

Once you lace up the skates, you walk in a clunky way towards the rink entrance, stumbling a little while occasionally holding onto whatever you could grab near you. A little more than fifteen minutes should be enough for-

"Hey there~"

You're suddenly greeted by a figure who seemed to have spawned out of nowhere- you swear you don't remember seeing anyone on the ice. And if you saw a guy as handsome as this stranger, you'd certainly remember.

Said stranger briefly waved his two fingers to the side as a way to say "hi", then quickly returned to rest under his chin, as if he was curiously finding out who you were. His hair was a dark blue, tied in an attempted loop, but his hair was too long and just ended up falling over his shoulder. His outfit was very form fitting that you could see the outline of his collarbones.

But the worst part was probably that handsome smile of his. The corners of his lips were slightly upturned- it could almost be a smirk. The little glint in his eyes didn't help either. You had a feeling this was going to lead to trouble.

"Hi...?" you say awkwardly. You were cautious on what to say next.

"I regret to inform you but you do know it's still practice time for us figure skaters, no?" Your body freezes in embarrassment. It was even worse that this handsome guy probably thought of how clumsy you were.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know, I thought it was ok for the public because the lady at the front allowed me to come in and-"

"Whoa slow down, it's no big deal really." The dark blue-haired male put his hands up as if to give a signal to stop. He suddenly then holds his hand out, "I'm Kaeya." He starts an introduction to ease things with you. You in return, bring your hand to shake his.

"(Y/n)." you say, while your heart slows down its beating.

"So, what brings you here early, (Y/n)? Eager to skate?" he slightly teases at the fact that you were early to the real public skating time. You sigh, deciding to tell him. You probably weren't going to make this mistake again. This will be the last time you embarrass yourself in front of a hot guy.

"I'm going skating with my friends but the truth is, I don't know how to skate." Your friends asked you to participate in this winter activity while you never skated in your life before. When you complained they said "You'll be fine!" as a claim to reassure you and convince you to come. When you say these words, the corner of Kaeya's mouth quirks upwards, emphasizing the glint in his eyes.

"Oh? You don't know how to skate?" he asks. "Well it's easy." He then leaves the edge of the rink to push himself off and skate off, going backwards and purposely doing a little spin for you. Showoff.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Professional." you groan as he skates his way back to you, stopping elegantly with ease. He laughs a little at your sarcasm.

"I could teach you." he offers. Kaeya glances at the clock, now reading 4:50. "It'll be quick, and I've been told I'm a good teacher."

You glance at the clock as well, seeing you had about ten minutes before your friends and other people would come into the arena. You figured if he was offering, this should be fine, right?

"If you say so... Just for a little bit though." You say a little panicked. It was almost time and you were hoping Kaeya got the message you just wanted to get the hang of 'walking' on ice, and then you'd be good. He smiles, then offers you his hand to take your first step on the ice.

You stumble onto the ice- both of you letting out a 'woah', then steadying yourself with his guidance. You laugh awkwardly, and so does he. Except Kaeya doesn't seem fazed at all. You slowly start to learn that Kaeya just naturally exudes this "naturally-cool person" aura.

"We'll take it slow, 'kay?" he aays to reassure you. "Try walking in little steps and push off the ice. You can hold my hands if you want to."

Your heart is suddenly aware of the double meaning in that last sentence. Your eyes look up, but end up only seeing Kaeya's expression with just a regular smile. You can't seem to read him, because you swore his tone was a little different... But you decide to let it go, since it'd be silly. This is just a skating lesson, right?

You start taking your first steps like a toddler learning to walk- a little unsteady. But ever so often you find yourself randomly losing balance.

"-Kaeya!" you shriek in a moment of panic, one hand grabbing onto the wall nearby and the other with his arm holding you.

"It's alright, I've got you." he says stabilizing you. "Bend your knees a little when you skate, that should give you more stability."

You follow his directions while not fully letting go of his hand, his fingertips lightly holding yours. After a few minutes of readjusting yourself to get acquainted with the rink, you make a bit of progress, finally grasping how to walk... even if it is still a bit slow and wobbly.

Kaeya acknowledges this and applauds for you with a smile.

"There we go, now you're ready to do more difficult things, yes? How about this~" He leaves you for a brief moment, giving a little elegant spon. You roll your eyes, knowing he's just teasing.

"Yes of course." you say sarcastically, which he chuckles at.

"Okay, let's try stopping now." He skates to a short distance away from you then faces back towards you. "Skate towards me, then stop by pushing your legs out into a V-shape like this." He demonstrates the basic stopping technique for you, then signals you to start.

You start taking your steps on the ice, you gain a steady pace before you decide to try stopping. Except you don’t come to a complete stop… You push your feet out and you slow down but it’s not enough.

“Whoa there…” Kaeya’s voice sounds closer than you thought. When you look up you’re met with his dark blue eyes. You realize your attempt to stop has clearly failed, as you end up right in front of Kaeya who gives you a wink and devilish smile. “Take me out to dinner first, sweetheart.”

Your face instantly warms up as you fall victim to his remarks. You internally tell yourself that this is probably normal for him since he’s keeping up these shenanigans.

“Kaeya- ah!” You try to recover and conceal your reaction by pushing him away, but it instead pushes yourself away, making you almost lose balance. But Kaeya’s quick, and he catches your hand in time to support you back. He chuckles while hiding his laughter behind his hand.

“Sorry for teasing you. It’s kind of fun seeing your reaction, you’re quite cute you know that?”

His statement catches you off guard. One after the other, more surprises keep coming your way, and you are kind of doubting this one… There’s no way someone like him found you cute, right??

Before you could think of a response, another voice cuts in.

“Having fun, Kaeya?”

You both turn to look behind Kaeya, where there were two men standing outside the rink on the other side of the glass. They both had blonde hair and blue eyes- though the one who spoke was taller, while the other had more of a platinum blonde and slightly longer hair.

“Ah- Dainsleif… how long have you been here? I thought you went home already.” You watch as Kaeya seems really good at masking his emotions, giving a smile to ‘Dainsleif’ as he interrupted.

“I’ve been here since you called yourself ‘a good teacher’,” Dainsleif says sarcastically. Kaeya internally sweat-drops at this. “A good teacher should know your practice time was done thirty minutes ago.”

“Right, my mistake.”

Dainsleif turns to leave, with the other guy not really paying any mind and giving Kaeya a smile and a wave goodbye. Kaeya waves back sheepishly, then breathes out a sigh of relief turning back to you.

“Sorry about that. That was my instructor…”

“It’s okay.” You reply. You get the feeling that Dainsleif was the stern type, making him quite scary.

“As much as I’d like to continue, he’s right. My practice time ended already.” As he says this you realize the time is 5:00, which meant it was the public skate time. You can’t help but feel that fifteen minutes with him went by too quickly… "And you're going skating with your friends, right?"

“You were a great teacher, thank you.” He only helped with skating and stopping but you figured it was better than looking like a noob with the skating walker.

“Well I’m glad one person thinks so.” He jokes. You both giggle as he leads you to the entrance of the rink again. There are a few people starting to come in.

You and Kaeya carefully step out of the rink. He starts untying the laces while you sit beside him, leaving yours on for later. You both sit in a comfortable silence for a bit. While he packs up, you're unsure of what to say- or if you even should say anything. Your frantic thinking goes on for a bit longer than you expected, as you realize Kaeya was finished and was ready to leave.

Where exactly do you go from here? He was just a stranger you met who was gracious enough to teach you some skating basics. You were hoping the butterflies he gave you in your brief time with him, wasn't just for fun. Your heartbeats slow down, thinking you've lost your opportunity.

"W-wait..."

Your heart acts before your head could stop you. Kaeya hears what you said, and you suddenly panic, not even knowing what you want to say

"You... haven't taught me how to get up if I fall on the ice." you stammer, trying to save yourself. Kaeya seems to buy it as his face looks as if he's giving it some thought. "I mean- It's okay though! I know you have to leave, and it's time for me as well..."

"You're right..." There is a short pause. You can't help but feel that there were some gears turning in his head. He then puts his hand in his pocket, retrieving his phone, swiping on it a few times and handing it facing you. "Guess you'll have to come back for another lesson, right?"

Your eyes widen as you read what's on his screen- the contact screen, the empty space with the little line blinking straight at you. You look back at him. He was smiling, but his expression seemed softer from the way the corners of his eyes curved down.

“Really...?” You ask cautiously. You hoped that he was talking about the same thing. He nods, his smile still prominent.

"I wasn’t kidding about dinner either, by the way.” You almost choke on your own saliva with how forward he is. "Were you kidding about it?"

"No- well I mean yes- I didn't mean to bump into you like that! You were poking at me!" It's hard for you to keep a deadpan expression towards him while feeling your cheeks getting warmer. You enter in your number in his phone.

"You're on thin ice, Kaeya. But you're lucky that you know a thing or two about ice." He laughs, as he can appreciate the joke. You finish putting your number in his phone.

"I am, aren't I?"

As you waved and said your goodbyes, you couldn't stop the smile forming on your face, knowing there would be a next time with Kaeya.

➽────────────❥

[cozage]

The Meaning of Justice

The Meaning of Justice: Nanohana (Alabasta part 1)

You’re a Marine who’s always been taught to trust the process. And you always have, until you meet a certain pirate who won’t stop pestering you to join his crew. 

Loguetown < | > Alabasta pt 2 | All Chapters

Characters: female reader, Strawhat crew, Smoker, Tashigi, Portgas D. Ace, Vivi

Word count: 5.2k

Cw: Alabasta Spoilers, kind of Ace x reader a bit but it’s meant more as platonic

A/N: Alabasta became VERY long VERY fast, so I’m breaking this up into two or three parts. Part Two will be released next week. Also – this storyline will be going along with the anime, so Ace is with the Strawhats while they travel through the desert, rather than leaving them after destroying the Baroque ships. (I’m sorry you guys I just love Ace so much)

--

You didn’t meet Luffy again for three weeks. The Strawhats were quite good at evading the Navy when it came down to it. Once it became clear they were heading for Alabasta, your ship took a more direct route and managed to beat them to the island. Now, it was just a waiting game. 

You spent your free time studying the wanted posters for Monkey D. Luffy and Roronoa Zoro, as well as going over all the notes and reports of their known accomplices. The tangerine-haired firecracker Nami, the blonde cook Sanji, and the long-nosed liar Ussop were the individuals who made up the Strawhat Pirate Crew. If you ever got the chance to meet him again, you would shackle those sea prism stone cuffs around his wrist and send him straight to Impel Down to pay for his crimes of piracy, destruction of property, and several other offenses that seemed to grow by the day. Justice would be served.

Tashigi and Smoker had gone onto the island to do more reconnaissance with about half of the navy crew. Apparently there were rumors of an even larger bountied pirate on Alabasta, and Smoker had wanted to sniff out fact from fiction. You had stayed aboard the boat, having the men watch for any sign of other potential problems in the port or at sea. 

A young man rushed in, startling you. He looked frantic and nervous, which made your skin tingle with alertness. “There’s a report in! Strawhat was seen leaving Nanohana on a ship heading west.”

You muttered out a few curses in frustration. That crew was so damn slippery. “Get ready to set sail. Let’s follow them.” You led him out, ready to give the command to the other members, when you realized that you could see the Strawhat ship sailing past you. It was cruising at an alarmingly quick speed, and you knew you would never catch it with a clunky old ship like this one. Whoever their navigator was must be exceptionally skilled. 

“Change of plans,” you told the kid next to you. “I’m taking the Wind Viper solo to track them. Let Tashigi and Smoker know when they return. Have them follow my vivre card.”

You could hear the kid start to object, but you jumped over the side of the ship and landed on the single person boat before he could say much. You knew you were probably making a decision that would end in a demotion at best, but you refused to lose Monkey D. Luffy again. You had sailed solo boats like this since you could walk, and with some luck, you’d be nimble enough to catch them and follow them without them ever being any wiser. You quickly unknotted the Wind Viper, freeing it from the mothership, and grabbed the ropes to adjust the sails. 

The wind was in your favor today, you could feel it in the tension on the ropes. The Strawhats capture was inevitable with this kind of luck. You would just have to hope that Smoker would be able to look past you abandoning your post once you were able to lead him directly to the Strawhats. 

You managed to catch the wind perfectly and close the gap between you and the sloop the Strawhats were on. You remained a practical distance away from them, enough to watch the ship but not be noticed by its crew.

You had to keep reminding yourself that your goal was to follow and track them, so that your crew could capture them together. It would be highly unlikely any one person could capture all the Strawhats at once. Even Smoker would have difficulty with that. But if you could lead the fifty members aboard your ship to the Strawhats, you estimated your chances were closer to 95% success.  

Suddenly a fleet of ships appeared on the ocean from behind a haze, blocking the Strawhats from advancing any further. Unsure if they were friend or foe, you pulled out your spare set of binoculars to look for identifying information. 

You barely have time to make out the “BAROQUE” wording across the sails before a giant flame pierced and splintered the ships into pieces, crumbling into the sea. 

Your heart sank and you instantly put slack on the ropes to the sail, letting your speed die down. You knew you needed to keep as much distance between yourself and the Strawhats without letting them get away. You knew of only one person who could make devastation that quick. The rumors of his presence in Alabasta were true. Whitebeard’s second division commander was here, and he seemed to be allied with the Strawhat pirates for some reason. Questions spun in your head as you tried to process the information you just received. Was Fire Fist recruiting them? How and why did the Strawhats already trust him enough to have him on board their ship and sail out to sea?

You were broken from your thoughts when the Strawhat ship turned into the mouth of a river and headed up stream. You waited a few moments, and then continued to follow them cautiously. By the time you found their ship, it appeared to be docked and, after a stealthy sweep, you realized it had been abandoned by the crew. You considered waiting by the ship for backup, but an empty ship wasn’t really something worth getting demoted over. You grabbed a few snacks and water from the kitchen area and jumped onto land to try and track the missing pirates. 

Is it really stealing if you're stealing from pirates? You could feel the internal battle of taking food that doesn’t belong to you begin in your mind. They probably stole it anyway, so it’s fine. When you found them, you would ask. After they were in handcuffs, of course. 

Amid your internal war, you almost failed to notice the kung-fu dugongs that were now charging at you, fists raised and ready to fight. They were squeaking at you, pointing between you and the ship, and a few of them had various items they were holding onto. 

“No, no! Stop! It’s okay!” You were trying desperately to get the dugongs to stop threatening you, but they just kept shaking their fists and pointing between you and the ship. 

“You know the Strawhats, right? Luffy?” His name seemed to calm them down slightly, but you could tell they were still angry. “Hey wait! Luffy, I know him! We’re friends!”

You hated to ally yourself with a pirate, even if it wasn’t true and the only witnesses were these animals. “We got separated a while back.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “I’m looking for him! Can you tell me which way he went?”

The dugongs exchanged glances and chattering noises, and then one member came out and pointed in the direction of the endless desert. Of course. Leave it to the Strawhats to take a daunting excursion through the desert for no reason. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” You gave him a spare rice ball you stole off Strawhat’s ship and started walking in the direction the creature pointed. 

After only a few minutes of walking, you looked around and realized you had probably made a fatal mistake. You couldn’t see or hear any sign of life around you, and the wind had covered your tracks. The only thing you have to guide you is the sun, which is still beating down harshly on your uncovered skin. You didn’t exactly plan for a trip to the desert. You didn’t even have a hat to shade your eyes, just a short-sleeved shirt and flowing pants, paired with your closed toed shoes.

You resisted the urge to take a drink of water, knowing your resources were extremely limited. But you couldn’t turn back now. This would be an even greater failure than the boat. You recalculated the trajectory of the sun and the direction the dugong pointed you, and kept trekking forward, certain this was the only path you could take now. For better or worse.

After an hour or two, you noticed the first sign of life that you’ve seen since you left Nanohana. Buildings, now turned to rubble, lay strewn throughout the sand, and you found the first piece of shade that you’ve seen since you entered the desert. You laid down in it, curling up so no part of you was touched by the harsh sunlight. You’d stay here until Captain Smoker found you. Perhaps it was better to be dishonorably discharged than to be dead. You dozed off, exhausted from the walking, and decided you’d be content with either outcome at this point.

--

“I think she’s still alive!” The feminine voice was hushed and urgent, laced with concern. 

“Chopper! There’s someone here! She needs help!” The second voice was louder, unbothered by the possibility of you waking up.

Your eyes flicked open, searching for Smoker’s signature look of disapproval. But he wasn’t there. “Smoker,” you started, assuming he must have been behind you. “I’m sorry about this-” You sat up abruptly, still searching, and your sudden movement caused the two girls close to you to scream out in fear. Their screams prompted other bodies to appear around you almost instantly. 

“What is it, Nami?” The familiar voice sent ice through your veins, despite the heat in the air. “Did you find something good to eat?”

A small animal approached you holding a medical kit, and he reached out his hoof to you. He looked concerned, and when he spoke, you could tell it’s genuine. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. How are you feeling?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Your head was pounding from dehydration, and the world seemed to be tilted at the wrong angle. You couldn’t help but feel an equal amount of excitement and dread from the whole situation. You were surrounded by the Strawhats, all of them were right here with you. And yet, you had no way of letting your captain know he’d be walking straight into a trap when he finally found you.

You did a quick headcount. Nami, Sanji, Zoro, Ussop, Luffy. They were all here. Plus a blue-haired girl and the…was he a reindeer or a raccoon? Neither of them were in any reports you had read. Perhaps they were hostages, or new crew members.

“Hey wait…” You caught Luffy eying you curiously from afar, studying your face. “Don’t I know you?”

The girl named Nami spoke up before you could respond. “Luffy! How the hell would you know her? Vivi would be more likely to know this person, given that it's her kingdom!” 

Vivi. You recognized that name. She was the princess of Alabasta who hasn’t been seen in a few years. And now that you looked at her, you could see the similarities from the photos of her as a child. The princess must’ve been held captive or formed an alliance with the Strawhats. Based on the group's demeanor, you’d guess the latter of the two. 

“Nuh-uh. I know her” Luffy shook his head in stubbornness, addressing you now. “Hey, how do I know you?”

“Whoever she is, she’s gorgeous!!!” The blonde man’s eyes practically became hearts looking at you. “Is there anything I can get you, my dear?”

This definitely wasn’t how you imagined a crew of such notoriety to act. It almost pissed you off how carefree they were acting. 

“Don’t help her.” A deep voice came from above you, and you could see a figure perched on some rubble. You hadn’t realized anyone else was in the vicinity. “I don’t know how you know her, Luffy. But she’s a marine.”

You felt a shiver down your spine. You had forgotten about the Baroque ships, forgotten about Fire Fist. You feel the tension in the air skyrocket, the various sounds of each member shifting into a fighting stance.

Luffy smacked his hands together and shook them in triumph. “Direction girl!” He proclaimed. He either hadn’t heard Whitebeard’s commander or was electing to ignore him. “You gave me directions to Gol Roger’s execution platform in Loguetown!” 

Luffy jumped over to you without a care in the world, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “You know, if you wanted to join my crew, you could’ve just asked in Loguetown. You didn’t have to follow us all the way here!”

His complete obliviousness took you by surprise, and your mouth opened in shock. “Wha-”

Nami interjected before you could even finish the word. “YOU IDIOT!!!” She screamed, knocking him on the head. “She’s here to capture us! Not to join the crew!”

“Ouch, Nami! That hurt...” Luffy rubbed his head and looked down at you, scowling. “Are you sure you’re a marine? No offense, but you don’t exactly look like one.”

“She’s been following us since we left Nanohana.” Fire First jumped down behind you, and you could feel his warmth from a few feet away. The rest of the crew exchanged glances with each other, shocked by the information. 

Nami was the first to recover from the news. “Nanohana? And you’re just now telling us this, Ace?”

So, the Strawhats were on a first-name basis with the fire user. You would have to put that in your report. If you made it out alive. 

“Sorry,” Fire Fist shrugged. “I just really didn’t think she’d make it this far.”

Everyone stood where they were for a long while, nobody sure what to do. You couldn’t help but feel like they were all waiting for a decision to be made. A decision to let you live or to kill you. But nobody was making the final call.  

“Well?” Luffy was looking at you expectantly, as if he were waiting for you to act.

You stared back at him. “Well, what?”

He had the audacity to look at you as if you were the stupid one. “Are you gonna try to capture us?”

You hesitated and looked around at the members you faced. Roronoa Zoro had his grip on one sword, ready to unsheathe it at any moment. Usopp was holding a loading slingshot, and you got the feeling he wouldn’t be missing. Nami and Vivi were keeping their distance, but were staring daggers into your soul. Sanji was lighting a cigarette, sitting on some rocks nearby. The small creature that helped you earlier was attempting to hide behind some rocks behind the cook. You could feel heat radiating from behind you, indicating that Fire Fist would blast you before you even got a chance to move. And Luffy, that idiot pirate was staring at you with his big, curious eyes. 

“No.” You finally answered, and you hated yourself for being a coward, for not fighting until the bitter end like a true marine should. “No, I’m not going to capture you.”

A grin spread across Luffy’s face, his eyes lighting up. “So you did come to join my crew!”

“Also no!” You spat out the words at him, and you heard a few people chuckle. “I just want to get out of this damn desert!”

It was partially true, but if the Strawhats kept you around as a hostage, Smoker and the others would be able to find you. You’d just have to trust that Smoker could evaluate the situation and make the right decision when it came down to that. 

Luffy laughed, and you found yourself smiling along with him. He had a laugh that was full of warmth and kindness, one that was contagious to those around him. You didn’t want to admit it, but you could see why someone like Luffy had amassed so many crewmembers in such a short amount of time. 

“I wouldn’t trust her, Luffy.” The others had relaxed with their captain, but you could feel Fire Fist’s eyes on you from behind. “We should tie her up if she’s going to travel with us.”

“Nah, it’s fine Ace. If she said she’s not gonna capture us, then she’s not gonna capture us.” Luffy turned his attention away from you and towards Sanji. “Hey Sanji, when’s lunch?”

“Tch. You’re too trusting, Luffy.” But the heat from behind you receded, and Fire Fist passed you to regroup with the Strawhats. His Captain’s jolly roger displayed proudly on his back made your eyes widen at the site, but you said nothing. 

Sanji blew out a puff of smoke before answering his captain. “Lunch isn’t for a while, we still have a lot of distance to cover.”

“Awwww,” Luffy moaned. “But I’m hungry now!”

You pulled out your small stash of rations, picking out a rice ball and holding it out for him. “You can have this, if you’d like.” Technically, it was the Strawhats food anyway. It’s not like you were losing out on much.

Everyone’s eyes widened in panic, but before anyone could object, Luffy was next to you.

“Wai-” Zoro reached out to his captain, knowing it was already too late.

You could see that his lips were around your arm, and you could feel the wetness of his tongue against your fingers, but it still took you a second to process exactly what was happening. 

“DON’T EAT ME, YOU MORON!” You kicked him in the stomach, which caused the rubber man to cough, and you pulled your hand out of his mouth as he fell to the ground. You scrambled backwards and pressed yourself against a rock, desperately trying to get distance from the boy who just tried to eat you.

Ace and Zoro rushed toward Luffy, who was still recovering from being kicked in the stomach. “Hey Luffy, spit that out!” The two pirates fell to their knees next to the strawhat boy. “Spit it out!”

“No…way.” Luffy was on his hands and knees, still coughing from your blow. “It's all…mine.” 

“It could be poisoned, you idiot!” Zoro slapped his captain’s back, trying to help him catch his breath. 

“I wouldn’t be so dishonorable that I’d poison food.” You wiped the slobber off your hand and finally stood up. “I didn’t even kick you that hard, Strawhat. Don’t be dramatic.” Fire Fist and Zoro both shot you irritated glances, but they seemed to relax a little bit.

By the time you finished repacking your supplies, Luffy had finally recovered from your stomach kick. Luffy stood next to you again, eyeing your pack. “Those were really good! Do you have more?”

“Not for you.” He frowned at you and sulked away. You felt a twinge of guilt at the harshness of your words, but you quickly shoved it from your mind.

“If you’re going to be traveling together,” Nami said, looking at you unenthusiastically. “We should probably all know each other’s names.”

“Right! I’m Luffy! That’s Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Vivi, Chopper, and Ace!” Luffy pointed at each member of the circle as he introduced them, but you had already known everyone’s name except the raccoon.

“And I’m a reindeer!” Chopper shouted, as if he had heard your thoughts.

“Got it. Chopper the reindeer.” You see the small reindeer blush as you say that, and he ran to hide behind Zoro as you introduced yourself to the crew.

“We really should get moving.” The Princess’s words were laced with concern as she looked out to the horizon. "We're running out of time.”

Her words hold the weight of a country, and you can feel the heavy burden she’s carrying for just a moment, though you’re not sure why the weight is so heavy.

“Princess Vivi,” You began walking alongside her after a little while of walking. “If I may ask. What exactly is going on? Why have you allied yourself with the Strawhat Pirates and Fire Fist?”

Her words were full of bitterness as she replied. “Because they actually want to help me save this country, unlike the Navy!” The harshness of her tone startled you, but she regained her composure after a moment. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault. It’s just…” she searched for the right words.

“It’s what I’m a part of.” You could feel the others listening in on the conversation, a mixture of caution and curiosity.

“What you’re a part of,” she echoed. Her eyes stared intensely at the ground below her as she searched for the words to say next. “The Navy has known about the issues in Alabasta for years, and they’ve never done anything to help its people. They claim it’s not their business to get involved in country affairs, but...” she paused, and you could hear her voice starting to become thick with tears and frustration. “It hasn’t rained here in three years. It’s not a natural phenomenon. Someone is sabotaging Alabasta! Someone is hurting my people! And the Navy won’t even lift a finger to help! The only reason they’re even here right now is because of Luffy and Ace!”

You knew you weren’t the one who made any of these calls. You knew that decisions like these came from far above you or Tashigi or even Smoker. Decisions like these come from people who have been in the Navy for far longer than you’ve been alive. Yet, you can’t help but feel shameful on its behalf. Because Vivi was right. The only reason you were in Alabasta in the first place was because you were tracking down Strawhat Luffy. You hadn’t even known that Aaabasta was on the verge of a war.

You had no words to give her, and you knew even if you did say anything, it wouldn’t sound genuine anyway. The silence was as thick as the desert air, and you could see Vivi wiping furiously at her face to dry her eyes. You decided the best thing to do was gather information instead of making empty promises. Your voice came out gentle, showing you were asking out of curiosity rather than hostility. “So what led you to join up with the Strawhats and Fire Fist?”

She was silent for a while, trying to regain her composure. You thought that she hadn’t heard you, or was too ashamed for her reasoning, and you left the question hanging in the air.

“Because they wanted to help me.”

It was such a powerful answer in such a few words. Her voice was so small, and you knew the princess trusted these pirates with her life. And the Strawhats trusted the princess too. You could feel the winds shift, seeing the Strawhats and their captain in a new light.

“Yeahhhhh!” Luffy raised his arms and shouted into the sky. “We’re gonna beat your ass, Crocodile!!!!”

“Crocodile? What does he have anything to do with Alabasta?” Confusion set in once again. You felt like every time this group answered a question, you had another three questions rise.  Crocodile was one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, sanctioned by the World Government. Technically, you were supposed to assist, even protect, the warlords when it came down to it, but you never cared much for that system. It didn’t make much sense for the government to sanction some of the worst criminals on the sea just for the appearance of authority. A pirate is still a pirate, as Smoker always said.

You heard Fire Fist laugh dryly and mutter something indistinctly behind you. You couldn’t make out what he said, but you could tell from his tone that he’s criticizing you in some way. 

Even Vivi looked disappointed that you had asked such a question. “He’s the one who’s behind all of this. The drought, the rebellion, Baroque Works. Everything that’s happening in Alabasta can be linked back to him.”

Her answer has once again brought more questions to your mind. But there’s one that comes to the forefront and quite literally stops you in your tracks. Vivi stopped too, looking back at you curiously.

Your voice came out pained when you spoke. “Why haven’t we helped you?”

Your question made her eyes well up with tears again, and she was about to answer when Fire Fist interjected. “Because the Navy doesn’t care about Alabasta.” He walked past you, unfazed by the whole thing. “Think about it. The Navy sanctioned Crocodile. If they stop him now, they’ll have to admit they were wrong making him a Warlord in the first place. You’d rather save face and let a country burn than admit you were wrong.”

You flinched when the hate in his voice switched from being directed at the Navy to you. You realized the words he spoke stung so badly because he’s right. Maybe not about you personally, but he had accurately described all the things that were famously flawed about the Navy as an overall system.

“Hang on, Ace,” Luffy scowled in confusion at the fire user. It was clear the captain’s brain was working overtime trying to process this entire conversation. “Don’t blame Y/N for this, she didn’t make any of those decisions.”

Fire Fist sighed and chucked at the naive young captain. “I suppose you’re right, Luffy. Still,” his eyes flicked back to you, his tone becoming serious again. “If you’re going to stand for something, you better know what you’re standing for.”

--

You sat alone, watching the Strawhats fight over Chopper’s warmth from a distance. The night air was chilled, and millions of stars shone in the sky. Vivi said you all had made good time, but you still had a long way to go. You weren’t sure how Vivi knew exactly where you were, but you trusted her and her navigation skills within the desert.

The cool air and sand brushed over your skin, sending a shiver up your body. You sat curled up into a ball, trying to retain any warmth you could. You weren’t sure how you were going to be able to sleep, or if it was wise to even attempt to do so, surrounded by a group of notorious pirates.

Fire Fist sat down next to you, breaking you away from your thoughts. He was still shirtless, his warmth radiating out from him. Whitebeard’s symbol displayed prominently on his back had shocked you at first, but you had grown used to the sight since this morning. “Must be nice to be warm like that all the time,” you muttered, jealous of his ability.

He laughed at your comment, watching the Strawhats engage in their shenanigans. “You know, I forget what it’s like to be cold. Or hot. Even in the Alabasta desert during the day, the heat isn’t intolerable. It’s just warm and bright.”

“Like you,” you teased, and he looked at you inquisitively. He grinned as he watched your face fall at the realization of what you had just said. You had meant it as a joke to his devil fruit power, and your face turned red when you realized how it could be interpreted.

“Well, if a lady of the Marines says so, then it must be true!”

“That’s not what I-”

“Too late to take it back now,” he retorted, puffing out his chest. “A Marine called me ‘warm and bright’! Pops is gonna love that.”

Your eyes widened. “You have no proof I said that!”

“Just my word.”

“A pirate’s word is-” You stopped mid-sentence when you caught his eye, his face beginning to fall with anticipation of how you would finish that sentence.

“A pirate’s word is what?” He goaded, suddenly defensive. His freckled smile was gone, replaced by a pained grimace. “Trash? Scum? Dishonorable?” He put more spite into every new word.

“Not as good as mine.” You corrected, and you saw his face flicker with surprise. It wasn’t the sentence you grew up saying, but you liked this new answer better.

Your response caused Ace to laugh. A good, hearty laugh, paired with a few slaps on his knee. You couldn’t help but smile while watching him. It reminded you of Luffy’s, contagious and full of complete genuine emotion. The others looked over, briefly pausing their fight over the reindeer before starting back up again.

Ace wiped tears away from his eyes once he calmed down.  “Your word is that good, huh? Better than any pirate?”

“Yep.”

Ace hummed in response. You could tell he was weighing a decision, but you didn’t press it any further. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, and you realized you were enjoying both his company and his warmth. You both watched the Strawhats all curl up and slowly fall asleep one by one.

“Since your word is so good, can I have it on something?” Ace’s voice was low and serious, and you knew he had finally made a decision on whatever he was thinking about earlier.

“That depends on what you’re asking me to do, Ace.” It’s the first time you had called him by his name rather than his title. You liked him more as Ace anyway.

Ace chuckled lightly, recognizing that your response was a valid one. “You see, Luffy’s my brother.” You stifled back a shocked gasp, trying not to react, but you could see a smile dance over his lips at your response. “I want you to protect him. Make sure he doesn’t die.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Ace had just given you a treasure trove of information and had simultaneously asked you to do the very thing you vowed against.

“I know that’s a very non-marine thing to do,” he said, reading your mind. “But Luffy’s special. He’s going to be King of the Pirates.”

“I think that proves even more that I shouldn’t protect him.”

“Oh, right!” He smacked his forehead. “Ignore what I said then. Everyone wants to be King of the Pirates. Luffy isn’t special.”

You laughed at his back pedaling, and then sighed. “I’m sorry, Ace.” And you really were. You wanted to promise him and help make him feel more at ease. But it would be going against your direct principles. Against everything you knew and fought for. “I can’t give you my word on that. I’m a Marine, and I’m not abandoning my post to become Luffy’s lacky.”

“No, no, I’m not asking you to!” Ace quickly corrected. “You can still be a Marine! You seem like you might actually be one of the few good ones left.” The compliment made you blush, his words in such stark contrast to what he was saying earlier.

“Just, whenever your paths cross,” he continued. “Make sure he doesn’t do something so stupid that it gets him killed, if you can manage it. Please?”

There was a saying amongst the Navy women about the man sitting next to you. “Better watch out, Fire Fist Ace can melt hearts in more ways than one!” It was a joke, a silly warning they used whenever people went out on missions involving pirates, but now you were beginning to see the truth in the sentiment.

“I’ll…” You hesitated. You wanted to say yes, but for the sake of duty, the sake of justice, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree. “Can I think about it?”

Ace smiled at you and nodded once, satisfied with your response. He looked like he’s about to add something, but he changed his mind. “You should turn in for the night.” His eyes scanned the horizon. “I’ll keep watch for a while.”

You laughed at the thought of him keeping watch alone. “Ace, how am I supposed to trust you with my life when you fall asleep at completely random times?”

Those dark eyes flicked back to yours once again, and he tilted his hat back so you could see his face better. “Is that the only reason you don’t trust me, Miss Marine?”

You rolled your eyes and laid down without answering him. In truth, you actually did trust him to keep watch. If he had wanted to kill you, he certainly would’ve done it by now. Plus, with a heat source this close, you might actually manage to fall asleep in these conditions.

It was some of the best sleep you’ve had in a while.

[waffliesinyoface]

actually i wanna post about one of my random OCs, who is a play on the "child character who is ACTUALLY an adult, no really" trope because im a firm believer in that trope being funny if its used properly. (when its NOT used properly, that is when i get Annoyed. fire emblem awakening my beloathed...)

ANYWAYS. The gist of it is that she's a mid twenties college student and low-key weeb. She gets killed/isekai'd by Truck-kun, everyone's favorite plot device, and then shows up in limbo with a disembodied voice talking about reincarnation and she's very excited because "holy shit this is just like konosuba" and immediately agrees halfway through its monologue. And then she's like, hey, if you're already going to the trouble of reincarnating me in a new body, does it have to be this one...?

She doesn't get access to a character creator screen or anything but The Voice is like "I don't see why not...?" and lets her make suggestions.

So she starts asking for things like "red eyes" and "waist-length hair" and "pointy ears" and "able to use lots of cool magic" and "ooh, can i be an elf or a half elf or whatever" and so on until she catches herself mid-rant and goes "ah, sorry, that's probably a little bit chuunibyou, huh?"

NOW, THE IMPORTANT BIT: the Omnipresent Divine Voice is not actually speaking english. It does not understand english. It doesnt even have context for language. It just "says" concepts and her brain interprets it as english. So anything she says back to it is translated back in a way it can understand. Normally this isnt a problem! It's like using machine translation for a simple conversation. A little clunky, but it works.

So, it doesn't hear the term chuunibyou as it's understood, it hears "中二病" and translates it as "middle schooler disease", after she spent several minutes listing things she'd like for her new body. It can't tell the difference between a request for traits and her admonishing herself for being lame.

She realizes her mistake when she wakes up in the new world and realizes she looks like a fucking eighth grader. Just the absolute worst. And THEN she realizes that, because she requested being an elf, she's going to look like that for a long, long time. (Longer than she thinks, even - it interpreted the "disease" part of that as "stunted growth" . Not that she figures that out until she actually meets other elves..) A key part of her outfit are boots with really big heels just so she can try to eke out just a little more height and respectability.

And the real kicker? Because she interrupted it mid-explanation, she didn't realize that the world she got isekai'd into wasnt a dragon quest-esque world with demons to defeat, it's like. Recettear. Atelier. Low stakes slice of life fantasy nonsense. She has enough magic capabilities to knock holes in a mountain, but there's no fucking use for it. (She's so overtuned that she makes runic glyphs and stuff appear in the air while firing spells. Not because magic requires it or anything, but because "it looks cooler". She makes illusions of special effects happen because she thinks magic should look like that.)

Instead, to make her way in this new world... she runs a shop. Because even though she's living in a fantasy world; she still has to work retail.

[eb0ny-raven]

Spencer Reid & Reader // 900 words

~ While driving together, Spencer Reid comforts his coworker’s intrusive thoughts in his typical Reid-y way.

~ Can be read as Platonic or Romantic, but written with platonic in mind.

“Are you alright?” Doctor Reid pulled his eyes away from the file open in his hand and looked over to you. You almost didn’t notice his look, as your own eyes were too busy scanning the road in front of you, and you nearly missed his question too.

As your eyes flitted from car to car, the rational part of your brain tried to keep you focused on the road, but it was fighting a losing battle. You could feel your thoughts get a bit lost. Every shadow from trees was a pedestrian in the road, you misjudged car parts for roadkill, and every bump in the road gave you the overwhelming feeling of getting into a crash. Every turn felt like it was going to send you into a tailspin.

“Yeah.” You said shortly. Reid furrowed his eyebrows.

“The wheel isn’t going to go anywhere.” He added a bit of a lift to his voice and you looked down at your hands. They gripped the steering wheel of the SUV, whitening your knuckles, and you also felt their involuntary shaking.

“I know.” You kept your responses short. You noticed this but too much brain power was being used to try to keep the car on the road. You ticked your head back and felt your neck crack slightly.

“You’re shaking.” He closed the folder and slipped it on the dashboard.

“Yeah.” I drifted around in the lane, micro-adjusting the steering wheel unnecessarily. We drove toward a stoplight, and it turned yellow, surprising me. I came to a clunky stop which lurched both Reid and I forward. “Sorry,” I apologized, “I have my license, promise.” I lightheartedly smiled at Spencer in the passenger seat. He stared back at me straight-faced and I could feel his eyes searching my face.

“What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want him to find the reason stupid, even though I knew he’d be fine about it.

“Oh, nothing.” A pedestrian in the crosswalk waved at me and I struggled to hold in my impulse control.

“I can tell you’re lying, y/n, seriously. Also the light is green.” I groaned and accelerated before any angry driver behind me decided to let me know.

“I’ll be fine. What’s the exit?” I changed the subject as I pulled onto a cloverleaf to enter the freeway. My brain immediately clouded with all the new cars around me, and now at higher speeds, I could feel every bump and vibration.

“Exit 54.”

My head ticked forward this time and my hands started to feel very lightweight.

“Great.” If Reid was categorizing my movements, I wouldn’t have seen anything. With the incessant hum of the car worming its way through my head, I scanned the upcoming direction signs and flicked on my blinker to switch to the rightmost lane. The car lurched a bit, moved right, then wobbled in the lane before settling much too far on one side.

Jesus, it’s like you just got your permit or something.

I exited on 54, but it felt too soon. Reid directed me left at another stoplight, then had me pull into an empty parking lot. I put the vehicle and park and cocked my head at Reid.

“I’ll drive.” He said simply. Thank you. I blessed Spencer in my head. Normally I would have protested, but I felt far too much fear to even think about pulling out of the parking lot.

He was out of the car and beside the driver's side door before I had even opened it. I got out, Spencer got it, shifted the seat and mirrors, then put the car in reverse when I managed myself into the passenger seat.

“You know, intrusive thoughts are a very common occurrence-“ He pulled out of the lot and started back on course, “-about 96 percent of the population admit to having them.”

It didn’t immediately register in my head he was talking to me, I just stared through the windshield and slowly opened and closed my hands into fists. My wrists jerked a little for a moment, then I just played with my hands.

“The most common ones tend to be about doing something illegal, like theft or vandalism, thoughts of violence like murder or suicide, or unwanted sexual imagery. They can vary from just a thought crossing your mind to being a very debilitating mental affect. And while intrusive thoughts can be indicative of an underlying mental health condition like OCD and other anxiety disorders, it’s actually quite normal and not at all a reflection of a person's character or moral standing.”

His voice rambled very evenly, but his inflections felt more empathetic than usual. I sighed and looked at him. His eyes were on the road, but I saw him smirk when he glanced over.

“Professionals aren’t always sure why a person experiences intrusive thoughts, but I tend to think of it as a by-product of our internal defense system. A lot of times the unwelcome thought has no connection to the action a person is taking, but in stressful situations it can be the brain's coping mechanism.”

I laugh.

“Why are you telling me all this, Spencer?” I know why he’s telling me, he probably knows me better than I know myself.

“So next time you can just tell me you don’t want to drive.”

My hands still feel clammy, and small anxious ticks still take over my movements, but I nod.

“Will do.” After a beat of silence he looks over at me.

“I’m being serious.” He looks at me through his curly brown bangs.

“So am I. Thank you. Now eyes back on the road.”

[ghostmath]

oh yeah and also, here’s the little ghost story I wrote a bit too late to get into the official Halloween issue of the Neopian Times but just in time for the November 1st issue (😔):

Come In

“So how’s everything looking out there? Over.”

The words transmitted by the device were crackly and overly harsh, a crude approximation of a voice that Kiyoshi knew well enough to find this new version particularly jarring. The blue Shoyru took a moment to consider his immediate surroundings. It was a cool, quiet autumn evening in this part of Neopia Central, and now that the shops were closed the streets were all but deserted, which was how Kiyoshi preferred them. It was hard to ignore the obvious reason for the diminished nightlife scene, however, and even Kiyoshi was beginning to get bored of Neopia Central’s new look. He gazed up at the Fresh Foods store, reflecting on how he used to hate the tacky hamburger building; but somehow, it looked so much more pitiable in black and white.

He raised the clunky, brick-like communication device to his face and pressed the button to talk. “I gotta be honest, Tyra,” he said. “It looks kinda bad. Over.”

When Tyra’s next message came through, Kiyoshi caught the tail end of a laugh. “Yeah, I figured it would probably be the same as Kiko Lake. Grey and more grey. Guess there’s not much more to say about it. Over.”

Kiyoshi wandered away from Neopian Fresh Foods, finding the stillness a little eerie as it settled over the greyed-out city. “You did say it wasn’t contagious, though, right?” he asked, checking the soles of his shoes for any new signs of discolouration. “I know I’m not exactly known for my vibrant aesthetic, but I still don’t think I’m ready to commit to a paint brush colour that gives you seasonal depression. Over.”

“I said no one knows whether it’s contagious yet,” crackled the response. “But I’ve been keeping up with the coverage in the Neopian Times, and so far I haven’t heard of anyone turning grey unless they were in the affected area when the Painter arrived to begin with. So let’s just consider ourselves lucky that when he decided to hit Neopia Central, the apartment happened to be outside the grey radius. Greydius? Greydius.” The device squealed, then an echo of Tyra’s voice began to stream from its speaker. “Greydius. Greydius. Greydius. Greydius….”

Kiyoshi shook the device, then flipped a toggle near the antenna back and forth until the echo died. There was another mechanical squeal, and Tyra’s voice returned. “…there? Come in, Kiyoshi?”

“Go for Kiyoshi. Sorry. The comm was just being weird again. Over.”

“Weird how? Over.”

“Kind of like an echo. I was just hearing your last word over and over again.”

“Don’t forget to say ‘over’. Over.”

“Oh. Sorry. Over.”

“Interesting. But not unexpected. This technology is still very new, so there’s gonna be some kinks to work out before I roll these bad boys out to the public. But this has been very helpful!” Her businesslike tone perked up. “I’ve got plenty of new data to work with, so feel free to come back to the apartment whenever you’re ready. I’ll order some food and we can celebrate the completion of another test without anything blowing up. What d’you feel like? Over.”

“Anything but burgers,” Kiyoshi said, turning and taking a step back the way he’d come before stopping suddenly.

“You forgot to say ‘over’ again. Over.”

“Sorry, I thought—” Kiyoshi was staring up at the Magical Bookshop, his eye caught by one of the side windows. It was dark inside, and yet….

There it was. An even darker shadow flickered on the other side of the window, and for a second it seemed like it might be looking at him, although he couldn’t make out a face. Before he could react, the shape quickly withdrew from sight.

Something about the way the figure moved made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “There’s someone in there,” Kiyoshi said into the comm, more quietly. “Inside the bookshop. Over.”

A pause. “Someone other than the shopkeeper? Over.”

“The bookshop closed an hour ago. They all did. There’s no lights on or anything…” He stepped up to the door, peering in through the little window there.

“You’re not the Chia Police,” Tyra’s words buzzed against his hand, bringing him back to reality. “If someone broke in, that’s too bad, but it’s none of our business. Over.”

“What if it’s…” Kiyoshi’s stomach tightened. “This was one of the shops that ghost came through everyday. You know, back in the summer. I was sure that he’d finally passed on, but… what if that’s still not over?” He paused, and then when there was no response, added, “…Over.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” Tyra said bluntly. “It’s not like you’re gonna break in yourself just to find out. Over.”

“Door’s unlocked,” Kiyoshi said, surprised even as he said it. The doorknob turned easily in his hand, and he was able to crack open the door without resistance. “Over.”

“I swear, in another life I went into security systems instead of communications and revolutionized this ridiculous city. Seriously, Kiyoshi, for once, just walk away. Over.” Tyra’s voice sounded exasperated.

He turned down the volume on the comm. “This shopkeeper was literally the only one I talked to that day who was even remotely helpful,” Kiyoshi said in a low voice as he unclipped his lantern from his backpack. “I feel like I owe him at least, like… a ghostchasing followup. You know. For quality control. Over.”

”You’re not doing this for him,” Tyra said tiredly. “You’re doing this for you. Over.”

Kiyoshi decided not to tell Tyra that he had already stepped inside. The fading light from the doorway didn’t reach far, but thanks to his lantern he was easily able to find a small panel of light switches on the wall. When he flicked the first one up, there was no visible change in the darkened shop interior. “…Hm.” He flicked the others one by one. Nothing.

He pressed the talk button on his comm. “Power’s out. Maybe the shopkeeper really is still in here? I feel like it would be easy to get trapped behind all these bookshelves if the lights went off all of a sudden.”

He released the talk button and decided to try calling out. “…Hello? Anyone in here?” But all was silent, at least until Tyra’s next transmission came through.

“That sounds like a great reason for you to not go any further. Further. Further. Further. Further….”

Kiyoshi flicked the toggle and lightly smacked the comm. The echo stopped abruptly. “I’ve got my lantern,” he said. “Lemme just check that window, it shouldn’t be too far in.”

The shadows of the bookshelves leaped and wavered in the pool of light as he passed them. He had the uncanny impression of walking through a grove of trees at night. When he reached a wall, he frowned, squinting into the dark beyond his lantern light. If there were windows anywhere along here, shouldn’t he be able to see at least a little light through them? Kiyoshi followed the wall for a few dozen steps until the light fell on the edge of something that was neither book nor bookshelf: some kind of draped, grey fabric. He couldn’t stop his breath from hitching at the sight, half-expecting it to be a person standing there in the dark — but he quickly realized that it was actually a heavy velvet curtain, drawn across the wall. He exhaled slowly and brushed aside the curtain, letting grey light spill into the bookshop from the large, arched window on the other side. Flecks of dust floated in the narrow aisle, which suddenly seemed very small and mundane. There was another window a short ways down the wall, also curtained. Otherwise, the aisle was deserted.

“Tyra to Kiyoshi. Still alive? Over.”

He was beginning to feel a little silly for letting himself get so jumpy. “Kiyoshi here,” he said, checking behind the other curtain for good measure. “All good. There’s no one here. Over.”

Crash.

He whirled in the direction of the noise. It had been the sound of something heavy and solid falling over — or being knocked over. He raced to the end of the aisle and saw a door hanging open, just at the end of the checkout counter. Beyond the door, stairs led down into a darkness that neither the light from the windows nor his lantern could reach.

Tyra had been talking. “Sorry,” Kiyoshi said into the comm, trying to regulate his breathing. “Didn’t catch that. Could you repeat?”

“I said, ‘Great, so you’re coming home now, right?’ Over.”

Kiyoshi hovered at the top of the stairs, bouncing on his heels. “Right,” he whispered to himself. “Right…” The light from the windows would be no help down there, but he had to admit he was feeling a little braver with the curtains open. There was something about those curtains that was nagging at him, but he put the thought aside for now.

“Right away,” Kiyoshi said into the comm. “Just gotta check one more thing before I go. Over.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying this whole time!”

The first stair creaked under his weight, and he winced. What am I doing? He wasn’t exactly an expert on Neopia Central laws, but surely this was a whole new level of trespassing. The unlocked door was one thing, but the basement? What was even down there? Overstock? Living quarters?

The comm was still buzzing with Tyra’s voice. “It’s incredibly frustrating to do this when I can’t see your face. I can tell you’re not telling me everything, and I’m sure there’s a reason for that, but right now I’m just kind of annoyed. Over.”

Kiyoshi had reached the bottom of the stairs, and was momentarily stunned by what he saw. The basement, it seemed, was indeed used for overstock. But if the bookshelves upstairs had been a grove, then this was a forest. The massive storage units in front of him were so tall he couldn’t see the tops before they were lost in shadow. Miles away from the handsome, well-polished bookcases upstairs, these units were starkly utilitarian and crammed full of too many books to count. He could tell that there were at least a half-dozen rows like this — probably a lot more. And while he couldn’t see the ends of any of them, something about the way this space felt — the way even his softest footsteps produced an echo, the way the glow of his lantern seemed to be almost sucked into that black unknown — made him believe that it was very, very large.

Hadn’t Tyra once told him there used to be a lot of catacombs in use under the city?

“I promise it’s not that deep,” said Kiyoshi into the comm. He moved slowly along the ends of the aisles. He stopped in front of one, where a long wooden ladder was lying diagonally, half suspended against a low shelf. It was surrounded by a loose pile of books that appeared to have been knocked from the nearby shelves. “I’m not trying to trick you or anything. The power’s out, I have a lantern, and there might be somebody who needs help—“

This time Tyra didn’t even wait for him to say ‘over’, cutting him off with a shrill squeal of feedback from the comm. “Yeah, and if you’re not careful, it’s you who’s gonna be that somebody! Body! Body! Body! Body! Body! Body—“

Kiyoshi jammed the toggle back and forth with so much force that he fumbled the device and almost launched it straight out of his hands. But while the comm was spared, the same couldn’t be said for his lantern, whose handle slipped from his grasp just as he got hold of the comm. He flinched as the lantern met the concrete floor with a crash and a tinkle, and the sole source of light in the basement was instantly extinguished.

Kiyoshi dropped and felt around on his hands and knees for his lantern, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers found the jagged edge of one of its shattered glass panes first. He clicked the dial in vain, trying to switch it back on — until his hand brushed the open battery compartment, and he swore. He searched the floor desperately with stinging fingers. Where had those batteries gone….

Wait. Kiyoshi froze, listening. Was that… music?

It was coming from his pocket, where he had unthinkingly stuffed the comm. Dumbfounded, he pulled it out, and the mellow but grainy sounds of smooth jazz drifted into the narrow space between the bookshelves. Did he change the channel by accident when he lost hold of it earlier? What were the other channels even used for? He turned the dial up a channel, and an unfamiliar monotone voice was reciting, ”Two, five, two — two, five—“

Impatiently, Kiyoshi turned the dial all the way down and started clicking up from the start. He was pretty sure he remembered Tyra saying Channel Four….

“Kiyoshi to Tyra? Tyra, you there?” He held his breath, then breathed a sigh of relief when her voice crackled to life.

“Kiyoshi, what happened? You went silent, so I thought — I’m already halfway out the door, are you okay? Should I come meet you?”

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine, just dropped the comm, but it… it seems to be okay.”

”Kiyoshi, I’m not worried about the comm, I’m worried about you! What are you still doing down there?”

Why was he still down here? a reasonable part of his mind was asking. He had no light and this whole situation was feeling increasingly wrong. But the bigger, more stubborn part of his mind was winning as long as he still hadn’t found what he came here to find. He pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the bookshelf next to him. “I’m just—“ he started, then stopped with his finger still on the talk button.

There was no light in the basement. That was an inconvenient but indisputable fact. So when Kiyoshi stood there, staring straight ahead down the long, pitch-black aisle, transfixed by what he saw there, he realized two things very quickly.

For one thing, this must have been what he wanted. The truth of that thought settled in his stomach like poison, making him feel disgusted with himself. This was what he always wanted, what he had been hoping to find all along, in some morbid, masochistic way. He never really thought that shape in the window had been the shopkeeper or a sad lost ghost. He hadn’t known what it was, knew it could be dangerous, hoped it could be… because that was who he was, the kind of idiot who let his curiosity drag him into the worst kinds of trouble even when all traces of common sense, even the voice of his best friend, were begging him to stop….

And secondly, it occurred to him just what had been bothering him about the curtains upstairs. He had found them closed, even though the mystery intruder seen near the window had obviously had every opportunity to leave them open. But if whatever was in here had ever really wanted out, why would they have removed their only source of light?

There was something deeply unnatural about the elongated yellow eyes that smouldered in the darkness scarcely ten paces in front of him. It wasn’t just that they were glowing, it was that they were glowing darkly somehow — that despite their intensity, they didn’t appear to give off any light of their own that might illuminate their surroundings. It seemed distinctly unfair. Cruel, even.

Kiyoshi raised the comm. He still hadn’t released the talk button, and his finger was beginning to cramp. “Tyra,” he said, as casually as he could, “out of curiosity, what do you know about the Shadow Usul?”

The eyes didn’t move. Neither did Kiyoshi. It seemed like hours before Tyra’s next response came through. ”Okay, that’s it, I’m coming to get you—“

The eyes flickered a little, as if annoyed, and Kiyoshi scrambled to cut Tyra off. “No, don’t! Don’t, just—“ He took a deep breath to calm his voice, and the strange light in those almond-shaped eyes seemed to settle down. “Just. Be cool. Please. I’m leaving now, I promise.” Very slowly, he took a step backwards. “But uh. If you could look up the Shadow Usul in the meantime, that would be appreciated. Don’t make a big deal about it. Please, just trust me.”

A pause. “Okay.” There was a scuffling sound over the comm. “I think I have a copy of the Gallery of Evil around here somewhere….”

Kiyoshi moved backwards until he could feel the end of the row with his hand. Then, he bolted.

There was no way to tell which direction he was running. He could only hope it was back the way he’d come, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being swallowed up even further into the black. Since it didn’t matter whether he faced the front or not, he kept frantically searching the darkness around him as he ran, heart skipping when he saw those eyes again for half a second before they quickly disappeared within the dark rows — they were following him, keeping pace with him—

He tripped over something that felt a lot like a fallen ladder and went sprawling, books falling like rubble on top of and all around him. And then, miraculously, there was light.

Almost as blind with the sudden brightness as he had been without it, Kiyoshi fumbled for its source and grabbed a chunky board book that was shaped like a Quiggle — Quiggle Bedtime Stories, its cover proclaimed in fun block lettering — with two big white balls on the top for eyeballs. The eyeballs were lit up, and a cutesy nursery tune was playing from some kind of speaker inside the book. Kiyoshi seized the book, whipping it around just in time to hear a sound somewhere between a hiss and a scream as what looked like a living shadow melted back into the darkness beyond the Quiggle’s protective aura. Kiyoshi scrambled to his feet and was immediately running again. It wasn’t much, but thanks to the Quiggle he could see at least far enough in front of him to avoid running into any more furniture….

”Wow. Okay. You’re not going to like this,” Tyra was saying.

“Hit me with it,” Kiyoshi said, hoping she couldn’t hear him panting.

”Okay, well. It says not much is known about her, but she supposedly lurks in the shadows around Neopia Central at night, like you’ve probably heard. She’s been responsible for a number of disappearances and other disasters over the years. No one knows what she’s after, but there are some theories.”

The stairs. Kiyoshi just caught a glimpse of them before the light suddenly vanished, along with the music. “Night-night!” the book said happily. Cursing, Kiyoshi shook the book vigorously, then desperately splayed the pages open, cracking the spine. The lullaby started again, and the light flicked back on. He heard a sinister giggle from somewhere above him as he sprinted towards the staircase.

”She always starts by luring her victim into an isolated location.”

Kiyoshi clambered up the stairs, almost on all fours. Why hadn’t he ever bothered learning how to fly….

”She removes all light from the area. The process requires total darkness.”

The door at the top of the stairs was closed, but unlocked. Kiyoshi almost laughed with relief, launching himself through it.

���Night-night!”

“No, not night-night!” Kiyoshi snapped, beating on the book until it lit up again. This time, the hiss was almost directly in his ear as the shadow withdrew. It was pitch-black up here without the book’s light; had she blocked the windows again?

”She traps you there, because what comes next takes all night. Better to make sure all the windows and doors are closed, so no one can hear the screams.”

The door. The door to the outside world. It was so, so close….

”It says the Shadow Usul isn’t limited by physical form. She can slip through even the tiniest crack. She can even slip inside your skin.”

Kiyoshi yanked on the front door, but it didn’t budge. There was no sign of a lock on this side for him to mess with. His heart plummeted as he turned around.

“Night-ni—“

Kiyoshi rattled the book violently. This time, however, the eyeballs just flickered weakly for a moment, as if in protest. Then, to the Shoyru’s horror, the lights fizzled out, and the darkness closed in around him completely.

A perfect silence pounded against his eardrums as those yellow eyes wavered in front of him. They took their time as they floated closer, seeming to relish their victory.

Kiyoshi tossed the book into the dark. His lips were dry as he raised the comm. “…What happens then?”

”…Well, then the Shadow Usul gets what she wants more than anything. A body.”

The eyes hung in front of him, so close their faces should have touched, if she had a face to touch him with. The Shoyru pressed himself back up against the door. He could call for help. But it was too late now. By the time Tyra got here, who knows what state he’d be in….

“Sometimes she gets that far. But she’s always been disappointed, because she never gets to keep the body for very long. They don’t last. But still, she keeps trying, because who knows, maybe the next one….“

The door opened.

Expecting literally anything before that, Kiyoshi fell backwards. There was a yelp as he toppled into the person on the other side, sending them both tumbling onto the cobble-lined street.

“Ah — what, Kiyoshi?” A familiar split Aisha was gingerly picking herself off the ground, blinking at him like she couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you — are you okay? What happened to your hands?”

The sun had long since set, but the grey street was well-lit by several nearby street lamps, letting them see each other clearly. The Shoyru staggered to his feet, staring at the door to the bookstore, which had somehow closed behind them. “How did you do that? How did you open it?”

“I told you, security around here is garbage,” Tyra said with a roguish grin, waving a small, bent piece of wire in his direction. “Don’t tell the Chia Police.”

Kiyoshi’s head was reeling. “How… how in Neopia did you get here so fast….”

Tyra looked at him, then shrugged. “I mean, I came as fast as I could after you stopped responding. You end up on the wrong channel or something?”

“N…no, it was Channel Four, right?”

Kiyoshi felt very unsettled by her stare. The Aisha stepped forward, and Kiyoshi offered no resistance when she pulled the comm from his grip. She frowned, clicking the channel dial down a notch. Then she placed it back in his hand.

“We’ll work on your ability to follow simple instructions during the next test,” Tyra said. “But for now, let’s go home. It seems so much darker around here with all this grey.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Susan Kay's 'Phantom' Read: Part IV (Nadir)

I always knew I'd have mixed feelings about this chunk of the book.

I feel like the issues with the rampant Orientalism and just generally how very wrong Kay is about so much of this have been sufficiently commented on by others, so I'm not going to spend a lot of real estate on that. I'm mainly going to focus on what bugs me personally.

Which is... well, several things

Where do I start?

I guess with "Nadir" himself. I don't know who "Nadir" is, but he's #NotMyDaroga. 'Why's that?' You may ask? Well because, in my opinion, he's only tangentially related to his source material. There's a lot here that checks the boxes: Daroga of Mazanderan, reluctant with many of his duties, simultaneously in awe of and terrified of Erik’s genius all of that's in there. Buuuuut

First of all, Kay took the most practical, likeable character in Leroux's work and made him whiny and annoying. All he does for the first five pages is complain. Within those five pages he also refers to himself as "regrettably squeamish". Nothing happens in the course of this episode to show him growing out of that, so how we get the, pragmatic badass who haunts the Paris opera house keeping Erik in check I have no idea (I also have no idea how this is gonna go later in the book).

Not only that but this in particular stuck out to me:

Some of the illusions were positively supernatural, and long before the show was at an end, I was quietly convinced that I stood in the presence of a genie, created from fire more than two thousand years before Adam. I noted uneasily that he was left handed. Every Moslem knows that the devil is left handed--it is for this reason that we always take care to spit to the left. My fingers felt instinctively for the amulets that hung at my neck, an outstretched hand made in silver and the dried eye of a sheep, killed at Mecca on the great day of sacrifice. Both were powerful protective agencies, and I had never felt more in need of their protection. I took care not to meet his gaze, for I already feared his evil eye.

This stands in sharp contrast to the Persian of Leroux:

If I had been a superstitious man or easily susceptible to weakness, I could not have failed to think that I had to do with a siren of some sort whose task was to trouble the voyager bold enough to travel on the waters of the lakeside house; but, thank God, I come from a country where the fantastic is so cherished that we know it to its depths, and in times past I myself have studied it extensively. Anyone who knows the magicians trade can excite the human imagination with a few simple tricks.

Of course you can make the argument that the Persian speaking here has known Erik for years now and is wise to his tricks, whereas Kay's "Nadir" is seeing them for the first time. But I'm sorry. I don't buy it. Leroux's Daroga, though amazed and awestruck by Erik's skills at illusion, never indicates that he has even been so fooled by them as to actually mistake him for more than what he is: a genius, certainly, but no genie.

Which leads me to wonder if Erik's magic tricks in this book aren't a little too fantastic. Granted Kay never leads us to believe that they really are supernatural, but she uses Erik's degree of genius as a bit of a shield to get away with not revealing the secrets to some truly fantastic tricks, while Leroux nearly always explains Erik's mechanisms (whether they would work to the level of efficacy Leroux describes its up for debate, but he at least does have explanations for them all.

I think it's hilarious and contemptible that Kay has, at numerous times in this book, dropped incredibly clunky and gratuitous clusters of architectural technical terms, just lists of them for no apparent reason except, I can only assume, to show off how much research she did on the subject; and then makes it so patently obvious that her cultural research is dubious, negligible, or entirely non-existent.

She goes to great lengths to paint Nadir as a devout Muslim, which is not something Leroux ever did, now that I think about it. I don't doubt that the Persian is, at least culturally, be he seems quite ambivalent to his religion, as a rule. It quite literally (as far as I can recall) never comes up. But Nadir is. Several times she has him exclaim "Allah" much in the way a Westerner would use "God" as an expletive. Not "Wallah" not even "By Allah" just "Allah".

"Allah, how I hated cats!"

And it's not only the things he says but the things he doesn't say that annoy me (though I'm a layman, and very much open to correction). Common Islamic phrases that could easily be used in any of the situations Nadir finds himself in are completely left by the wayside. There isn't even a single "Inshallah" in his entire narrative.

Another problem I have is that Kay's Daroga is a widower with a sick son. A very complex emotional relationship develops among Erik, Nadir, and Nadir's son, Reza, to whom Erik feels an affinity, as the boy is slowly crippled by a debilitating congenital disease. I have a problem with this because its all very... I call it the Michael Burnham effect. That is to say this is a very important and big emotional thing in The Persian's relationship with Erik and I don't believe that this wouldn't have come up in any of the Persian's narrative if it was actually the case. This is a liberty which Kay, in my opinion, shouldn't have taken. It affects Erik's entire relationship with The Persian in ways that strain my credulity. And it's part of the reason that Erik's character here is fully beginning to stray deeper into a musical-based version than the Leroux-version (which I have a problem with, as this book is ostensibly following Leroux's outline). She even goes to far as to have Erik acknowledge Nadir, with complete (if reluctant) sincerity, as his friend. And this pretty much confirms my suspicions of where "Erik and Daroga are friends" comes from. Whatever Erik and The Persian's odd relationship in the book is, I can't call it friendship with how frequently The Persian calls him "the monster".

Note don't get me wrong Erik and Daroga do definitely have a bizarre bond that is, I think, a kind of friendship. Daroga feels sympathy for Erik, and also responsibility for him. He is, in many, ways, more like an older brother than a friend. I could say so much on this subject but that's for another post.

But what I find really baffling and annoying about Erik and Nadir's "friendship" in this book is the drugs.

I can't express how repugnant I find this. I think it's an insult to both Erik and the Persian, the fact that Nadir HIMSELF GETS ERIK HOOKED ON OPIUM. WHY. And then she has the fucking nerve to lampshade with all the "Oh yes Opium's a terrible horrible deadly habit" Only to have Nadir turn right around and give Erik his fix. What the actual fuck.

But setting aside that Susan Kay actually said "I'm not just going to make Nadir annoying, I'm also going to make him an enabler!" Is the fact that... I just don't buy Erik doing drugs.

I know Erik is an artist, and artists throughout the ages have been associated with decadent habits like drugs and alcohol to soothe their tortured souls or broaden their minds to ever more fantastic plains blah blah blah.

But Erik is not an every day kind of character. Erik is notable in how uniquely he glories in his tribulations. Erik's music in particular is a manifestation of his pure emotions both good and bad, and I think for him to alter his moods with substances, to him, would sully the purity of his art, which he always characterizes as a spiritual, almost holy thing.

And here's another thing. Part of the reason Erik is doing opium in this book is, yes the horrors of his past, but also the terrible things he's doing in the present... which I do think Erik of Leroux did grow sick of what was demanded of him in Persia (he explicitly says he wanted to put it all behind him), but I don't think he probably felt... that bad about it? I dunno maybe that's just me.

Moving on.

I'll pause here to say that while I think Kay is a bit guilty of "de-fanging" Erik in this book, I genuinely do appreciate her emphasis on his affinity for the weak and broken, and his knack with animals.

So now I come to one of the things that made me look most askance at this section. Again, the conceit of this book (or at least what I was given to understand the conceit was) is that its filling in the blanks that Leroux left vague. And I don't really know if that was Susan Kay's intention, but it's certainly how the Phandom took it. Which is why it bugs me when there are things in here that either don't quite jive with canon or straight up contradict it.

Now in terms of the canon of Leroux's actual book, we're not sure exactly which Shah employed Erik. Leonard Wolf point out that Leroux mentions Erik "[fighting] the Emir" and posits that he is referring to the Afghani-Persian war of 1837. This would put Erik’s age in PotO at about 60, assuming he was very young at the time (in his teens). That would make Erik's patron Mohammad Shah Qajar.

However M. Grant Kellermeyer (and most others writing about this period in Erik’s life, including Susan Kay) favour the idea that Erik’s patron was Mohammed's son, Nasser al din Shah Qajar.

When Erik and the Persian talk about the "Rosy Hours of Mazanderan" they both make mention of the "Little Sultana", who is described by Leroux's narrator in the epilogue as "the Shah-in-Shah's favourite", whose boredom was the Shah's impetus for sending the Persian to find Erik in the first place, and whose delight in bloodthirsty spectacles of torture and execution allowed Erik's talents in those areas to develop into a finely honed art.

Now I would take "the Little Sultana" to mean one of the Shah's wives, concubines, daughters, or even a sister.

But Kay, for some inexplicable reason, chooses to interpret this capricious (and bloodthirsty) female figure--the Shah's favourite--as his... mother.

Now Nasser al din Shah's mother was Malek Jahan Khanom, who, true to Kay's portrayal was Regent of Persia for one month (September 5th - October 5th) in 1848. Also like Kay's "Khanum", Malek was a formidable and politically savvy woman, and definitely not an individual you would want to cross.

I can't dispute the idea of the Khanom being an incredibly powerful figure, and the type you would need and want to keep appeased (she is described by Kay as keeping her son firmly under her thumb), but I have to look at the fact that Kay read "The Little Sultana, the Shah's Favourite" and really said, "Right. That'll be his mom" and squint a little bit.

On top of this, the Khanum is characterized as having a sexual obsession with Erik, very similar to the way Duchess Josiana is aroused by Gwynplaine's facial deformity in Victor Hugo's The Man Who Laughs, and is first irritated, then enraged by Erik's constant indifference. This fact is not lost on the Shah.

I just don't know ya'll. It's...I just... I don't know about this.

M. Grant Kellermeyer speculates that the "Little Sultana" Leroux refers to, to be the seventh wife of Nasser al din Shah, Jeyran, whom he first took as a mistress in around 1850 following a chance encounter during which he apparently fell in love with her on sight. One story of their meeting even asserts that she was one of his mother's servants.

If that is the case it would be one reason why Malek and Jeyran stood locked for years in stark political opposition to each other.

Jeyran was herself formidable and enjoyed many masculine pursuits including hunting and shooting, and not even the Khanom was able to dissuade Nasser from conferring her the title of Forough ol-Saltaneh, or from naming her son the crown prince (though this decision was stuck in political hell for years because of Jeyran's lack of influential blood-lines).

She was his favourite wife until her early death in 1860 at the age of 29.

It's my opinion that Leroux's "Little Sultana" is a composite of Jeyran and her successor as the Shah's favourite, Anis al-Dalweh, who was even more formidable and politically savvy than Jeyran. She was the only one of the Shah's wives known to share his meals and the only one he suffered to publicly criticize him, and she took over Malek's duties as the head of the harem upon her death in 1873.

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