#why would I be doing all that if my dad was a reliable figure in my life?

[m4sc4r4]

More on bad relationship habits in the tags

[lloydskywalkers]

three sword style

Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloyd’s sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title) 

Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light. 

There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones — one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds — but Lloyd doesn’t like to complain about where he’s ended up. 

Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big. 

Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. It’s the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title that’s a lot more important than Lloyd’s ever been. It’s also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so that’s fun. Ninjago’s prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja — that’s him. 

On a nicer note, it’s the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that there’s someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah. 

Getting back to the point, though—

Weapons. Lloyd’s been making do without one, and he’s been making pretty good do, thank you very much. He’s got his power, and he’s got himself. That’s all the weapon Lloyd needs. 

But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure it’s a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon. 

And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad. 

So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself. 

It’s a monumentous occasion — and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff — so if Lloyd was smart he’d treasure it and take his time. 

With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties. 

“Fine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,” Jay scoffs. “Swords. Boring.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous,” Kai shoots back.

“Jealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.”

“I like swords,” Lloyd says, at a loss. 

“Jay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,” Zane smiles. 

Jay sputters indignantly. “No one’s one-upping me, I’m the best there is!” 

“Uh-huh,” Cole shakes his head. “Well, if that’s what Lloyd wants, that’s the end of it.” His mouth quirks. “Means more training time for Kai, anyways.” 

“More training to be better than you,” Kai retorts. 

“Like the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,” Sensei Wu sighs. “A ninja confined to one weapon alone—”

“Is a dead ninja,” Jay nods.

Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. “That is not how I was going to finish.”

“The point stands though, right?”

“The point,” Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.”

Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry…?”

“Why are you sorry?” Kai beams, more proud than smug. “I finally get an official katana apprentice. We’re gonna be awesome.”

And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining. 

“Great,” Jay throws his arms up. “Now we’re stuck with two slice ‘em dice ‘em ninjas.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cole says. “It’s Kai, how dangerous can he be.”

“I resent that,” Kai says. “Just because you beat me once or twice—”

“Try thirteen times, and counting.”

“—it does not mean I’m not as dangerous as you,” Kai narrows his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it?”

“Bring it on, rock man.”

“Not in the kitchen, for FSM’s sake—“

Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.

It’s hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs he’s gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection — thinks safe. Thinks family. 

He’s wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. It’s an easy choice. 

Plus, swords are way cool.

______

Kai starts training him in Dareth’s dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloyd’s fault — but Kai’s the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time. 

…well, maybe Lloyd’s the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but that’s not quite his fault, either.  

Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.

“The point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,” Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). “What kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?”

“You said not to grip it too tight,” Lloyd complains. 

Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you had it in a death hold. I didn’t say, ‘let go and let it fly’.”

“I didn’t let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!”

“Aha, so you’re admitting I won. Again.”

“N-no!” Lloyd protests. “I’m just warming up. I’ll show you this time.” 

But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause. 

It’s difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. It’s quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloyd’s already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms. 

Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. He’s his own best weapon — he’s the one the prophecy needs to make things right.

Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways. 

Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful — Lloyd kinda gets why Kai’s so up in arms about it getting stolen.

That and the whole don’t-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.

Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life. 

The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd is…not quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes. 

“We’re kinda short on weapons,” Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means you’re stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. “This is a great sword!”

“Yeah, okay, liar — and don’t swing it around like that, you look like you’re waving a pool noodle.” 

Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloyd’s arms to hold steady.

“Like this, okay?” Kai says. “We’re gonna start by practicing single movements.” 

“Aw,” Lloyd visibly wilts. “More katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.”

“This is a cool move. If you’re good, you finish things in one hit,” Kai says. “One strike, and the fight’s over.”

“Like a headshot,” Lloyd nods.

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “This is not a video game. This is a real sword, and you’re going to learn to use it right.”

“And then we can do the cool moves?”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Do your katas or I’m firing you.”

Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. “You can’t fire me. I’m the Green Ninja.”

“Yeah? I’ll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.”

“No! You can’t, Nya and I have a deal!” 

Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.

He takes all his training seriously. It’s kind of his only job. 

Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed. 

When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until he’s wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things he’s been gifted.

______

The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves. 

That last part Lloyd enjoys, though he’ll never admit it. He’s not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks. 

But there’s something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isn’t something he’s very used to. 

Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like he’s starving. Part of it’s because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. He’s never had something like that before, either — a special thing that’s shared just with him. 

Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyone’s business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesn’t really even feel like his. Not yet, at least. 

But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them — that belongs to Lloyd. 

He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in — not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isn’t entirely sure he even means to be. 

“—not the best oil, but it works when you’re in a pinch. S’what my parents left behind, at the shop, so it’s good enough.”

Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet — Kai and Nya don’t talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable. 

“I don’t remember a lot about my parents,” Kai continues. “But I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.” 

Uncle Wu’s candlelight casts Kai’s eyes with a glow that makes it seem like he’s on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here. 

“Guess I latched onto that,” Kai smiles ruefully, and he’s back again. “Never could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.”

Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents — wanting to be great at the things they are.

That maybe, if you’re good enough, they’ll be proud enough to come back. 

He doesn’t think that’s a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, “I think your swords are great.”

Kai’s lips quirk. “Uh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.”

“I do,” Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. “See? I did it perfect this time.”

Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.

“Almost perfect.”

“Practice, young student,” Kai says, in a gravely voice that’s probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. “A thousand hours of practice for you.”

“Ugh,” Lloyd groans. “All I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then I’m still not enou—”

He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kai’s honestly is a little too contagious. 

Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloyd’s got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have. 

“You know,” he says, carefully. “We probably need to stock up on the good oil. I’m kinda running low.”

Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “If we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost before—”

“I’m in!” Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesn’t collapse and pass out because his blood’s eighty percent sugar — Zane’s words, not his. 

If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why can’t he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense. 

“Do not tell the others,” Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. “Especially Cole, if you don’t wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. We’re just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.”

“I know nothing,” Lloyd says obediently. “Hey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?”

Kai’s stare could heat iron. “I’ll kill you.” 

“It was a joke! A joke, heh.”

______

For all that Lloyd’s life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself. 

“C’mon, I can handle the cool attacks,” Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.

“They’re not cool — okay, they’re kinda cool — but that’s not what we’re learning now,” Kai sighs. “You’re learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. It’s focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.”  

Lloyd frowns. “Isn’t that counterintoo — counterintuitive?”

“Big words today,” Kai mutters. He shakes his head. “And it’s counterproductive, by the way, but — no,  because now that we’re training, half your attackers are us, and I’d like to leave practice with my arms intact.”

Lloyd grins. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Kai says pointedly.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already admitted defeat.”

“And, brat—” Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. “Defending yourself is incredibly important.”

As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if he’s having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing. 

“The thing about any weapon, but especially swords,” he says, correcting Lloyd’s grip on the katana. “Is that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forget—”

And Kai’s tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. “Is that they can kill.”

Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker. 

“The way we’re training you, the way we were trained, we don’t always — we try to avoid it.” Kai’s voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isn’t all that much older than he is. 

Well, now, especially. 

“But sometimes, it’s…you don’t really…well.” He lets out a breath. “This is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you aren’t careful. And sometimes, you don’t get the choice to be careful or not.”

Lloyd swallows. He hasn’t thought about it much — hasn’t wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he can’t get rid of. 

He’s no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkley’s was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, it’s suddenly realer than it ever was in school. 

As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, it’s pretty much unavoidable. 

He’s going to kill his father, or he’s going to die. 

Kai’s hands grab tight around his shoulders. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you don’t end up in that situation, okay?” He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. “Don’t ever feel like you have to change who you are, just ‘cause you’re a ninja now.”

How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know I’m not a murderer? How do you know I’m not awful? 

Kai’s eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing. 

“But,” and his tone grows serious again. “If it’s your life or theirs.” 

Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room. 

“Promise me. You have to promise — you will always, always choose your own.” 

Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.

“You promise me?”

Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods. 

“I promise,” he rasps. 

Kai looks relieved, but it’s not quite in a happy way. “As long as you come back alive, that’s what matters. I don’t care what else happens — you come back alive, and we’re good.” 

“Okay,” Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. It’s strange, someone caring so much about something like that.  

“Which is why,” Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. “You’re gonna nail that block this time. Or I’m making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.”

“Oh, no,” Lloyd stares at him in horror. “I’ve been practicing that stupid move for hours!”

“And you’ll be cleaning weapons for hours if you don’t get it.” 

“You suck,” Lloyd grumbles. “Worst teacher of all time.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. “You’re the one that picked swords, buddy.”

______

Kai’s a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloyd’s body clashing against his family in ways he’d never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai — again — chooses a life other than his own. 

Because Kai doesn’t have the experience Morro does, but he’s better with a sword, he’s better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloyd’s arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocrite—

Lloyd’s angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy. 

He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morro’s holding it wrong, anyways. 

______

Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloyd’s pointedly ignoring, it’s suddenly been ages since he’s had a proper sword lesson. 

Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff. 

“Don’t — call it that in front of Cole,” Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tell—

Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kai’s returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be — he’d like to forget it, but it’d be doing him a disservice. 

Besides, Lloyd’s had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chen’s stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kai’s made himself, and Lloyd’s determined to hold onto the faith he’s had since that day in the volcano. 

Kai won’t hurt him. 

He’ll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show. 

He retaliates with a feint to the right — too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.

“Watch that,” Kai scolds, forced two steps backs. 

“Why?” Lloyd grins over the edge of Kai’s blade as he catches his blow dead-on. “Scared I’m gonna beat you too soon?”

Kai snorts. “You aren’t beating me at all, shortstack—”

“Not short—”

“And,” Kai’s katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. “You’re advertising your weak point.”

Lloyd frowns. “S’not a weak point.”

Kai’s katana flashes — Lloyd moves right just before he realizes it’s a feint, cursing himself — then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle. 

There’s a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.

Kai’s expression isn’t gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means he’s feeling guilty. 

“It’s not usually that bad,” he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kai shakes his head. “You need to protect that. Make sure no one knows it’s a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.” 

Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kai’s right. He’ll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences. 

It still sucks, that it’ll never heal quite right. 

But it isn’t like he’s the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jay’s got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Cole’s the worst, maybe, with how he’s strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold. 

Kai’s got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloyd’s managed to pick out most — some of them he’s helped treat himself.

He doesn’t like to think about those times, though.

“So I’ve got an idea for a move,” Kai grins at him, once Lloyd’s ankle is stable. “It’s gonna take some timing, but since I don’t have a weak spot there — you’re gonna run and launch.”

Lloyd tilts his head. “Launch off your right ankle?”

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, you’re gonna jump on, so when I shoot up—”

“Ooh, I go flying,” Lloyd concludes. 

“Exactly.” 

“Let’s do it! I’m gonna look so cool—”

“Okay, but we’re gonna look stupid as it gets if we don’t get the — timing, timing!” 

It takes about five tries to get it right. That’s all they agree on admitting to — the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better. 

But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kai’s just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring — and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, he’s flying. 

“Slash, slash, don’t forget to slash!”

 Years of training are the only reason Lloyd’s able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing out—

“Yes!” Kai’s cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloyd’s already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than he’d planned for — but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit. 

“Now, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, we’ll look awesome,” Kai grins.

Lloyd glances at him. “Are you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?”

Red stains his cheeks. “No,” Kai sputters. “That was — you didn’t see that.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. “Y’know, I bet I can manage a flip in there,” he mutters. 

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” He lips quirk up. “It’d look pretty cool. Y’know what, let’s go for it. I wanna see the look on Jay’s face when you flip down on him during sparring.”

______

It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one. 

“Got a runner!” Jay calls, as one of the thugs they’ve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zane’s kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Cole’s standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they don’t agree. 

“I got ‘im!” Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man. 

He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably would’ve had his head for.

With the lessons Kai’s drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloyd’s found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style. 

So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloyd’s already got the perfect move in mind. 

Step, step, jump — tuck in tight, so there’s enough momentum to rotate at least twice — and bam, it’s like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in. 

Neat and effective, in Lloyd’s opinion.

Sadly, his opinion is not shared. 

Kai sputters. “What was that?”

“Cool as heck, that’s what it was,” Lloyd grins. 

Kai is supremely unimpressed. “What did I say about wasting movements?”

Lloyd shuffles. “Don’t…do it?”

“Then why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three — not one but three — times before striking?”

“Because,” Lloyd says. “It was cool. As heck.”

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu. 

“There’s a difference between adding your own flare,” he finally says. “And squandering your energy like a spinning top.”

“Squandering — spinning top—” Lloyd sputters. “Hey, I got the guy just fine, didn’t I? I didn’t squander anything.”

“And what’re you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?”

“Who’s gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummy—”

“There could be, hypothetically!”

“Hypothetically, please. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can only do two flips—”

“I can do sixteen if I want, I’m just smarter—”

Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloyd’s also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better. 

He just can’t help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain who’s stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next. 

The solution is obvious. Kai doesn’t agree. 

“FIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!”

Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there. 

______

As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.

This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd can’t go five steps without ruining something, it seems. 

In his defense, he doesn’t start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloyd’s gonna blame it all on him.

He stares blankly at the katana in his hands — or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloyd’s final hit snapped it clean in two. 

Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.”

He turns it over, frowning. “Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the next one, I guess…”

Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kai’s careful metalwork cradled in his arms. “I don’t know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went — it went—”

“It went in six different directions, apparently,” Kai mutters. 

Lloyd slumps. “It was only four this time,” he mutters. 

“I guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,” Kai says. “Cole and his super strength, I’ll never be free of it.”

“Didn’t he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,” Kai scowls. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Lloyd protests. “I tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and went…in six…different directions…”

Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching. 

“But you beat him?”

“Duh,” Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.

“And you didn’t get hit yourself?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “Not a scratch.” It’s not even a lie this time.

“Then I guess it was a noble sacrifice,” Kai sighs. “I can live with that.”

The katana’s sad remnants join the equally sad — and steadily growing — pile of scrap metal made by Lloyd’s awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel he’ll shape into a katana. 

“I’m gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,” he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, who’s hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kai’s fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks. 

“A master hothead,” Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. “If I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.”

“Hey, I’m great at making other weapons.”

“Yeah, like ‘block of metal’ and ‘triangle of metal’ and ‘weird rectangle of metal’, and—”

“You’re gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,” Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.

“Hypotenuse of metal,” Lloyd whispers.

“The heck, that’s not even a shape—” 

The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesn’t bother Lloyd too much — ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. He’s nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but it’s enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to use a sword,” Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. “There are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.”

“No!” Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, “I’ve already been training with swords for forever. I don’t wanna change my whole style for something else.”

Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. “If you say so,” he says. “But I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knife—”

______

Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesn’t truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloyd’s total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords. 

His first mistake is the usual one — Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and there’s a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two. 

Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thief’s vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range. 

He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana — mistake number three. 

His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what he’s sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.

A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid move. 

The thief comes in for round two, Lloyd’s own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but that’s also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd — Kai always goes easy on him in training. 

“I had him handled,” he still protests, after the thief’s been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).

Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way. 

He grabs Lloyd’s hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding. 

“What did I say,” Kai says angrily. 

Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back. 

Kai’s having none of it. “Your sword is supposed to take the hits,” he snaps. “Not you!” 

“It did take the hit,” Lloyd finally throws back. “I just broke it, and — I was fine!”

“You hand’s bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!”

“Then take your hood off and it won’t get blood on it!”

“My hood isn’t what I’m worried about!”

By the time Zane’s stitched Lloyd’s hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kai’s cooled down.

Somewhat. 

“It was an accident, okay?” Lloyd says, for the billionth time. “I didn’t realize he had a weapon. I wasn’t trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like something you’d do.”

“Coming from you, that’s somewhat hypocritical,” Zane murmurs. 

Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal. 

Of course, this means that Lloyd’s next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.

______

Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You don’t need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power won’t break, and Lloyd certainly won’t split into six pieces.

(He hopes.)

Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways. 

Lloyd could always just say no — he’s supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.

But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm. 

So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.

That doesn’t magically fix things, of course. 

“How,” Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces. 

“Um.” Lloyd twists his fingers together. “I definitely didn’t use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.”

Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth. 

“You have five seconds to run.”

______

All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh. 

“Of all the — stupid, embarrassing—”

“Shut up,” Lloyd says tightly. He’s already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where they’re pressed tightly over Kai’s leg. “Stop moving, I gotta see if it — if it hit an artery.”

“It better not have,” Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. “If it hit an artery I’m screwed.”

“Shut up.” 

Lloyd’s heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kai’s blood swims in his vision. 

“Hey, hey,” Kai’s hand falters, then clasps Lloyd’s own. “M’gonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.” 

“That’d be so lame,” Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. He’s torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks — hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kai’s belt, then he can double reinforce it— 

“I can always cauterize,” Kai says shakily, sounding like he’d rather do anything else in the world. “It’ll be — move!”

Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai. 

“Here.” The familiar hilt of Kai’s katana slaps against Lloyd’s open hand — the other is quick to follow suit. “Remember, double wielding — better for defense.”

Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. It’s going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes. 

Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach — he can deal with that. Kai does. 

And it’s exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin won’t even get close to Kai.

One spin, then another. The katanas’ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.

When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike — quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy. 

When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing — slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster. 

It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloyd’s got two swords. 

Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassin’s broader blade, forcing it back—

The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him. 

“Saw that…one coming,” Kai moans. 

Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, after Kai’s securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nya’s forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you. 

Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. “Y’know what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, so…skip the lecture and we’ll call it square?”

Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face. 

“You know, I feel like there’s something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of you—” 

“When I get out of here, you’re toast.”

______

“I think I know where I’m going wrong,” Kai says. 

He’s spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird — some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks — it’s terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if he’s lost that — the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya. 

It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like he’s unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now. 

Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. It’ll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices. 

“I was talking with my dad, who’s got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,” Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever he’s got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see. 

“No more katana,” Kai says. “You’re good with ‘em, but I think we need a change-up.”

“You mean good at breaking them,” Lloyd mutters.

“If the sword breaks on you, it’s my fault,” Kai says. “I’m not exactly the world’s best blacksmith. Y’know, you should really think about getting someone else to—”

“No.” Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds. 

And selfish. It’s not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time. 

As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. “Stop that. I like making swords.” The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. “I worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.”

He shakes his head. “Anyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.” 

Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kai’s handed to him. It’s thicker than the katana he’s used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off. 

“Historically, it’s better suited for quick slashing, but it’s fairly versatile,” Kai continues. 

Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit. 

“And heavier,” Kai grins. “Which means it’s gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.”

His hands fit easily around the handle — there’s plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one. 

“The guard’s a bit better with protection, and it’s got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand — yeah, like that — to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.”

Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally he’d do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier — he doesn’t want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. “It’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith — don’t answer that, by the way.”

Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana he’s used to, broader and chunkier — but it feels at home in his hands. 

“It’s incredible,” Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai colors, just a bit. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Well, as long as it holds up, that’s good enough for me,” Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. “Wanna give it a test drive?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “I bet I can do even more flips with it.”

“And stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my gift—”

______

Lloyd’s careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kai’s instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low. 

So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.

He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts — another thing he cares for that Harumi’s managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and it’s still not enough. 

(Hurts that he’s never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)

He learns, later — he’s got much more to lose to her than just a sword. 

It hurts all the same.

But the sword’s broken and Lloyd’s on a one-way collision course with his father, and it’s much too late to turn back now. 

Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, it’s got to be enough this one as well. 

Lloyd was enough the first time — if he isn’t enough now—

If he isn’t—

______

He isn’t.

He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as he’s battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.

A part of Lloyd finds it funny — he can’t even keep his power together. He wonders if he’ll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kai’s poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap. 

Kai doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when it’s finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloyd’s forced to sit through even three months out. 

“I don’t care how many swords you break,” he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake that’s forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. “I don’t care if you shatter a thousand. They’re supposed to protect you. You’re supposed to choose yourself. Don’t you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.” 

Lloyd must’ve broken a hundred promises by now. He can’t seem to do anything right, truly — not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadon’s son.

But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try. 

For Kai, he’ll try. 

______

Things are different, after his father, but it’s the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath. 

With everyone’s attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the others’ bad days. 

It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.

Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech. 

Please. Lloyd’s methods are way sneakier — and better — these days. 

“So,” he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kai’s choji oil. “I was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, ‘cause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan — and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, y’know? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumatic—”

Lloyd’s rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kai’s finally leaning against his shoulder. 

“Missed a spot,” he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.

Lloyd squints at the sword. “Where?”

Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. “Thanks.”

 Kai speaks up again, after a minute, “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“Had a good teacher.”

There’s a faint snort. “Debatable.”

“With who?” Lloyd says. “I’m your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.” 

“The others use swords. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,” Lloyd says. 

“S���cause Jay’s better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.”

“But he isn’t better with a sword.”

“Definitely not better than me.”

“I’m your best student,” Lloyd says. “Jay can’t be better than me. That’s illegal.”

“If the Green Ninja declares it,” Kai says, but there’s an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness he’d worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kai mutters. 

“‘Kay.” Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. “Sometime, though?”

“If you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.”

“You guys won’t even let me out to fight,” Lloyd grouses. “It’s not as if I’ll have a chance to.”

Kai makes a huffing noise. “Maybe if you’d sit still long enough to heal—”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you,” Lloyd scowls. “Look, I know I messed up with — with her, but—”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kai says sharply. “It’s about you being okay.”

Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest — he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. But Kai’s gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways. 

“No, don’t. You’re doin’ good,” Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. “Just…take it easy, okay? ’Til I get your sword done.” 

“Sorry for breaking the old one, too,” Lloyd says. “I really did try to keep it safe.” 

“I’ll make you a hundred swords,” Kai says. “A thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.”

Like Lloyd’s ever going to forget that, at this point.

______

It’s only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword he’s made this time.

It’s well worth the wait, though.

“It’s gold,” Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade. 

“Yeah, well,” Kai shrugs, a little bashful. “I thought you should match us, at some point.”

Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesn’t make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.

“Is this jade?” he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade. 

“Technically it’s jadeite, and no, you don’t wanna know where I got it,” Kai corrects. 

“I don’t care,” Lloyd says. “I love it. It’s the best sword ever. I — thank you, so much—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Kai says quickly. “You’re welcome, or whatever, just — you’ll use it, right?”

Lloyd gives him a long, flat look. 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“You are not allowed to joke about that—!”

______

The golden dao sword never breaks. 

It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword won’t shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.

And the sword holds, again and again. 

Against Aspheera’s burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcerer’s monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal — the dao blade holds.

Kai tells him it’s because Lloyd’s finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks it’s because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.

His powers grow, too — along with his options, which he’d really have preferred to just…avoid. 

Real fun that it wasn’t the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, that’s the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious. 

It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Would’ve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis. 

Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.

In the end, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something. 

His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesn’t have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible. 

Lloyd, who’s grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first. 

Swordsmanship is something he’s proud of. He’s worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. It’s something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.

Lloyd doesn’t have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself. 

Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.

Treasures the things he’s learned from them like family heirlooms he’s never had.

Treasures the fact that they’re there—

Treasures the—

______

The monastery is so quiet, Lloyd’s starting to understand how people lose their minds.

Not really. He hasn’t started talking to himself yet, so that’s a good sign, right? It doesn’t count, if you’re yelling for other people. Doesn’t count if you’re screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours. 

“It doesn’t count,” he whispers to the sword in his lap. 

Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the blade’s edges. It’s in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.

A lot like himself, maybe. 

He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking won’t sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back — which he will — he’ll be so disappointed that Lloyd’s gone and treated his sword like dirt. 

The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it. 

He’s glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight. 

Lloyd’s hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now. 

The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kai’s voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it once—

One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.

Swords are his weapon, after all. It’s important for him to remember that.  

And even if he doesn’t—

______

Lloyd’s grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should. 

But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kai’s there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.

And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd. 

[ysljoon]

Love Maze-Chapter 1

pairing: single dad!simon 'ghost' riley x live-nanny!reader wc: 1.8k warnings: slow burn-ish, unexpected pregnancy, abandonement, swearing, afab!reader a/n: trying to do a chaptered fic after so long my god pray for me yall but im really excited i hope yall enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked) >next chpt.

Simon stared down at his baby girl with unreadable emotions swimming around his pupils. He loves his daughter with every fiber of his being and would do anything for her. Although she came into this world unexpectedly at a time when Simon was unprepared to be a dad and the mother left as soon as he was born into this world he stepped up for her. All Simon wanted that night was a night to relieve some tension after a particularly hard mission with any broad that was willing to look past the mask and just make him feel good. He didn’t expect her to be at his doorstep two months later with mascara-tinted tears rolling down her cheeks with a pregnancy test in her hands. She was blubbering about a missed period, not being ready for a baby, and cursing her birth control for not being more reliable, but Simon’s ears were ringing and his chest felt tight just from the sight of the pregnancy test. He had to brace himself against the frame of the door to keep himself steady. He needed to stay composed for this poor girl.

He invited her in and they sat over a cup of tea to devise a game plan on how to go about this pregnancy. Simon had half a mind to just tell her to get rid of it and as those words almost rolled off his tongue he heard her utter the words of wanting to keep it as she was already attached, Simon scoffed at that notion, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t tell her what she can and cannot do with her body. Simon’s heart was racing when she started to get ahead of herself talking about the color of the nursery how they should go about the gender reveal and if it should be a big party or a private affair. Simon felt like that was enough for one day and politely ushered her out gave her his phone number and told her they would be in contact.

Simon did try to keep in contact, but two weeks after that meeting he got called on a mission that would send him abroad for over three months. He had a strict rule that he left his phone behind while he went on operations to not be tracked. He knew it was shitty to do after being aware of the knowledge that he has a child on the way, but he favored the thought that the girl would just leave him alone and he would be free of all responsibility for the child.

That was not the case when he came back, to say the least. When he turned his phone back on after his arrival back home he saw 50 missed calls and hundreds of texts from his fling. At first, they started with concern as to why he was not answering and the texts slowly descended into angry texts filled with swears about how awful he is for abandoning a pregnant woman and the child. The last text made his blood run cold.

Since you want to abandon me I can do the same to you.

He stared at it trying to figure out the full meaning behind the cryptic sentence and there were many ways it could be spun. He frantically called her and bounced his leg trying to steel his nerves as the call rang out. On the second to last ring, she finally picked up.

“Nice of you to finally get around to answering my calls.” Simon gritted his teeth.

“I need to know what that last text meant.” She scoffed hearing his words. “It meant exactly what it meant Simon,” The venom in her voice seeped through the speaker of the phone and it was palpable. “Once I have this baby it’s all yours I’m not dealing with an absent baby daddy. I’ve done all the hard work anyways while you were out fucking off to go do whatever it is. Oh right, I don’t even know what it is you do because it’s all classified.” Simon had to roll her eyes at the tantrum she was expressing over his absence. “Can you be fuckin’ rational? We’re not doing that shit.” He was losing his patience as the call went on, but the girl just laughed at his response. “You don’t get to decide when you pick and choose to be a father so I’m deciding for you. I’m done with all of it! You’ve left me here with no support and I’m not going to live like that for the rest of the kid’s life. Oh, and it’s a girl by the way.” And with that, the call ended without Simon being able to get a final word in. In a fit of anger, he threw his phone down on his hardwood floor causing the glass screen to crack, but it was still usable.

The day he was there at the hospital for her baby girl’s birth was a day that will forever be ingrained into his memory. The feeling of holding such a fragile and small human overwhelmed him to no end. When signing the birth certificate he decided to name her Ella. He felt like it matched her perfectly. When he got home and placed her sleeping form into her crib he sat on the couch and took in everything that had taken place. It was now just Simon and Ella and he wasn’t mad about that, but he also realized he couldn’t do this alone and that’s what terrified him. He wasn’t ready to let the task force know about his daughter.

Simon spent the whole night occupied with making a job listing for a live-in nanny. He felt like that was the best option for him to go about his life as normal without worrying about his child at all hours of the day. Once it was posted he rolled on his side and just stared at Ella sleeping peacefully in her crib. He rolled it closer to the bed and closed his eyes hoping to get an hour or two of rest.

You were up late at night straining your eyes against the bright screen of your laptop busy searching for a new job. You had been out of a job for almost three weeks now and your savings were depleting faster than you expected. You had loved being in childcare, but the last daycare center you had worked at was just not the right fit for you. The coworkers were toxic and you could tell management wasn’t in the best interest of the children, but to ensure that administration had their pockets lined with cash. It had burnt you out to be in an environment and you needed a change of scenery. You refreshed the job listing website you browsed hoping a new job listing would miraculously pop up. Your prayers were answered when you saw the new listing pop up of being a live-in nanny for a newborn. You fervently submitted your resume and went to bed wishing you would get a fast response because this job sounded like everything you needed such as a great wage and a place to live. After all, the rent at your current was unsustainable for the salary you were receiving for your past job, and living paycheck to paycheck was draining.

You woke up at noon and were delighted to see a notification from the poster of the job listing wanting to arrange an interview for the position. He gave you his availability and you realized he was available today for an interview. You hastily agreed to meet with him at 3 p.m. to discuss. You frantically searched your closet for your best professional attire and you printed out a copy of your resume just in case. As you got ready nerves started to build up in your stomach. You needed this position and you didn’t need any unfavorable first impressions to ruin this opportunity for you.

The GPS leads you to quite a large and cozy home. You triple-checked the address to make sure you were at the right home before knocking on the door. You rapped your hand thrice against the door and occupied observing your surroundings so as to not look too nervous. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and you were greeted by a burly man that towered over your frame and had half of his face covered by a mask. You didn’t expect it but still greeted him with a bright smile and a handshake. He stood to the side to allow you in and you followed him into his living room which had a large black leather couch, a fireplace, and a wall-mounted TV. The home was very minimally decorated, but you could still tell that this man was in a different tax bracket from you. He grunted as he sat down and you tried not to make too intense eye contact as you waited for him to begin the interview.

“To preface, my name is Simon and my daughter’s name is Ella. I work in the military and the line of work that I’m in specifically requires me to be gone for weeks to months at a time and that’s why I need a live-in nanny. I already looked over your resume and you seem to be very experienced in childcare which is a great sign. You would be given the wage that was listed in the job description as well as a weekly grocery allowance. You are allowed to pretty much do whatever you want around here to make yourself feel at home. The one thing I will not allow is strangers to be over. I prioritize my daughter’s safety over anything in this world and if you do anything to jeopardize that I will deal with that and that’s one thing you don’t want me to do.”

You took in all his words and this wasn’t even an interview it had already sounded like you had the job. “Do you understand? If you agree to this position we can get to signing your employment contract and you can start Monday so you have the weekend to pack up your belongings.”. “I understand fully sir.” “Drop the sir, we're not doing that here. You can call me Simon or Mr. Riley.” You nodded at that and he stood up from the couch and went over to the dining table where a thin stack of papers was. He brought them over a pen and slid them across the coffee table for you to look over. They essentially reiterated all the rules and expectations of the job and you signed and initialed wherever it was necessary. You handed him back the papers and he gave them a quick glance to ensure it was completed. He nodded and then stood up to help escort you out of his home. You gave him a quick handshake as your goodbye and went along your way. You could practically be skipping to your car with how excited you are to be starting this new chapter in your life and career.

[newtonsheffield]

Loving the tattoo/flower shop atory! Do Kate and Anthony ever talk about him getting rid of his bike when they have neddy? I know youve written that he gets into a minor wreck at one point. Does that make them discuss about what happens when they have kids?

I don’t think they really need to have a conversation about it. I think Anthony still has his bike but it’s not really practical with a baby. He’s already had one accident and that scared them both a little but also… you can’t attach a baby seat to the back of a motorcycle. And he needs to be able to be there for his partner and child as much as possible. If something happens and Kate needs him to pick up the baby he wants to be able to step up. Barely a week goes by after Kate discovers she’s pregnant before Anthony’s loitering at the door of her father’s garage nervously.

“Anthony,” Tharman called out as he appeared, wiping his hands on a rag. “Everything alright, Mate? Kate’s okay, you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yes.” Anthony stuck his hand out for the other man to shake. “We’re um… we’re great.”

Anthony swallowed, sure the older man could see the news they’d yet to share written all over his face.

“Bike’s okay?”

“Yeah, runs great but that’s actually ah.. why I’m here. I’m looking to get a car. Um… it’s.. hard trying to… borrow one whenever I need to drive the littles around and I was just wondering if you could give me a bit of advice on what’s reliable and that sort of thing.”

“ ‘Course I can.” Tharman smiled warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. “I was just about to break for lunch. Let’s figure out what you’re after.”

He avoided Kate’s father’s expressions when Anthony wondered aloud about space for car seats and cleared his throat, “Just… planning for the future I guess.”

It’s Friday night by the time he takes his plan to Kate, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Wanna come look at cars with me tomorrow?”

Kate’s brow furrowed. “Are you looking at cars?”

“Well, as cute as it would be to see it in a sidecar; I can’t take the baby on the bike, Babe.”

Kate chuckled, “Yeah, I guess not. But I have a car.”

“I just…” Anthony cleared his throat, “I just want to be a good partner. I want you to be able to rely on me and I think… the bike just doesn’t fit my life anymore. It’s not as practical.”

“I can rely on you.” Kate said firmly. “You know I’m not worried about you being a Dad, right? You know I’m excited to do this with you. Only you.”

Anthony held her tightly, “I’m excited to do this with you too. I do need a car though.”

Kate sighed, kissing him gently, “What are we looking for then?”

“Your Dad and I have agreed I’m interested in a Volvo.”

Kate let out a laugh, “Oh, Honey. Cool motorbike riding tattooist to Volvo owning dad to be in under a year. I’m sorry.”

Anthony clicked his tongue, “Get me a pair of Birkenstocks. Happy to be here.”

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (06)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, drama, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

← Previous Chapter (05) | Next Chapter (07) →

****

Six Years Ago, 2017

As much as Jungkook hated to admit it, you were right. This venture with Jimin was doomed.

"Jungkook, what should we do?" Jimin paced back and forth, a rare image of anxiety painted on his face. Jimin always gave Jungkook the perfect picture of a calm adult who knew exactly what he was doing. As such, Jungkook naturally looked up to him. Jungkook was also an adult, but his reliance on Jimin was of another level, allowing him to see that there was something to look forward to in life.

"We have to kill him, Jimin-hyung~." But darkness still loomed over the younger man, only that it was masked by his starry eyes, giving people the wrong impression that he couldn't and wouldn't harm even a fly.

Truth be told, Jimin sighed, but he cast an affectionate look at Jungkook as if Jungkook were his mischievous younger brother who did not propose murder but simply a joke of putting salt in someone's food instead of sugar.

"Jungkook-ah, I'm serious, okay? This can potentially harm our employees. I need you to think of something."

"Who said I was joking?" Jungkook deadpanned and crossed his arms lazily. "You said it yourself. This will harm our people. Why not get rid of the root cause first?"

"Jungkook," Jimin warned, his voice turning serious.

The brunet pursed his lips into a thin line, petulant. He wished to kill Francis Fitzgerald, one of Port Mafia's board members and their certified public accountant. Naturally, Francis dealt with the company's financial statements.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook and the others, Francis used the company's money for his own gain and concealed that the Port Mafia was incurring debt.

"This is all my fault." Jimin blamed himself. He was dating Francis and blindly trusted him, but Jungkook did not want to blame Jimin.

"That son of a bitch is cunning. He'd find another way to hide this from us even if we didn't give him freedom."

Admittedly, the only reason why Jungkook and Jimin found out about Francis' scheme was because Jisoo sent a formal request to inspect Port Mafia's book. Jisoo had been wanting to increase her investment, but she didn't want to jump into the fire immediately. She wanted some sort of proof that Port Mafia was doing well. She couldn’t buy this whole unicorn company thing. Something must be up.

"Maybe we should report this to the authorities. Does anyone else know?"

"Only the two of us, Jisoo and her independent auditor," Jungkook answered. It was all thanks to your sister's painstaking effort that the anomalies were discovered. "You don't have to worry about Jisoo-noona. She'll keep her mouth shut."

"We're really going to hide this?" Jimin was uncomfortable, but what other choice did they have?

"It appears that's the only thing we could do. Unless you change your mind about murder." Jungkook shrugged off. They would just discreetly force Francis to 'resign' and slowly correct his wrongdoings. Jisoo said she knew many reliable accountants and auditors who could handle issues like this silently. Jisoo also said she was willing to buy Francis' shares, though she had no interest in being a board member.

Jungkook was a cunning man, but he had to admit he couldn't exactly figure out why Jisoo was willing to help Port Mafia clean its mess up. Thankfully, Jimin gave Jungkook the go signal to work with Jisoo while he continued to manage their business operation. It gave Jungkook the time to scrutinize Jisoo. He had done the same thing with others before, dining and sweet-talking them until they willingly opened up to him.

"Why the long face, Jisoo-noona? Did you change your mind about helping us~? Or maybe you're just looking for a little extra persuasion~?" The corner of Jungkook's lip ticked up. They were at Jisoo’s house because Jungkook proposed to cook for Jisoo to thank her for helping Port Mafia. He slowly poured wine on Jisoo's glass while maintaining eye contact with her.

Light teasing and flirting usually worked, but Jungkook didn't see the blush on Jisoo's cheeks. She indolently picked up her wine glass and swirled it to release its aroma.

Jisoo did not drink her wine. She furrowed a brow at the younger boy, "Jungkook-ah, tell me. How much do you love my sister?"

Her question stunned Jungkook, causing his throat to get dry. For a moment, Jungkook didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but pursed his lips at the last minute.

It took a while before Jungkook settled with an answer.

"It's complicated." While it was indisputable that you were his best friend, Jungkook also knew that his bond with you transcended all superficial feelings, such as love. Yes. Love, among other things, was superficial compared to what you were to him.

People often wondered how you and Jungkook remained friends for many years, considering that all you did was fight, but none of those people saw you two’s desperate glances and how soft they actually were. No one understood that while it was easy to buy crab spring rolls, you would rather make them at home and add some pureed vegetables so Jungkook could eat healthier.

Or how no one understood Jungkook's intention of cutting you some slack after all the hurtful words you had said because he knew he'd be damned to take an angry woman’s words at face value.

Love was there—it was easy to say and feel that, but it was a different story, knowing that you might hurt each other. However, at the end of the day, you and Jungkook were each other's constants. You would return to each other's embrace no matter how fucked up the situation was.

People like Jisoo would not understand that, so Jungkook could only settle with a simple "it's complicated" response.

As expected, Jisoo shook her head. She didn't look enthusiastic to hear Jungkook's answer, as her question was merely rhetoric or a preamble.

Jisoo's intention was to tell Jungkook how much you meant to her.

Jungkook smiled. "I know, Jisoo-noona. Everybody loves your sister."

"No, Jungkook." Jisoo stopped swirling her glass. She caught Jungkook's eyes, voice serious. "You don't understand. I love that kid with my life."

You and Jisoo had absent parents, so Jisoo basically raised you.

Jungkook remained silent, sensing that there was more to Jisoo's admission of her feelings for you.

And he was right.

Jisoo stopped swirling the glass; she looked at the crimson liquid intensely, a bitter smile blooming on her face. "This wine seems quite tasty."

"You would know." Jungkook took a sip of his wine. "That's your fourth cup, right—"

Jungkook was abruptly cut off when Jisoo poured the wine on the floor. Its splattering reverberated through Jisoo's dining room.

Then she confessed:

"I'm dying, Jungkook."

The wine glass shattered, broken pieces falling on the floor.

"Jisoo-noona." Jungkook was by Jisoo's side in a flash. He enveloped her in an embrace to get her to stop shaking. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Jungkook sat Jisoo on her couch, bringing a towel to wipe at her hand. He didn't know when their playful banter turned into something this gloomy, but that should be his least concern.

"Are you with me, Jisoo-noona? Come on, breathe." Jungkook usually did this with you. You had quite some temper. Jisoo was the relaxed one, almost always gracious. Her smile was reserved for big occasions only.

It was an...experience to see her like this.

"You're okay, Jisoo-noona. Jisoo." Jungkook learned it was effective to utter someone's name when they were in distress. Fortunately, it worked on Jisoo. She released a deep breath before swallowing thickly.

"You good?"

Jisoo nodded. "Thank you, Jungkook-ah."

"Not a problem," he hummed. "Care to explain to me what you meant earlier?"

Perhaps Jungkook's tone was gentle, so it made it easier for Jisoo to open up. It was part of her plan, anyway. She knew Jimin and Jungkook must have been curious why she still invested in Port Mafia. The truth was, it was all for you.

Cancer.

Jisoo recently found out that she had cancer, and her days in this world were numbered. Jisoo didn't want to leave you alone, so she could only place her bet on Jungkook.

She knew that Jungkook would be in trouble if the authorities found out about Port Mafia's anomalies, and who would care for you if she died and Jungkook ended up locked up in prison?

"I've researched about your company. It would have been good if Francis did not mess up. I see the potential in Port Mafia; that's why I'm risking with you."

As long as Jungkook and Jimin stayed vigilant and not let scums like Francis come back, then Port Mafia would continue to prosper. By the time Jisoo was gone, all her investment would be passed down to you. That was her goal. She wanted you to enjoy a financially stable life with Jungkook.

"Are you going to tell her about your health situation?" That was all Jungkook could say.

Jisoo puffed a breath, kind of like a snicker. "Are you going to tell her  about your business situation?"

There was a pause in the air.

And then they both laughed. They both knew the answer to their question.

"Did you know why exposing Fitzgerald's crime to the authorities is not an option?"

Jisoo shook her head at that. She had meant to ask that; luckily, Jungkook made it easier.

Francis Fitzgerald was not the only one who had something to hide. Jungkook and Jimin weren't exactly clean.

Port Mafia was a business process outsourcing company. Everyone around Jungkook thought that he chose to venture into this kind of business for money, and while that was true, it was not his primary goal.

Park Jimin opened Jungkook's mind to what was happening to the world—how unfair it was and what they could do to make it slightly better.

Their solution was to make Port Mafia a catalyst for changing immigrants' lives. Not just immigrants but illegal immigrants. These people had built a life in Incheon and would never choose to go back to their own country that couldn't provide them with a proper lifestyle because of war and corruption.

Jungkook and Jimin hired these people to give them a chance at a better living. If they were to expose Fitzgerald's crime, there was no doubt that the government would also pry about how they conduct their operation. Everything would be exposed, and their employees would be at risk of deportation.

It was a band-aid solution, and Jungkook and Jimin were aware of that, but how cruel could one be to just sit and watch those people suffer?

"It's a different feeling, Jisoo-noona. I know their lives shouldn't be reduced to my feelings because Jimin-hyung often tells me it's not about us, but you're not there. No one else saw how happy those kids are..."

Jungkook never liked kids, but he would never forget when one of the kids ran to him, hugging his leg and telling him how happy he was. He didn't have to eat the bitter chocolate anymore—the bitter chocolate being dirt.

"This world is cruelly unfair." Jisoo felt defeated. One thing about sick people was how easy it was for them to be covered in a mist of bluishness. Jisoo did not see the point of living anymore. These days, all that prevailed was regret of how she lived her life and hope of how she could make someone else's life worth it.

"How much time do you have left?"

Jisoo shrugged noncommittally. "Depends. Longer with chemotherapy, shorter without chemotherapy."

"And what do you plan on choosing?" Jungkook just couldn't shut up with his damn questions.

"Are you kidding me?" Jisoo scoffed, feeling a bubble of anger rise in her. She furiously wiped at her mouth, the trace of lipstick gone. This was the only time Jungkook had seen her lose her cool. "I don't want to die with no hair. Fate is cruel enough to me. This."

She pointed at her lips and continued to wipe them with her bare hand, "Is of no use to me anymore. I can apply makeup and all those expensive skincare, and it will all be for nothing. Can't I die with my hair? Can't I die looking like me?"

She did not want to be remembered as someone sick. She wished to die simply as Jisoo, the girl with a reserved and pretty smile.

"Jisoo-noona," Jungkook called when he noticed Jisoo was shaking again.

She shook her head aggressively. "I'm so fucked up, Jungkook."

Jungkook held her hands, squeezing them. "You're not alone."

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"We're so fucked up."

"We're so fucked up." Jungkook agreed.

They were inches away from each other.

"My sister can't know about this."

Their noses touched.

Jungkook hummed, cupping Jisoo's face, "Your sister will not know about this."

The first touch of their lips was like fire, hot enough to burn all evidence of their messed up life. They seemed to agree on one thing:

Grief.

They grieved about their imperfect lives, which they so badly wanted to share with the person they loved the most (you ) but couldn't.

You couldn't know about this because your life was perfect. You had everything, a good educational degree, friends and family who loved you, and a life where you wouldn't be scared to wake up thinking it was your last day as a free man or a living man.

With every touch and thrust, Jisoo and Jungkook grieved a life you had, but they could never have.

In each other’s wretched body was where they found the solace the world took away from them.

And come morning, when they were both sober, all that was left were sadness and fear.

← Previous Chapter (05) | Next Chapter (07) →

***

A/N: This is a short chapter and I might regret posting this immediately, but it's here and I'm going crazy. Anon people in my inbox, thank you for reading this fic, but I noticed most of you are so stressed. Please hhuhuh not to be that person, but...the fictional characters are not in the room with us right now. It's okay. I love you all.

Not gonna lie, I am thinking it's a mistake to turn this into a JJK fic, because as a soukoku fic, the characters' actions just make sense, you know? But here...things are just different, I guess. But anyway, enough rambling. It's going to work out in the end. When is the end? I don't know. hahahaha

I recently posted a light JJK oneshot, read this if you want to calm down. This is pretty much fluff and crack 😆 click here

Good night. <333

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 11: Change of Plans

Masterpost

-

The side effects of the medication didn’t improve. Everything was slow. Constantly. Ambrosius couldn’t react to anything quickly - once while reading, he’d dropped his book, and it had taken several moments to register that it was no longer in his hands. There would be no way he’d be able to use a sword in this state - if he was allowed to stay a knight, he’d be stuck doing PR or a desk job for the rest of his life.

That realization added to the constant memory of Ballister’s death sapped the life from him. He only half-listened in the therapy sessions. He barely ate. He avoided interacting with anyone if he could help it. He just wanted to be left alone while he tried to come to grips with the fact that his lover had deceived him.

Had he, though? Ballister’s words the night of the assassination echoed in his mind; ‘I didn’t do it - someone switched my sword.’ Why would he say that if murder had been his plan all along? How could he think he could get away with claiming he’d been framed for an obvious assassination?

Ambrosius wavered back and forth. Eventually, he decided he’d have to wait until he got out of the psych ward to figure it out. Nimona hadn’t been real, but that didn’t mean everything he’d ever thought he’d experienced had been fake. He could do his own research - for real this time. There had to be conclusive evidence somewhere. As long as he stayed on the meds and verified the results with someone reliable, he should be able to trust what he found.

He told the therapist as much - the medication made it too easy to share his thoughts. The therapist didn’t seem to think that was a valid goal. She didn’t say it outright, but she did try to help him find other things worth living for. At one point she recommended him getting an emotional support animal - an actual one. His dad wasn’t around to keep him from getting a dog if he wanted one, after all. None of that interested him. He just wanted to know if Ballister had been a liar.

The therapist only reminded him it was this kind of thinking that had landed him in the psych ward in the first place. The obsession wasn’t healthy - he’d have to move past it if he wanted his freedom back. Ambrosius, realizing how to game the system, said fine; he’d drop it if it got him out of here. The therapist didn't look convinced.

A few days after that discussion, Ambrosius woke up groggy. That was his first hint that something was wrong - side effects of his meds always wore off overnight, only returning with the breakfast pills. Then he noticed he couldn’t move, followed by the realization that he was sitting upright.

Ambrosius cracked his eyes open. Bright lights stung his vision. He flinched, then tried to open them again. He was sitting somewhere - was this a hallway? Suddenly, he started to move. The chair - or whatever he was resting on - coasted down the corridor. He wanted to get up, but when he moved his eyes, he noticed he was once again strapped down. Even his head was unable to move against the headrest

“He’s awake.” An unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

“Hurry up then.” Said another voice, out of view.

Ambrosius wanted to say something, but whatever sedative they’d put him on this time made that impossible. He could only watch, half-awake, as he was pushed down the hallway into another brightly-lit room. Someone put a sheet over his clothes as a buzzing noise filled the air. Something fell in his lap. A clump of hair. Blond hair. His hair.

Ambrosius let out a whimper as he tried in vain to move again. He wanted to get away. He wanted them to stop cutting his hair off!

A hand rested on his shoulder as the electric razor skimmed over his scalp.

“Shh… Shh, it’s ok. It’ll grow back.” A calm voice assured him.

Ambrosius didn’t feel very assured.

A few minutes later, he was back in the hallway, still strapped to the wheelchair. His senses were still dulled, but he knew his hair was gone. Now they were wheeling him off somewhere else, past doors and people milling around desks. Ambrosius couldn’t think clearly enough to process where they might be taking him, but he had a bad feeling about it. He could tell this wasn’t the mental ward - that place had smelled stale and empty while this place smelled of antiseptic and cleaners. Then a familiar voice passed by. Ambrosius couldn’t place it or catch what they were saying, but something about the fact it was here made him even more anxious.

The sedative was just beginning to wear off when he was pushed into another room. There was a glint of something shiny on a table - a scalpel. No, several scalpels. This was a surgical suite.

Ambrosius felt the straps come off, and he seized his chance - he bolted from his seat and towards the door… or at least, he tried to. He’d barely gotten to his feet before he toppled to the ground, still too drugged to stand.

Several sets of hands grabbed him and lifted him off the floor.

“You’re a lively one.” Someone stated as they set him on a padded platform.

The platform was oddly shaped - segmented to keep him slightly propped up while laying down. He tried to resist, but one of the orderlies stuck an IV in his arm and a few seconds later, Ambrosius felt completely numb and paralyzed. The workers arranged his limp limbs out of the way and covered his body with a thin blanket before leaving the room.

Ambrosius didn’t know how long he was left there. He was still only partially awake, but he was aware of strange equipment around him, and in the direction he was facing, he could see a dark window at the other end of the room. Several people were sitting behind it, their silhouettes just visible. One in particular got his attention. Who was…?

Suddenly, Ambrosius connected one of the silhouettes with the familiar voice from before. It was The Director. He didn’t have time to wonder what she was doing there before a group of people entered his room. There wasn’t a way to see them from his angle, but he could hear them. They clustered around him, all talking jovially.

“The last of the Goldenloins!”

“Which music should I play?”

“Pick a winner.”

“Just don’t kill this one haha!”

“Guys this is serious.”

“He still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Soft music began to play from somewhere as the voices grew serious. Ambrosius couldn’t make it all out. Then they stopped. There was a muffled thudding noise coming from the other side of the room.

“What in Gloreth’s name—” Someone started, only to be cut off by the sound of glass shattering as the room’s window came crashing inwards.

Something huge climbed through the now-open window and gave a beastly roar. Human yells and shrieks of terror rang out as the creature came bounding towards them. Ambrosius wanted to scream too, but couldn't. The creature towered over him, then reached down and yanked the IV from his arm. A moment later, Ambrosius finally recognized what the creature was; a gorilla. A pink gorilla.

“Brain surgery’s canceled!” it announced in Nimona’s voice. Then she threw him over her shoulder and burst out of the room and down the hall.

Ambrosius struggled to process what was happening. Nimona was here, and other people were reacting to her. Was any of this real? Or was it another massive hallucination since he hadn’t had his morning pills? The feeling began to return to his limbs and he felt the pain from where Nimona had ripped out the IV. It sure felt real. And if it was helping him escape the hospital… well, he wouldn’t fight that.

A loud ringing sound echoed down the hallway as alarms began to go off. Nimona skidded to a stop at a cross between hallways.

“Ohhh… crud. Which way is out…”

She set Ambrosius down. He tried to stand, but his legs crumpled beneath him. He held onto Nimona’s arm instead. Just then, something whistled past his ear. He looked around. One of The Director’s guards was aiming a crossbow at them.

“Guard…” Ambrosius tried to point weakly as another dart narrowly missed Nimona.

“I guess that settles it!” Nimona scooped Ambrosius back up and barrelled down the other hallway, out of the line of fire.

There was a staircase at the end of the hall.

“Perfect!” Nimona shifted into a large monkey and tossed Ambrosius over the railing, swinging down after him. She grabbed him several times on her descent, swinging him into the air so he wouldn’t fall too fast.

A door several floors below burst open as the sound of armored feet filled the stairwell.

“Looks like we're getting off here!” Nimona swung Ambrosius onto a landing and pulled him through the door. “Hold on!”

She threw him onto her back and shifted into a horse, cantering down the hallway. It was all Ambrosius could do to hang on.

“Elevator…” Ambrosius pointed down the hallway.

“You’re joking, right?”

“… won’t expect it. Hiding spot.”

“Fair point.”

Nimona shifted into a teen, dropping Ambrosius into her arms as she kicked the elevator button. The doors opened with a ding, and she pushed him inside. Ambrosius slumped against the wall as the doors closed, still foggy and regaining control of his limbs. Nimona hit the ‘ground floor’ button, and they began their descent.

They rode in silence for a minute. Ambrosius gingerly touched the spot where the IV had been, which was rapidly turning into a large bruise. He closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away. That should work if it were a figment of his imagination, right? It didn’t work. His brain was still too foggy from the sedative.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The lights cut out. They were still five floors up.

“Aw come on!” Nimona whined.

She forced the doors open with bear claws. The cabin had stopped partway between floors. They had just started to climb down onto the lower floor when the sound of metal-clad footsteps filled the hallway. Upper floor it was, then.

They hurriedly pulled back into the elevator cabin. Nimona shifted into a cat and sprang up the walls, into the gap between the cabin ceiling and the floor above. Then in human form, she reached an unusually long, muscular arm back into the cabin.

“Grab on!”

Ambrosius did, but something else grabbed his ankle and yanked him to the floor.

“Boss!” Nimona’s voice rang out.

The knight who’d pulled Ambrosius down had gotten himself halfway into the cabin. Ambrosius kicked at him, but it was no use. Then he saw the knight’s sidearm was within reach, the knight’s hands too busy both holding onto him and climbing into the elevator at the same time. Ambrosius curled his legs in, bringing himself closer, and grabbed the small crossbow with clumsy hands. Years of weapons drills kicked in, making him just fast enough to flick the safety off before the knight realized what had happened. Ambrosius fired a shot into the knight’s armor, the force of the impact knocking him away.

“Nice!” Nimona exclaimed, now in the form of a giant octopus. She wrapped a several arms around Ambrosius’s torso and hoisted him up onto the upper floor. Ambrosius still had the crossbow in his hands.

The upper floor was quiet for the moment. Then the stairwell door at the end of the hall burst open and guards came pouring through.

Ambrosius felt a familiar leash wrap around his wrist and jerk him around the nearby corner… and into an empty waiting room that ended in a locked door. Nimona, in the form of his emotional support dog, looked around in panic. Wrong turn. A blast of an energy bolt whizzed past them.

“Cover!” Ambrosius called, falling back on his training as he clambered behind a large desk at the side of the room, Nimona on his heels.

Nimona made a sharp gasping noise as the crackle of electricity filled the air. Ambrosius turned back. Nimona had fallen to the floor, electricity sizzling in a net-like shape around her. She snarled angrily and shifted larger. The netting broke, and she crawled toward the desk in a half-formed, four-legged state. Then another sizzle of electricity engulfed her and she collapsed.

Ambrosius watched from behind the desk. He could see the knights round the corner. He fired off several shots with his crossbow - all hits, despite his wobbly hands. If there was one thing he was good at, it was crossbow. The knights in pursuit fell back around the corner.

Hallucination or not, Ambrosius didn’t like seeing Nimona down and vulnerable in the open. He tugged on the leash still attached to her harness, but she was dead weight.

“Smaller… Get smaller!” he gasped.

Shakily, Nimona shifted down to a slightly more manageable size. Ambrosius started to drag her back behind the desk, but a third round of electrified netting wrapped itself around her, courtesy of a knight who’d stepped around the corner. Ambrosius fired the crossbow at the knight - a perfect shot that sank into a weak spot in the knight’s armor. The knight fell back out of sight.

Ambrosius pulled Nimona to safety behind the desk. She lay on the floor next to him, twitching under the effects of the netting. She kept trying to shift larger to get it off, but the three rounds had taken a toll and she couldn’t get to a larger size. Ambrosius wanted to tear it off himself, but just touching the net gave him a realistically painful shock no matter how hard he tried to will it away.

“We’ve got them cornered, but he has a weapon!” the report of a knight drifted across the room.

Ambrosius looked around. They were trapped… Almost. There was a full-length window across the room from them, but it was solid glass without a latch. Even if he could get out the window without getting hit, it was a long way to the ground. Ambrosius closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be trapped here. He wanted to wake up. He tried to imagine himself back in his bed at the psych ward, but when he opened his eyes again, he was still behind the desk. …Was this reality?

“What’s wrong, Ambrosius?” The Director’s calm voice came from across the room. “Why are you running? Come out and we can talk.”

Next

[chaosclimber]

Health Care Professional

“Auntie Death?”

“Yes, Orphy?”

He suppressed a wince at the childish nickname. It had never suited him, even when he was young. But now he was thirteen, growing up quickly (quicker than Robyn, even!), and it suited him even less. It wasn’t, however, irritating enough that he was going to let it get in the way of what he wanted to talk about. It was an important question, really. One he was giving a lot of thought to, recently. “...Why did you get into medicine?”

She paused, staring at him as if trying to figure him out. He dropped his own gaze to the floor, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he felt the weight of her gaze. “I wanted to help people. I was always good at science. It made sense for me.” She took a breath, smile fading from her face a bit. “I don’t believe it would make sense for you, though, Orpheus.”

“Why not? I’m very good at science, and I want to help people.” There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could see where she might be going with her objections. And it made him angrier than he ever remembered feeling. Who was she to say what his limitations were? Who was she to say an entire field was out of his reach simply because he was different?

“I’m not saying you wouldn’t be capable of it, Orpheus.” She furrowed her brow, reaching out and taking his hand, squeezing it. He wanted to jerk it away, but that wasn’t nice. “But you would be miserable the entire time. Hospitals are not a sensory friendly workplace, and the whole time you do actually have to take your patient's emotional needs into account—above and beyond your own.” 

“...Well…there are other jobs in the medical field. Not everything is directly patient care–I can do research! Or work in the labs!” He knew she was looking out for him, but dammit he wanted to fight it. 

“The sensory issues would still be a factor, but yeah. That would be more do-able for you. Still–you’re young. Give it time, and keep looking. You might find something that fits you so much better. Besides, last I heard you were one for the arts.” 

“Really, Auntie? Everyone knows that getting into the arts is more about who you know than what you can do.”

“...And you’re already well placed for that. Your father didn’t get you just anyone for your vocal instructor. Or dance teacher. Or acting coach.” She pointed out, a bit more of her usual cheer showing through. “The real networking doesn’t start ‘til college, but you’re already ahead of most hopefuls, Orpheus.”

“...I guess I’m just frustrated with my instrument at the moment. I really wasn’t expecting to settle much lower than tenor, but it’s looking more and more like I might get Father’s voice.” He frowned as he pointed that out. It really was frustrating him–he straight up had to give up doing the school play this year because he couldn’t reliably sing in either extreme of his range. And he wasn’t about to be boring. That, above all, would be intolerable. 

“I get that.” She smiled lightly. “C’mon. You’re still a kid, let’s go do something stupid. Like get ice cream for dinner.”

“....Ah, yes, you are, indeed, the consummate health care professional.”

“...And you’re no fun. Just like your dad~” She grinned and ruffled his hair. 

@domaystic

crossposted on AO3

[wallbeatjournal]

If they'd have chosen to just be straight up about it, when in the canon timeline do you think is the most likely place narratively for hirarchie to have gone sexual?

i've said before i think season 2 is already a grooming narrative with a subtextual consummation, but if i'm actually script-doctoring what we've got across the whole series to have hirarchie fuck nasty as a shocking and trashy and high-aesthetic plot development, i'm going to argue that it's more satisfying if we don't have an explicit archie cheating plot at this stage in the story. it works better as an emotional affair. (saying this bc to the characters i think it would be first and foremost about the complication of cheating, not bc that's the biggest problem with hiram/archie.)

imo riverdale should have done it as a mid-seasons escalation in season four. give us a season or two to really sit with how unhinged and obsessed hiram is about archie and then decode it in the worst and most extreme bad taste like the second archie turns 18.

putting my season 4 hirarchie proposal below the cut since it got quite long:

the s4 dodger plot is...extremely uneven and feels a bit cobbled-together on the fly by a writing team grappling with the death of luke perry and the in-universe death of fred andrews, and whether it would be respectful to keep being super weird about hiram in the wake of all that. but there are still useful components in the dodger arc - archie is the oliver twist in the oliver twist riff happening*, a boy "orphaned" without reliably engaged, aware parents who was groomed into criminality and doesn't see a way out without a wealthy benefactor. lean into that!

it can happen as hiram starts working out at archie's gym, mysteriously ill in a dickensian sort of way. riverdale's favorite weird incestuous overtones come into play especially hard if we're considering season four hirarchie, when it can really only be largely about fred for archie and holding on to/deepening a relationship with the sometimes-father-figure he has left. archie has been trying so hard to be a good brick in this monument of fred's legacy but it feels impossible because the only tools that come naturally are violence and sexuality and appealing to benefactors, so why not get a little nihilistic-horny with it.

he's also frankly already being a pretty bad boyfriend to veronica this season, it's stale, they're bickering, they don't have emotional intimacy the way he used to have emotional intimacy with hiram during what he probably still unfortunately remembers as their best days......i just don't think he'd be guilt-ridden about fuck-nastying veronica's dad at this point the way he would have been in season 2 when fred's cheating was the big looming legacy beat to avert and goodboyism seemed like an achievable and real thing archie could prove to others.

this is also i think when indulging in fuck-nasty hirarchie would be least damaging/difficult an option for hiram - he's ill and wants to feel vital again, he's ill and he wants archie to remember and honor him when he's gone the way he remembers and lionizes fred (he knows this isn't possible and that makes him resentful and apt to grasp at another form of intimacy that wasn't available to fred). he's feeling aggression towards his daughter, who is leaving him (by going to college) as much as he might be leaving her (by dying of a mysterious illness). it's a big complicated sick emotional motivations stew and both archie and hiram are looking at getting left behind to cook in it while the rest of the core four move forward in life.

and it would be hot. archie and hiram in the gym "personal training" (gone sexual) with weird grief-hate-reconciliation-validation sex would be hot. archie and hiram doing vigilante violence and then making out in sketchy alleys would be hot. are you kidding me?

all of this would make archie even weirder about hiram's illness and tenser in discussions with veronica about what to do about hiram's illness, and i do think barcheating would still happen - it's escapism/avoidance from what's going on within varchie, it's escapism/avoidance from what's going on within hirarchie, and archie is primed to be impulsive. so we still get barcheating fallout but MORE.

does veronica find out archie hooked up with her dad when they all thought her dad was dying? maybe! maybe she feels more sorrow and guilt (irrationally, about being the conduit bringing hiram into archie's life in the first place) than personal betrayal. or maybe she does feel very betrayed and that's an additional factor in everything (especially archie choosing to run away to the military. sorry everyone i know i've disappointed you all deeply and am very fucked up. instead of talking it out i will simply Leave).

all of this fuck-nastyism of course would make hiram's reaction to the barcheating that much more intense and outsized. veronica was feeling her relationship with archie wane already but hiram was IN IT. he's getting well, he's fighting again, he's offered archie a job, archie is about to be his main special interest while veronica and hermione drift and archie would CHEAT on him?? he's only supposed to be cheating WITH him!!!!

and then we segue into season 5 post-timejump when the riveradults are all kind of weird with each other but moving through it, and hiram has been behaving like a jilted ex throwing a temper tantrum for 7 years. and he will certainly continue.

*i think everyone notices but the dickinson crew is mostly named in reference to the gang of thieves who adopts and trains oliver - the artful dodger, fagan, bill. intertextuality, yippee!

[sleepyheadd0]

tmnt 2012: splinter projecting himself and shredder onto leo and raph

a rant / analysis

1.4k words; unedited

under cut

WRITING THIS AT LIKE 5:30AM BECAUSE I PHYSICALLY CANNOT GET THIS OUT OF MY BRAIN WHY HAVEN'T I SEEN PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THIS

okay okay, im gonna try to talk about this as clearly and concisely as i can. 2012 splinter is projecting his relationship with shredder onto leo and raph. people have probably talked about this but i just wanna explain my point of view on this.

so. as the story goes, shredder (also known as oroku saki) was found by splinter's (also known as hamato yoshi) father after the foot clan was defeated. splinter's dad adopted shredder and raised him as his own, having splinter and shredder be brothers. we all know this (i assume).

we also know that splinter and shredder's relationship, while always competitive, doubled down on that (and even became bitter and spiteful, even on both sides at points), when tang shen is added into the mix. as the story goes, both splinter and shredder fall in love with tang shen, but she falls in love with splinter, and so shredder gets all pissy and violence occurs. since they couldn't come to an agreement, tang shen died and miwa (now known as karai) was literally kidnapped by shredder.

but what does this have to do with leo and raph? lemme tell you what

leo and raph, in the very beginning of the series (literally the pilot), are introduced to us to be butting heads, even after sparring is over. as the pilot continues, raph is bitter that leo was chosen as leader, even though raph was physically stronger than leo. even after it was proved that raph couldn't be leader (and leo got to stay leader), there was always some sort of tension between the two throughout the course of the series (or at least up to season four, i have yet to find a way to watch season five and watch their dynamic during then. but i figure, given the clips ive seen, that their tension seemed to mellow out in that final season.)

do you see any parallels there? because i do

so. two brothers, training to be ninjas in the hamato clan. growing up, they were always butting heads, but that's not to say there was any malicious intent in that. then, one day, something the both of them want is added. (tang shen for splinter and shredder, leadership for leo and raph.) this only causes more tension to grow between them, causing their previous unharmful headbutting to take a turn for something a bit more hurtful. next, this special something is chosen for the more responsible brother. (tang shen falling in love with splinter, and it being proven that leo is the only brother with the mental ability to lead the team.) this, of course, only deepens the hot headed brother's bitterness; which in turn makes this brother act out in aggression towards the responsible brother. (shredder attempting to murder splinter, and raph having less self control when training against leo. (if im not wrong, there's an episode where raph's anger gets the best of him, and he goes too far on training with leo. if anyone can confirm that, that would be great lmao).).

so why do i say splinter is projecting this relationship onto leo and raph? great question.

as seen throughout the series, it's not all that difficult to see how splinter has farm more of a relationship with leo than he does raph, donnie, and mikey. the blatant favoritism is, due to what i believe, is seeing his younger self in leo. he's hardworking, responsible, reliable, diligent, and would do anything for the hamato clan / family. this is how we saw splinter himself act when the turtles went back in time when they first met renet. and if it's true that splinter saw his younger self in leo, then he very easily could've been seeing shredder's younger self in raph.

raph, being impulsive, having a short fuse, being very physically powerful, butting heads with the responsible brother, those are all traits that shredder had when he was younger. even the way that leo and raph's relationship dynamic was, it was parallel to splinter and shredder's. and when splinter declared leo the leader, that parallel became even more apparent.

but, splinter had already seen first hand how that parallel ended the first time: death, loss, and overall tragedy. and so, i believe splinter decided to try and nip the problem in the bud.

with raph, we can see splinter time and time again trying to mellow raph's anger; to have him bottle it up instead of letting it be a part of him and learning to control it. the biggest example i can think of is the episode "turtle temper", one of, if not the first proper non pilot episode of the entire series. not only does splinter set raph up for failure with his training exercise, but he literally told raph a story of him and shredder, and how the shredder exploited splinter's anger. even though splinter was comparing shredder to someone else, the use of a story about splinter and shredder leads me to believe that splinter could be using those experiences, in more ways than the one shown in "turtle temper", to help splinter parent raph and leo. now, while not actively villainizing raph, splinter still does paint raph's anger issues in a darker light than what they are.

and on the flip side, how does this affect splinter's parenting of leo? well, splinter already saw what happened if that parallel went on, and it only led to death and suffering. and with tang shen literally sacrificing herself to save splinter, i feel as though splinter could believe he failed tang shen and miwa. so with splinter being splinter, he tried to teach leo to not fail in the ways splinter believes he did. the harshness and strictness, far more one on one time spent with leo on screen, hell, even telling leo he'll have to take splinter's job as both a mentor and father to his brothers when splinter passes? it's hard for me to not believe splinter is projecting onto leo. this is simply because splinter just doesn't want history repeating; he doesn't want another shredder created out of his son.

but, from what clips ive seen of season 5, it wasn't even necessary. leo and raph do get along while splinter isn't there to project, and that's even happened a bit in the space arc. (only major argument i remember between them in that arc is when they were on the corrupted planet.)

because leo and raph AREN'T splinter and shredder... they're LEO AND RAPH.

they're different people with different morals and motivations. but splinter didn't quite see that.

also, when the tang shen situation was happening, i feel like grandpa hamato was kinda pushed in between the conflict between splinter and shredder; unable to choose just one side to support, but getting pushed to the back either way. i think this parallels with donnie and mikey; they can't chose between leo and raph to support all the time, because they're their brothers. but they get pushed to the back and out of focus; and now also out of splinter's focus specially.

now i have seen those ending clips of season five, and i believe this can be seen as why splinter only hugged leo and karai.

-leo: he still saw himself in. but now, he could also see the success that he himself was unable to achieve.

-karai: his daughter, the one he thought he lost due to the conflict between him and shredder. she was one of the driving forces in the conflict, and came out still on splinter's side.

-raph: while splinter still loves raph dearly, just as i assume he still loves shredder dearly, the dark legacy of the shredder still taints his view of raph unintentionally.

-donnie and mikey: like his father, he loves them both dearly. but, like their grandfather, they ultimately got pushed to the side unintentionally. still loved greatly, just not the main priority.

now, do i think this is all canon? no, it's like 99% likely to not me. i was probably really reaching with this, and it could've just been completely unintentional by writers and just came about because of recycled conflicts. but it is now 6:34 am so i don't care.

thanks for reading lolzies.

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 9 Part 2 - Honey I'm Home

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

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

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

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

Word Count: 20.9k

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

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

xx

23 Days Earlier

“What are you doing out here?”

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

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

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

“He left you here alone?” Crina asked. 

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

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

“Making fun of him?” 

“Because he can’t go in the water.”

“Why not?” 

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… don’t, um… understand.” 

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

“What did he do?”

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

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

“What about next time you upset him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way,” Buggy said. “Show me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, real mature,” Buggy called.

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

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

“You started it!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Dad asked.

“Nothing.” 

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

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

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

But instead there was another long silence.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I owe you?”

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

“A kiss,” he finally declared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you said softly. 

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

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

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

“Why?” you asked. 

“That’s how you kiss.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where were you?” he asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you remembered. 

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

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

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

And then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really, really did.

14 Days Earlier

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

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

Maybe you had gotten off track somewhere.

Maybe you were hopelessly lost. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wants us to rape her?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groaned weakly.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.” 

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

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

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

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

“Really?” Buggy asked, annoyed.

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

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

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

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

You whimpered, your head rolling back.  

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

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

“Okay,” you said softly.

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

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

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

“I… um…”

“You… what?”

“I don't know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buggy threw an arm around your shoulders, smiling widely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not my job,” the man said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crina,” you mumbled. 

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

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

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

“No. Hey, open your eye.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain Buggy?” you asked weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, surprised. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How often do you bleed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “Thank you, daddy.” 

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you tried not to think about it. 

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

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

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

“Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve missed you,” you told him.

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

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

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

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

“I will,” Randall said, nodding.  

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

“How are you?” Randall finally asked. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you feel like you need to.” 

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

“No,” Randall said.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay with you.” 

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

“I remember that.” 

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

“Have you told the Major about this?”

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

13 Days Earlier

Your body hurt, covered in bruises and scrapes, and if you thought about the attack too hard you felt fuzzy and vague inside, but when Buggy let you lay your head on his warm chest, you didn’t feel as bad. 

He saved you. Every time you started to feel too bad, you thought about that.

“Why were you out there yourself anyway?” Buggy asked, absently tracing patterns on your back. 

“I was asking where you were so I could meet up with you, like you said,” you told him. “And they said you were at the Cove and then I asked for directions and… The guy said it was easy to find, that there was no way I could get lost.” 

“Who said that?” Buggy asked. 

“I don’t know his name, he heard where I was going and gave me directions and…” You frowned, realizing your mistake. 

“I swear, the jokes write themselves with you,” Buggy said. “I wanna say I can’t believe you fell for that, but it’s not surprising. The only thing that’s surprising here is how you managed to live as long as you have.” 

You sat up so you could look at him. “How did you find me?” 

“I got pissed that you were taking so long so I went out looking for my missing midget. Then I heard a scream and I knew. There’s only one girl in Lafitte who could make such a god awful sound.” 

You frowned at him. 

“Seriously, I’m shocked that their ears weren’t bleeding when I got there.” 

“You’re mean,” you said, dropping your head back onto his chest as it shook with laughter. 

“I saved you, didn’t I?” he asked testily.

You sighed. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, raising your head enough to kiss his chest before laying your cheek back down. That seemed to placate him, his fingers returning to tracing aimless patterns on your back. 

“I’m surprised pops was ballsy enough to send thugs like that,” Buggy said.  

“I don’t think it was him,” you said. “Those guys… I really think they were going to kill me. They mentioned somebody else, but Dad… Dad wouldn’t want somebody else to kill me.” 

“Clearly, they were trying to bait me out so he could collect my bounty.” 

“Maybe,” you allowed, “It’s just that, they really seemed surprised that you were there.”

“Why would anybody want to hurt you if not to get to me?” 

There seemed to be several answers to that, none of them that you much liked, but his tone of voice made you think that it was better not to argue with Buggy. 

“You’re right, Captain Buggy,” you told him, holding onto him a little tighter, affection and gratitude and relief swelling in your chest. 

“Of course I am. Trust me, babydoll,” Buggy said. “I know exactly how he thinks.”  

You remembered the dress you wore. It was heavy and black and unappealing. You wore it because being a shapeless lump was better than risking Dad’s disgust, or inviting any amount of attention. And yet he still looked at you with scorn curling his lip, commenting on how unfeminine it was. You told him that nothing else fit you anymore, which only made him unhappier. 

You remembered the door opening, and the woman who stood behind it. Melody was a tall woman. Not tall comparatively—everybody was tall compared to you—but tall. Rather than seeming bulky, her height accentuated the elegance of her lithe limbs and slender build. And she was beautiful. On her wedding day, she had been radiant. Now she merely glowed, but even that was entrancing. 

She invited you inside warmly, giving Dad a hug and kiss and accepting the pan of rolls you made for dinner to take to the kitchen. Randall came out to greet you both, inviting you into the sitting room for drinks. Dad had a bottle of whiskey for the occasion, and you poured them all a glass. You weren’t allowed to drink on account of your health. 

“You have a lovely home,” Dad told Melody. “Do you think your husband will lend you out for an afternoon so you can help fix up mine? It’s been sorely lacking a feminine touch.” 

Melody had the grace to laugh off the comment while giving you an apologetic look, shrugging off the praise. “I can't take all the credit, Randy’s mother has been a great help.”

“Yes, she has,” Randall agreed. “You know, I heard all these horror stories about the wives and mother-in-law’s not getting along, but the two of them are practically inseparable.” 

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Melody said. “Somehow, I found the perfect husband and another mother.”

“Do you think you could spare one?” you asked, wanting to make a joke to establish your existence. But the comment came out off-beat and awkward, too sharp to be funny. Everybody looked at you. 

Dad was the first to think of a response to break the awkward tension, forcing out a laugh. “You’ll have to forgive her manners, we don’t go out very often.”

The couple also forced laughs and Dad gave you a look. A very stern, very uncomfortable look. 

You didn’t say anything after that, only faintly listening as they spoke and joked and enjoyed the company. You were enthralled by the ring on Melody’s beautiful, manicured finger. It sparkled and flashed and winked with every gesture. Her lipstick left a pretty pink imprint on the rim of the glass. Everything about her was so softly and viscerally womanly. 

Eventually, she declared that dinner was ready and you were ushered into the dining room. 

“Oh my, this is wonderful,” Dad said as he sat down. “Are you sure you're not intending to host a king?”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Melody said. 

“Mellie is too humble to brag,��� Randall said, “so I'll do it for her. She went to a fancy finishing school in the city before we met. You won't find a finer hostess in all of the East Blue.

“Randall, how in the world did you manage to find this woman?” Dad asked. “You’ll have to invest in a good beating stick to keep the men away from her. Hell, I'm half tempted myself. Perhaps she could teach this daughter of mine some proper manners.”

“Come now, Major. You’ve done a remarkable job. She's a far cry from that scrawny little scamp who was always scurrying around northside.”

Did he mean that to be funny? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a barbed insult, and you weren’t sure which intention hurt worse. Dad laughed at it, but you felt something inside of you wither away. 

“I’ll get our supper,” Melody said.

“Would you like help?” you asked, desperate to escape the room.

“If you would be so kind.”

You followed her into the kitchen, which was as warm and inviting as the rest of the house. Perfect. Everything was perfect. 

“I just need to prepare the plates,” Melody said, bringing a tray of steaming food to the counter. “Randy said that the Major likes fish, so I made a seafood casserole. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“I won’t be eating,” you told her. “I’m… Because of my health, I can only eat some things.” Her smile froze in place, awkwardly stuck there as she tried to think of something to say to that. “It smells delicious,” you said, hoping to smooth things over.  

“Thank you, do you mind preparing the plates while I get the peas?” 

“Not at all,” you said, picking up the spatula. The casserole steamed enticingly as you began cutting into it, the scent of creamy seafood washing the kitchen. “What’s a finishing school?” you asked to distract yourself, setting evenly shaped squares on each plate.

“A school that teaches etiquette and manners and such,” Melody told you, setting the bowl of peas on the counter. She frowned. “It seems like a bit of a waste now that I live in a tiny little town like this.” There was a distinct hint of disdain in her voice, a sharp turn from the cheery tone of before. 

“Do you want to live somewhere else?” you asked, setting a roll on each plate and then finishing it with a hearty scoop of peas. 

“Hopefully. Randall might be convinced to move after his mom passes,” she said casually, oddly cold about a woman she called a second mother. “I don’t want to raise children here.” 

“Oh,” you said. As painful as it was to see him around, the idea of Randall completely leaving Barley hurt worse. 

“I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older,” Melody said, picking up two of the plates. 

“I’m sure I will,” you agreed passively, taking the third. You wondered if she knew you were the same age, or if she even suspected that you had once been so close with her Randy. 

“It smells divine,” Randall said as the two of you reentered the dining room. She set her plate and Randall’s and you set Dad’s. 

“I hope you like it,” Melody said as you took your chairs. “I tried a new recipe and I may have misread the numbers. I swear, I'm half blind sometimes.” She froze, looking at your covered left eye. “Ah, I didn't mean-”

“It's alright, my dear,” Dad said. “She doesn't mind.”

You smiled, nodding in polite agreement, and then you stared at the table while they ate, thinking about the purpose of going to a dinner where you couldn’t eat and nobody wanted you to talk. You understood why Dad limited your diet to keep you healthy, but not why he was so eager to involve Melody in the conversation. It wasn’t adult conversation, it was fluff. Nothing stories and overly jovial laughter. 

So what was it? Why wasn’t he offended by the way her dress hugged her curves, or the way she flirted with Randall, or her drinking liquor or eating. She even swore once, covering her mouth and apologizing demurely after the fact, and he didn’t look even slightly displeased. He called her charming and beautiful. 

Why?

When they were done eating, you were eager to get out of the room. Nobody wanted you there anyway. 

“I'll take the dishes,” you said, standing up.

“Let me help,” Melody told you.

“Nonsense,” Dad said. You could hear the slur of intoxication in his voice, making it louder, brassy. “She's glad to repay you for this fine meal. Besides, surely you wouldn't deprive an old man of such enchanting company. Genuine ladies are hard to find these days.” 

You took the plates to the kitchen and stood there, listening to them talk and laugh. Nobody minded that you weren’t there, you doubted they noticed. Choices were rarely ever made as a result of one event or feeling, you often felt as if you didn’t make choices at all, but the cold, hollow way loneliness gnawed at your heart as you stood alone in that kitchen was undoubtedly one of the many chained dominoes that led to finding yourself tied up in the dark in Captain Buggy’s cabin, swimming in a drugged stupor of sentimentality and self pity. 

The next domino of significance fell while you were at the docks. There were two reactions you usually got. Either people were hyper aware of your presence and avoided you at all costs, or you were utterly invisible. On the docks of Barley, you were invisible. Since dad was there so often, you became a familiar fixture, and over time you blended into the scenery. The Major’s poor little daughter. Or, less charitably, his one-eyed freak of a girl. 

You were not spying on the sailors, or eavesdropping. You were nearby, and you happened to hear their conversation. Sometimes you did that. You liked hearing about the world outside of Barley. 

“It was a weird Jolly Roger though,” one of the men was saying.  

“All pirates are weird,” the other countered, obviously bored with the conversation.

“No, this one was really… Here, let me show you.”

You peeked over your shoulder to see what he meant. He was sketching it out on a napkin. 

“Yeah, wow, a skull,” his companion said sarcastically.

“No, look, it had a big red nose. Like this.” 

“What is that, like a clown?” 

“Guess so, I didn’t get a real good look at it in the mist. But it was close. I’ve heard all sortsa weird stories about pirates in this area, and I’ve seen quite a few ships that shouldn’t be there, but you never hear about raids or nothing.” 

“Ah, that’s all bunk. They’ve been saying we got pirates hanging northside for years and I’ve never seen any of ‘em.” 

Feeling something very hot and anxious bubble up in your chest, you stood up to leave. And, just by happenstance, you glanced at the picture of the ‘weird Jolly Roger’ as you passed by.

And then you went out into the blinding daylight with some giddy feeling that you knew something they didn’t. It wasn’t just that the Jolly Roger was weird, but that the captain who flew that flag was a freak. That’s what Dad called Buggy. The Clown. A freak.

The risk of breaking into Dad’s safe was very, very high. He didn’t know that you knew how to do it, and you hoped that he never would. He kept lots of boring things in there, but it was also the only place you could look at pictures of Mom. Maybe they were too painful to be left out otherwise. He kept something else in there though, which was files of pirates. Retired or not, Dad hated pirates. 

You found the wanted poster with a relative amount of ease, stealing it and folding it into the waistband of your leggings, relocking the safe and setting the security so he wouldn’t know you got into it. 

That night, you looked at the wanted poster underneath your blanket and you made a list. A mental list, you didn’t really like to write anymore. Pros and cons. 

Pros:

The pirate Buggy’s wanted poster. Dad said he was a clown—Buggy the freak. That’s what dad called him. A freak. His didn’t look as scary as other pirate wanted posters you had seen, he looked younger too. Maybe a little scary. You had to fold the paper to avoid looking him in the eye. 

People didn’t mess with pirates. Marines did, but that was different. Regular people, the people who lived in Barley, would never treat a pirate like they treated you. Pirates got to talk in all conversations, even if they weren’t wanted. Who was going to stop them?

It was your best chance at getting out of Barley, at getting away from dad and Randall and the cold, awful house. If Randall was leaving soon anyway, what was the point of staying? And you had no delusions about being able to run away by yourself. You wouldn’t know how, you didn’t even know how to book passage on a ship out. And then where would you go? Where would you live? What would you do to get money? 

Cons:

The chances of the Buggy Pirates actually being nearby was incredibly low. You could go northside after dad left and check, but, really, what were the odds? Even entertaining the possibility was dangerous, fanciful thinking.

You were too weak to be a pirate, too frail. Too sickly. You refused to think you were crazy, you couldn’t believe that, but dad said you were, and maybe you wouldn’t know if you were crazy.  

Captain Buggy probably wouldn’t take on a crew member who had no skills to speak of, no talent or experience other than maintaining a household. Not unless you could think of some really good reasons.

Dad would be alone. Nobody would take care of him when he came home drunk, or make his food, or clean up the house. Nobody would fix his clothes or shave his beard or love him when he missed Mom. 

Oddly, out of all the problems you thought of that night, you didn’t think that one of them would be the simple truth that Dad would never, ever let you go. You didn’t think about the time and effort he put into your medical treatments, or the way he kept you cosseted up in the house. You didn’t think about how protective he was, how combative he got whenever you tried to be independent. Now, with a bit of space from the situation, you could recognize those things as odd. But, that night, you were only worried for him.

1 Day Earlier

There had been a fight. A mercenary sniffing around looking for a one-eyed hostage. Although you had your doubts about Dad sending the attackers from the other night, that man definitely was someone Dad sent. Ivo said it was your fault, that you were bringing all of this misfortune on them, that you were cursed from the beginning. 

Buggy said you shouldn’t worry about it. He laughed it off. 

But you couldn’t. 

So you snuck away during dinner. It was a plan you had come up with laying wide awake while Buggy slept soundly next to you. You worried. You really, really worried. There wasn’t much you could do for him, no way to repay the debt you owed him, but maybe you could help. Maybe you could do something useful, something only you could do. Lafitte was as shady as they came, but it still had law enforcement, and you knew they had a Den Den Mushi that could contact Marine lines. After you slipped them a little bribe, of course. 

The guy seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. People in Lafitte weren’t really the types that called Marines. He left his office for you, but the door hung open. You wouldn’t have expected privacy anyway. It didn’t matter.

Taking a deep breath, you dialed the number and waited. As soon as you heard it connect, your posture straightened out with a zip of electricity, your heart thundering hard in your chest. 

“Daddy?” you asked. “It’s me.” He didn’t say anything at first, and you wondered if the line was dead somehow, or maybe the number was different and it wasn’t him. “Hello?” you asked, confused and nervous that this had all been for nothing. 

“Is it really you?” he asked. His voice, even like this, was enough to make your heart ache. The feeling ran counter to your nerves, something painful and mushy and filled with longing. You missed him. 

“Yes, daddy. It’s me.” 

“Is he there? The pirate—that clown. Is he with you?”

“No, it’s just me. I wanted to talk to you. I…” You weren’t sure what to say. Tears burned in your eye, the conflict of love and fear choking you. It wasn’t the first time you regretted running away, but right then the feeling was more intense than any you had ever felt. It hurt. Physically, it hurt you. “I miss you, daddy.”   

“Does he know where you are? Are you safe?” he asked. “If you can, hide. I’ll have men there to rescue you as soon as possible and then I’ll get you home. I’ll murder that bastard for what he’s done. I need you to tell me everything.”

“No, that’s not why I called,” you told him, shaking your head. Nausea swam unsteadily in your stomach. Your hands shook violently enough that holding the mouthpiece took both of them. “I wanted to tell you that I’m safe, I’m fine. I-I love you, daddy. So you don’t—you don’t need to look for me anymore.” 

There was a long, long moment of heavy silence.

“Did he tell you to say this? What does he want?” 

“Captain Buggy doesn't know I’m calling you, but I need you to know that you don’t have to look for me anymore,” you said. “Please. I just want to… Please stop looking for me. I know you think I’m sick, but I’m-I’m not. I’m fine, I’m happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated. His tone of voice shot ice water all the way down into your gut, every single alarm bell in your head ringing at full volume. A cold sweat broke out on the back of your neck and you looked around, anticipating violence even though you knew he wasn’t actually there.

“He hired me,” you said. “I’m on his crew and-”

“A pirate crew.” 

“They’re my-my friends,” you explained, shaking your head. “And Captain Buggy is… He’s not like what you think.”

“He’s a pirate. An egotistical overgrown child with delusions of grandeur. He’s exactly what I think. Whatever he told you, whatever promises he’s made to you, they’re a lie,” Dad said, his voice hard. “He’s using you. He’s taking advantage of your weak mind. Once he’s done enjoying and exploiting the fruits of my labor, he’ll throw you away without a second thought. I imagine he’ll try to ransom you back to me, or perhaps sell you off to the highest bidder. All you mean to him is money and a warm body.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head fast. “No, that’s… No.”

“What else do you think would make you worthy of his attention? I have tried to mold you into a good, useful girl, but you’re sickly and you’re weak. You’re not smart or capable or beautiful. You’re practically a child. You need to be taken care of and given strict direction. The only reason a man would want a girl like you is because you’re easy and because you’re my daughter, don’t you understand? That’s why I’ve tried so hard to protect you. I never should have trusted you to be left on your own.” He sighed. “Help me arrest them and I will do what I can to protect you.”

“What?”

“Your Captain Buggy will be caught, and I’d wager it will happen soon. Give me information about him, and I will ask that you’re spared execution and released into my custody for treatment.” 

“I can’t do that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to come home?” 

You blinked out a single tear, staring hard at the desk. “A little,” you admitted weakly. “But I… I can’t. I made a promise. I’m sorry, daddy.” 

“My sweet girl, you’re not capable of surviving out there without me. You know that you’re sick, you know that you need me. This is the only chance you will have to beg for my forgiveness and help. Give me a reason to speak on your behalf. I’m ordering you to, as your father.” 

Your stomach turned painfully. “Daddy, I know that I’m… I don’t want you to be mad at me, really. I never wanted that. I love you. But I made a promise.” 

“When that man is caught and tried, you will be prosecuted right along with him. Has he told you of his crimes? He is a killer and a thief.” 

“I know.” 

“He killed Randall.” 

You froze, your heart stopping. For a moment, you could smell the blood and the old wreckage of the crumbling building. You could hear the way he screamed, the sickening sound of the blade getting caught in his neck.  

“I know,” you said again, barely audible. “Daddy, I’m begging you to stop trying to find me. Please. I love you, I will love you forever and ever, but I can’t live like that again.”

His facade broke with a noise that barely translated, a growl like sound. You flinched hard, whimpering. 

“After everything I did to keep you clean and pure, you turned out just like her,” Dad said, almost like he was ranting to himself. “Perhaps it was inevitable after all. You still belong to me. No matter what you have allowed that man to do to you, he cannot have you. I will find you, no matter what. You are mine.” 

With those words hanging like the final, solemn condemnation of an executioner, the line went dead. 

Slowly, so slowly, you hung up the mouthpiece. 

The man who let you use his Den Den Mushi seemed significantly less amused by you after having heard the interaction. You didn’t know what he might have taken from that conversation. You weren’t sure what you took from it. Disgust? Dread? Fear? Despair? You left the office with a brick of anxiety in your gut, the slow, sinking realization of what you had done setting in. It was all true. Dad was looking for you. He would find you. Calling him like that told him exactly where you were.

The sun was setting on Lafitte, you needed to hurry back to Captain Buggy. You had no idea what you were going to tell him. Overcome with sour nausea at the thought, you stumbled into an alleyway to violently dry heave, gagging on the sour bile that you squeezed out of your empty stomach. 

“There you are,” somebody said. You stiffened, turning fast with fresh terror making your heart race. It was not the kidnapping mercenary or Marine you feared, but a familiar round, red face. 

“Newt,” you said, relieved. 

“Hey there,” he greeted you awkwardly. “The Captain wants you back on the ship.” 

“Right,” you said, nodding and wiping your sweaty palms on your thighs, trying to hide the obvious evidence of your guilt. “Lead the way.” 

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m real sorry about this.” 

The last thing you were aware of was a sharp sense of betrayal, and then the cloying scent of some powdery mist Newt sprayed in front of your face.

The rest of it, sneaking northside with the vague idea that you were going to join the circus and be a pirate, converged with the last time you woke up dazed and confused and tied up. 

And just like last time, Captain Buggy was the one to pull you out of the stupor. He opened the door and flicked the light on, blinding you. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he called, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table that was pushed aside, swinging it around so he could sit on it the wrong way with his arms crossed over the back. “Sorry about the,” he gestured around. “I was hoping to get a cage up here, but it was a bit of a rush job. Maybe another time.”  

“Captain Buggy, what’s going on?” you asked, the words coming out mushy and heavy.  The light was too loud, too violent. Your head ached with each agonizing pound of your heart. You weren’t entirely sure this was real. Maybe it was another memory, maybe you were still lost. Maybe nothing ever was real because you felt awfully disconnected and confused. “Please untie me.”

“Only if you’re good,” Buggy said. “We need to have a little talk first. You’ve been a naughty girl.”

“You… you drugged me.”

He shrugged glibly. “Technically, that was Newt.” Oh, right. You remembered that part.

“Did he tie me up?” 

“Oh no, that was me. Couldn’t risk letting you make any more stupid decisions. Although,” he leaned forward to speak conspiratorially, “between you and me, it’s hotter than I thought it would be. If I weren’t so pissed right now things would be going very differently.” 

“What?” you asked. 

“Exactly, I’m glad you asked, babydoll. Because of your little stunt, we had to leave Lafitte early.”

Stunt. That one took you a moment, but the grief and despair was quick to rush back in right alongside the fear and uncertainty. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head in denial of it. “I’m sorry, I-” 

“Do you know why your dad only told a few trusted mercenaries and Marines that his daughter had been kidnapped?” Buggy asked, cutting you off. “Because, unlike you, he’s not a moron. Plastering your name and face on missing posters would be an advertisement to all of his old enemies that he misplaced most of his most valuable assets. If the Surgeon really wanted to save you, he had to do it quietly.”

“You’re… It’s because I called him, right? I just wanted to ask him to stop looking for me,” you tried to explain, although you could hear how cheap that excuse sounded.

“Did you now?” Buggy asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well, dipshit, what you actually did was let him know that you left because you wanted to. Now daddy dearest doesn’t care one bit if his little girl gets roughed up, she’s used goods and he’s got a bigger prize in sight.”

“What prize?” 

“Me,” Buggy emphatically answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you,” he pointed at you, “are nothin’ but bait.” 

You frowned, your mind lagging behind trying to keep up with what he was saying. The anesthetic still gunked up the insides of your head, made your body all heavy and uncoordinated. “I don’t… understand,” you told him. 

“The news is that the Surgeon’s beloved daughter had been kidnapped by the Buggy Pirates. I’ll give it to him, that was bold. He’s trying to get everybody else to do his job so he can come in during the third act and collect my bounty. I can see it now—” Buggy raised his hands as if to showcase a marquee. “Past his prime has-been Marine takes the stage for the final time to stop one of the most infamous pirates in all of the East Blue.” His hands dropped. “Unfortunately, it’s a tragedy. For him. Sure, we’ll have to premiere sooner than I would like, not great, but it’s gonna make waves, babydoll. All this is just free marketing.”  

“Is that…” 

“Is that what?” Buggy asked. 

“Is that why you're mad at me, captain?” you asked, hating the feeling of embarrassed, pained tears pricking the corner of your eye, making your chin wobble. 

“Oh no,” Buggy said. “I’m not mad at you for that, sweetheart. I mean, I’m a little mad, but I’m not exactly surprised that you would run off and call home. I’d even say it was convenient if you had waited a day or two. No, I’m worried about you—about your loyalty. I heard your conversation with pops and I’ve gotta say,” Buggy clicked his tongue in disapproval, “yikes.” 

“You were spying on me?” you asked. “How? Why?” 

“Because I’m not stupid. I knew I couldn’t trust that you’d be honest with me about your conversation with him, and now I see why. Seriously, I did not expect it to be that bad. Shit’s nauseating. I knew you were a little stunted—mentally and physically—but hearing it firsthand... Bleh. You know what you sounded like? Daddy’s little princess. There’s something weird going on there and since you were a virgin when I got you, I can only think that maybe you’re not nearly as dedicated to me as you keep saying you are. That’s what this is, right? You’re playing both sides, waiting to see who comes out on top?” 

“No, I’m loyal to you, Captain Buggy,” you said. 

He gave you a flat look. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I called him because… Because I thought it would make him stop. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, right. Because you didn’t believe me when I told you that I’d take care of you, right? That’s what you’re saying. But you trusted that daddy would do what you asked if you said it real sweet. Is that it?”

“I wanted to help,” you said, trying very hard not to cry. 

“You said you love him, was that supposed to be helpful too?” 

“No, that’s… He’s my dad, Captain Buggy.”

“You chose to come to me. You wanted to leave him.” 

“He’s still my dad.”  

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Buggy exclaimed, standing up and kicking the chair away. You yelped, curling in on yourself. “You know who takes care of you now?” He demanded loudly. “Captain Buggy.” 

“He’s the only family I have.”

“What,” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not enough?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“If you think about it, I’m a way better dad to you than he ever was.”

“No, he…  it’s different, Captain Buggy,” you said, struggling to get the words out because you couldn’t fight the tears anymore.

“I feed you, clothe you, look after you. I keep you safe and I let you come every single day. What did he do? Beat you? Make you feel like shit?”

“Captain-”

“Why don’t you love me more than him?”

“Please-”

“What more could you possibly expect me to do!? I swear, you’re just like the rest of them. Ungrateful, miserable little—”

“Captain Buggy, please stop yelling!” you cried desperately. “I’m so-so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, really, I’m-” Your words cut off with a broken sob. You couldn’t even wipe your eye or nose, having to hide your face against your knees to clean up some of the mess. “You know I only want you, you ha-aave to know I do. I would do ah-anything for you. I thought if I—if I could help you, then… I’m so so-” You couldn’t finish the apology, your words cracking over one another in your incoherent, blubbering haste to get them out.

He didn’t respond right away, leaving you to sob pathetically in the ensuing silence. Now that you were crying, it was like everything was flooding out. Every memory your brain saw fit to replay, every feeling of despair and sadness and misery and pain and loss and the acute ache of disappointing the only two people in your life who had ever really mattered, all of it gushed out all at once. 

“Aw, shit. Hey,” Buggy finally said, crouching down next to you. When you looked up at him, he pulled a face. He didn’t look angry though. “Eee—yikes, that’s… Okay, look. Let’s just take five, okay? Cool down a little bit. I didn’t mean that thing I said before about you being… You know. So, um, can you just… Not do this,” he gestured to your face, “anymore.” 

You sniffed, looking up in an attempt to stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice breaking. 

“Yeah, I got that part. Okay, here, let’s…” Buggy flicked out his knife and sawed through the ropes around your wrists. You sniffled, trying to mop up your face as soon as you could use your hands. “Jeez,” he said, “that is a lot of snot.” 

That just made you sob more, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“No, hey, I don’t even mind,” Buggy said quickly, clearly trying to placate you. “C’mere, you snotty lil brat.” He grabbed you, forcibly pulling you against his shoulder. Without any hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Buggy grunted, rocking back before stabilizing himself and awkwardly patting your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “There, there.” 

“I’m ss-oo, so sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice muffled by the way your face was squished against his chest. 

“I know,” Buggy said. “This really is a disgusting amount of—you’ve only got one eye that can actually cry, where is this all coming from?”  

He settled his arm around you like a hug. Even awkward and not at all comfortable, Buggy was holding you while you cried. When was the last time anyone did that? You couldn’t remember. Every other pair of arms you had sought refuge in had been cold or hard or unwelcoming, but Buggy wasn’t. He was warm and solid and scary and cranky and cruel and funny and handsome and he was all you had and-

“Captain Buggy, I love you,” you said. 

“Aw, babydoll,” Buggy cooed. “I know you do.” 

“No—oh.” You sniffled, wiping at your face as you pulled away to look at him. “I don’t mean kissing or holding hands love, it’s…” You grabbed at his hand, pulling it up and pressing it against your chest, above your heart. “I love you. Before I talked to him, I guess I still thought that Dad was… That some part of him would—would care about me, but…” You choked down another sob, hating how hard it was to get those words out. “The Surgeon is our enemy, that’s all.”

“Do you realize what that means?” Buggy asked. 

“I know,” you said, forcing yourself to harden against the soft part of your heart that shied away from that. “I know that. But I’m a pirate, and he’s a Marine.” You looked up to meet Buggy’s eyes. “And you are my captain, so… So whatever you think is best, Captain Buggy. I trust you.” 

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 8 - Deliver

(Where we’re up to… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull)

(Recrudescence by @sofasurf)

Where is Scott off to? Why is EOS in ‘self-care mode’? What is Estera doing with the teaspoons? What’s got into Babs? And who is the mysterious figure drinking cocktails by the sea? Some answers below…

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A thrill of excitement ran through him as the small jet took off, which was entirely unrelated to the process of piloting it. Tracy Two always frustrated him. A very decent aircraft - nothing Brains created was anything but excellent - but she was incredibly dull compared to One. Sluggish. Mind you most things were.

Her primary advantage this evening was *not* being Thunderbird One.

Entirely by accident, when he’d told Virgil he wasn’t going to fly for a bit, he’d actually referred to piloting One. So this way he was keeping to the letter of his promise, if not quite the spirit.

And One, for all her merits, was a bit melodramatic in launch. Not the most stealthy exit.

Anyway he should be back before they woke, assuming he could nudge the air-slug into something approaching a respectable speed.

He grinned and pushed the throttle to max

“Good Evening, Scott Tracy”

He nearly leapt out of the seat in surprise.

“EOS?! But I disabled comms. How did you get around it?”

“I’m not on the comm. I thought it prudent to download myself into Tracy Two’s computer system for the duration of your trip.”

Scott felt a flash of betrayal and then embarrassment at his foolishness for believing an AI could be a reliable confidant.

“So you can spy on me for John. Perfect.”

“That is inaccurate. John is unaware of our mission. He has access only to my databank archive from a little before dawn yesterday. The rest of me is here. With you.”

“Oh.”

“It occurred to me that you might value company during the journey to and from your intended destination.”

She wasn’t wrong. He was self-aware enough to know that, depending on the outcome of this, the return trip might be… emotional.

“That is very thoughtful of you EOS. Thank you.”

“I have an immense capacity for thought.”

“You certainly do.”

He was lost in his own for a while, trying to steel himself for all the possible outcomes of his plan.

“Are you still quite confident that your plan is a good one, Scott Tracy?”

Again with the apparent reading of his mind.

“Yes. As confident as I can be. I need to know the truth, EOS, can you understand that?”

“Naturally. I want to know the truth of everything.”

He hesitated, trying to work out how to explain it better.

“But I understand that, to you, the knowledge of some truths is more important than others. For example, those upon which you base vital decisions, your belief in the trustworthiness of other individuals, or those upon which you formulate your understanding of self.”

“That’s… a good summary. Yes. This is one of those.”

“I calculate your eta as 1.5 hours. In the meantime would you be content to answer more questions?”

“Fire away.”

“I have come across the concept known as ‘The Dad Joke’ in my research. John has not yet had time to elaborate and I hoped that you might be able to do so.”

“EOS, my friend, it would be my pleasure.”

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For most of Monday morning the clock on the staffroom wall appeared to be going in reverse.

She was beginning to admit to herself that the headteacher may have been been right in his insistence there was no way she should have been in work so soon after the drama of Friday. The ten children who had been involved had been told to take the week off and he’d already arranged a supply teacher for the remaining 20. Estera had dutifully showed up anyway because she wasn’t sure what else to do with her time. It was a Monday, it was term time so… she went to school because that’s what she did.

Sadly having no class to teach and nobody to talk to while she tried to focus on marking and lesson plans, meant she had as much time alone with her thoughts as if she’d stayed at home in bed.

She tidied the stationery cupboard and the little kitchenette. Gave the tea-stained mugs a proper scrub. Made sure all the teaspoons faced the same way in the drawer.

She stepped in to help with lunchtime playground duty, giving her grateful colleague a chance to catch up on their paperwork. A good distraction and pretty uneventful until she had to intervene in a fight between three children over who had broken a leg off an action figure. She may have been slightly sharper than usual - the small faces were shocked - but it was everything she could do not to be sick when she caught sight of the blue and grey uniform the tiny plastic man was wearing. Honestly?

Today?

The kids ran off into the field leaving the little leg behind. They’d probably want that later. Sighing, she bit her lip and picked it up, shoving it into her coat pocket without looking at it. It felt heavy.

She called it quits shortly after. Bez would be happy to see her a couple of hours early, maybe they could have an extra long walk. Or a run… that might be good to blow away some of the dusty cobwebs that seemed to be multiplying in her brain. What with those and all the ghosts she had a promising haunted house developing.

She shivered despite her big coat.

As she headed to reception to sign out, she found herself slowing as she tried to interpret the strange noise floating down the corridor towards her. The school receptionist and self appointed security guard, Barbara, was a formidable woman somewhere in her early 60s who had never, in Estera’s memory cracked so much as a smile. Yet this sounded for all the world like laughter… no. ‘Tittering’… was more the word.

What on earth had got humourless Barbara giggling like the year 6 girls at the school disco?

She crept towards the doorway and peered around. Sure enough, Barbara had a broad smile and a flush in her cheeks. There was only one other person in reception, presumably a parent, a tall gentleman in jeans and blue shirt, who was leaning casually on the counter with his back to Estera. And clearly saying something much to the older woman’s approval as a another peal of laughter echoed around the reception.

Was Barbara… flirting??

“I’ll make sure they are delivered as soon as possible for you Mr… oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

He chuckled but didn’t respond.

If Estera had been any way inclined to gossip she would have just hit the goldmine. As it was, she was sorely tempted to abandon a lifetime of discretion… because wow… she smothered a laugh of her own.

Uhoh, she’d been caught! Barbara locked eyes with her and they gleamed oddly.

“Why, you are in luck - we can deliver the first one right now!” She waved an envelope in Estera’s direction and beckoned her forward.

The parent turned and her heart sank.

Oh.

She wasn’t sure she had slept enough to deal with this. She wasn’t sure there was any point in the last year that she’d slept enough to deal with this.

Or the last ten.

She forced herself to meet his painfully familiar blue gaze and they both froze for a moment as a tidal wave of emotion passed between them. She knew with absolute certainty that he was reliving the moment they first met the same as she was. It was all she could do not to scream out loud.

Her legs threatened to give way as a full decade of guilt landed on her shoulders but she steeled her spine and lifted her chin in defiance. She couldn’t let this beat her.

Well aware that if she didn’t act normally it would be her that was the subject of staffroom gossip, she walked over with a carefully crafted expression of unconcerned mild surprise and managed to force out an even

“Hello Mr Tracy, it’s nice to see you again”.

To her very great astonishment it was he that looked incredibly awkward and confused as he stood there with his left hand rubbing the back of his neck. A slight cringe made him seem like a young boy who’d been caught somewhere he shouldn’t have.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just…” he glanced at Barbara who was paying rapt attention “… passing and thought I’d deliver these for the children.” He gestured towards a little stack of envelopes on the reception desk.

Barbara rapped his arm with the larger envelope she was holding.

“Oh, and you. There is also one for you.”

He took it and held it out, avoiding eye contact. She could have sworn it shook in his hand as she accepted it.

He cleared his throat and straightened up.

“I’d best not keep you. It was lovely to meet you, err…”

“Call me Babs”

Estera put the image of the the receptionist fluttering her eyelashes to the back of her mind to properly appreciate later. Right now she was torn between saying something appropriately meaningful before the man disappeared forever and her intense curiosity about what was in the envelope.

“Yes. Right. Thank you again.”

His gaze flicked back to Estera.

“See you around, maybe.”

And he was gone.

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She sipped her subtly pink cocktail and pulled her headscarf a little closer against the sea breeze. Her leather-jacket-clad target sat with his back to her at a small table outside the cafe on the other side of the little car park. He’d changed table twice and was clearly considering doing so again, if the fidgeting was anything to go by. He bent down and tucked a folded coaster under one leg of the table and sat up again before picking up the simple menu and studying it at length. For probably the 5th time. He’d had two cups of coffee so far and it looked likely a third was in the offing.

She placed a delicate hand into her clutch bag and nudged open her compact which perched on top.

“John, darling? It’s been nearly an hour. If he’s waiting for someone, I’m not sure they are coming.”

“How is he looking?”

“Agitated. Nervous? Not unwell. Are you absolutely sure the poor man isn’t just waiting on a date?”

“However he knows this woman it’s connected to… Bereznik… somehow. Given recent events we need to ensure he’s not at risk.”

“Of course. Well I’ll remain here for the moment and… hello.”

Scott had straightened up in his chair as a warmly wrapped figure stepped on to the patio and approached his table.

“I think we may have our girl.”

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Chapter 9…

[2030kamenriders]

Life update: accidentally landed myself in some kind of a Toshiki Inoue Drama situation, but I'm not sure where on the scale of Faiz to Donbrothers it lands. So instead, I'm gonna vague-post about it and then we can vote on it together like some kinda AITA post (but with Inoue shows instead. You'll see what I mean, hold on)

So!

(gestures next to me) this is Desk. Desk has been with sitting in my room for over 15 years, and is very reliable, helping me through various situations. Fun fact: it is a gift from an old family friend that passed away a few years ago. Other fun fact: it's the kind with the piece of wood that slides out for a keyboard, and the sliding parts are still perfectly intact (to be fair, I adjusted it near the start of the pandemic, so it's even better than new).

Anyway, when I had to rent a place this year for university reasons, my parents ended up getting me... a second desk. I insisted against this, but they insisted for it (our reasons will be obvious in a bit).

See, the place for rent is a small place. It doesn't fit a desk. I did the measurements before moving in and everything. (So already this is a source of stress rather than making my life easier.) So I've been keeping the desk in one of the emptier rooms for a while until some of the other tenants move in and out (lots of rearranging going on).

Mom and Dad kept insisting that maybe there was a chance that the desk would fit in once things settled down at the place (not in my room). Then Mom started saying stuff like "wouldn't it be nice to replace your desk at home? I mean, this one has drawers!" (Again, I don't want to. Desk 1 may be a bit worn-out here and there, but I like it and it does the job more than well enough.)

So I bring this up offhand at the place I'm staying. One of the other tenants brings up that they're looking for a desk. I figure that I may as well avoid the hassle of lifting Desk 2 into a vehicle and taking it back home, so I ask my parents and the landlady about it. Dad is chill with it. Mom isn't. Landlady says she'll move Desk 2 to the garage once all the tenants move in, and I can do what I want with it.

I go back home without the desk. Dad and I figure that Mom wouldn't mind. Sure enough, she hasn't brought it up (she's just happy I'm here for the weekend).

Now here's where things get complicated.

Before moving Desk 2 to the garage, it was in a room meant to rent out (the room I currently rent didn't have space for it, but a couple other rooms did. I was staying in one of those rooms before all the Rearranging).

(2030 why the heck did you move rooms?! Listen it's a complex situation and I'm trying to go with the flow. It's difficult and I have other things to worry about)

So. The turns out that, before moving the desk, the new tenant moving into that room (not the previous one, who was in the building before I got there) saw it and was like "oh neat."

And then the landlady was like "oh that's for someone else, but they're trying to figure out how to get rid of it."

And then this tenant was like "can I have it?"

So I get a text from the landlady being like "kid why didn't you take back the desk?"

And I was like "what?"

And then she explained this whole Dilemma I just explained right here. And then she brings up the following:

I can't physically give it to both of them

If I pick one then the other person will get upset, and the last thing the landlady or I want is a feud between tenants

If I really wanna get rid of it, I should probably state a price. On the one hand, maybe only one of them will be able to buy it, avoiding a feud. On the other hand, if I give it for free, the other person is gonna feel really upset.

However, according to her, it's just easier to take it back

Now you might be wondering "well 2030, why did you get this other desk in the first place?". And again I say: I didn't want it! I repeatedly said I didn't need it and couldn't bring it!

And finally, the cherry on top: the desk doesn't even come with a chair. We did get a chair, but I promised my brother to give him the chair long before any of the other tenants knew about the desk.

With that all being said:

[supyovalk]

Just Dance: The Backup Clone Theory(-ies)

So just about now I thought about the Just Dance Story Mode And then I thought about how Jack Rose's Maps (Yes, both maps) and The Travler's solo map are the only story mode maps with some kind of "Clone Backup dancer" And that make me question...

Why? And Why these two specifically?

Like treasure is all about the clones, and even in Locked out of Heaven it's a major deal in the first two houses.

So I came up with two main theories into why is that the case.

THEORY 1: CLONES = EGO

In a universe where dancing is the driving focus, it's easy to assume that the Coach's environment reflects their personality.

And what fit for a dancer with a bit of ego? Clones of Themselves.

Now, It does actually fits really well with the current story.

Case A: "Rock Your Body"

In "Rock Your Body", Traveler does bring an aura of ego to with his expressions and dance. Hell, the song is basically "Hey Babe, Stay with me since my game is the best." And Us One of the Most Powerful People in the dance verses.

Be noted that he doesn't use them in "Save Your Tears". Maybe to imply that he lose his ego the moment he found his one true love Shia Nova?

Case B: "Locked Out of Heaven"

During the First and Second Houses, we see clones of Jack through mirrors, and also in the upper section, he does project himself on the screen. Now calling it to say Jack is has much ego seems like a good move... however, it does seem like those aren't real clones, but rather reflections.

That could Imply that Jack maybe does have Ego as a Performer, as seems on the Reflected outside, and told as he does told that he "has trouble sharing the spotlight" but inside he's reserving that ego. After all from his Epic Avatar, he does want nothing more then a love from friends.

Also more notable is Nightswan popping in the second verses, taking over the mirrors, the physical reflceting. maybe that's an analogy for Nightswan's reshaping Jack's outside personality through her upbringing to fit more to hers? He is the closest in appearance to his Night form from all the five coaches.

Maybe also that's why Nightswan's Weakness strategy didn't work on him, his real weakness is not his ego, but instead could his reliability for adoration, from fans, from his mom, anyone at all, and therefore not having enough self worth.

Speaking of Which...

Case C: "Treasure" (A.K.A Ego Clone Central)

In Treasure, we see an illusion of Jack, a narcissist that has achieved his dreams of glory, full with thousands of clones. And is the first time we see his clones? Them breaking out of the mirrors from "Locked Out of Heaven". That could symbolize that Jack opened his gates of ego into his head and is now only caring of himself.

But interestingly, that didn't seemed to convince Jack at the end of the story, Despite Nightswan specifically trying to target that weakness in him. because that's not what he wants to be on the inside.

Now that's theory 1, deep and intersting. But here's another possible take not as deep but still is consequenceial.

THEORY 2: THE TRAVLER'S IS JACK ROSE'S DAD

Now this one is more straightforward: Since Wanderlust's inherited portal creation but NOT clones, maybe Jack Rose is the opposite.

And as established, The Traveler does get around a lot, both literally and figuratively, so he could have had an affair with Nightswan.

That would make Wanderlust & Jack Stepbrothers (Half brothers) which would explain why they are paired together, and why the JD Team is insistent on not romantically pair them.

That would also make Cygnus' relationship with Nightswan be a business partner who either has a crush on her or is not given enough respect by her.

What do you think about those theories?

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

sooo ik you’re not gonna get into itafushikugi’s dynamic in your fic but just out of curiosity, if megumi ever did tell them about what happened to him, how would they react? actually how would they react to yuuta & megumi’s dynamic? LMAOO wait how would they react to gojo being megumi’s parental figure? god. megumi life is just insane.

They are absolutely obsessed with whatever the fuck megumi's life is. he enchants them. he comes off as the most normal of them all and then months into the relationship they find out that gojo satoru is his fucking dad. they didn't know he had a sister until someone else told them. he's the world's most interesting man but he shares no personal information and refuses to acknowledge how inexplicably fascinating he is.

The thing is that I would like to think that he did tell them, but when i say it would take years for him to get to that point.

I like to think that sea glass gardens feeds into a lot of canon as normal, and in my mind, the events of sea glass gardens within its own universe is a lot of the reason why megumi's blatantly suicidal in his first year.

I don't want to get too much into it, because we're still unpacking everything that happened, and like. Spoilers. But I don't think I can emphasize enough how traumatizing these events were for him, and how he is 0% willing or able to start the healing process for what happened. I think that Megumi as a person is just someone who hates being at other people's mercy, and these events were one of the most invasive losses of control for what happened.

I've talked about this in some other post, but one of the most notable things about Megumi is that he seems to constantly be trying to die on his own terms with Mahoraga. He's accepted that he'll go down, but he'll go down his way, taking the person who killed him with him. I view that as sort of the ultimate way of reclaiming control for someone who had very little control over the direction of his own life, and the events of sea glass gardens potentially robbed him of even that. Gojo says that he thinks the Zenin had to have a way to keep megumi from summoning mahoraga, but that means that Megumi's spent his entire life with this one reliable source of autonomy and control over his self and still had it be taken away. Mahoraga was his security blanket, and he lost it.

By the time Megumi reaches canon, he's jumping to summon Mahoraga at every turn, and that kind of reads as someone who 1) doesn't have a very high valuation of his own life, and 2) wants to make certain that he's dying on his terms. He is nowhere near close to being okay from what happened, he's not open to help from anyone, and he's not about to let himself be vulnerable with anyone. The events of sea glass gardens represent this inescapable moment of weakness and humiliation to him, and he's not mentally okay enough to admit to anyone that it happened.

Kugisaki and Itadori sort of start pulling him back from that path. They give him a reason to live and make him start fighting to survive instead of fighting to die his way. They really do sort of set him off into finally healing, and that breeds the sort of trust between them that I think they would one day be the people megumi is most comfortable telling about what the zenin did to him. But it would be slow. It would take a very, very long time. But when it did happen, it would happen because they were the people he trusted most in the world, and there is not a single part of him that thinks they could ever hurt him. He would trust them to the point of his own destruction.

I'd like to think it happens a little like this:

the scars from the Great Serpents fangs were something that Kugisaki and Itadori had been hounding him about for ages by the time he tells them. They have 93 theories in counting, each more crazy than the last. it becomes a sort of joke between them, finding a new explanation for where they came from since Fushiguro wouldn't tell them, and the game marks the first time that Megumi could even think about them without the memories tormenting him for the rest of the day. somehow, he can never feel grief around itadori or kugisaki.

it just comes out. he thought it would be harder, he thought he would choke on it, but the truth slips out easily, and he isn't afraid of what kugisaki or itadori would do with it. He tells them the truth of the Zenin, of what they did to him, of where the scars came from and how goddamn terrified he is of those people.

And it hurts less. It almost shocks him, how it hurts less.

Yuuta and Megumi's dynamic post-sea glass gardens is the source of endless bewilderment to Kugisaki and seething jealousy for itadori. I've talked about it in some other posts, but I think Itadori is unbearably jealous of yuuta when he meets him. He's not even a jealous person. this is an anomaly. Yuuta is living his perfect life, which is a shock to yuuta, who did not think he was living anyone's perfect life.

Like, Yuuta exists in this weird exception to everything for Megumi. Megumi Is Yuuta's Boy. They're inexplicably close and there's simply no explanation as to why that anyone can tell them. Yuuta is so visibly fond and protective of him that there's no way to say that megumi's not his favorite. Kugisaki has no idea what's going on but it's fucking hilarious watching itadori lose his gourd over it.

they go insane when they realize that gojo is megumi's dad and no one fucking told them. Maki lets it slip in passing (because she thought they had to know already) and itadori has to sit on megumi while kugisaki tries to weasel answers out of him. what the fuck do you mean gojo's your dad. why did he think this was not relevant information. this guy won't tell them shit about his life.

After, Itadori and Kugisaki insist on referring to gojo exclusively as "megumi's dad," which gojo is a smug dick about, and which causes megumi endless suffering. he wishes they were not told.

[little-miss-deviant-s-diaries]

Hey. What do you like about older men? What do they make you feel?

Hello there, mysterious person!

In a previous post, I mentioned being asked a similar question by a friend, but I couldn't find a satisfying answer.

This might take a bit to explain fully. Most people assume that the reason why younger women like older men is because they are financially stable or maybe because we have daddy issues. That would be partially true but not exactly the reason why. If you asked women who have dated both younger and older men, you would get a response from them saying that they find older men more mature, mentally and emotionally, confident, knowledgeable, and wise, and these women are not wrong in thinking that.

Personally, though, what really gets me is charisma. I find it incredibly appealing. Honestly, if a guy has that special charm, he can just go buy a leash because I might end up following him on all fours like a dog if he asked me. woof woof

Older men, compared to younger guys, have already discovered themselves. Most of them are not here to play (well, not talking about that kind of play ;p, I love an older naughty gentlemen!!! swoon). They tend to be more assertive and know what they want, and isn't that just extremely magnetic?

Now, let's go back to your original question: what do I like about older men? I'll start by saying, I don't exactly know what daddy issues are. So I really wouldn't say that's what caused me to be more attracted to them. However, I do look for a protector in a partner, someone who shows authority but also care,wait a second.. those attributes are something you will find in a father figure... maybe I do have a father complex. That's a topic for another time ;). FYI, I am my dad's little princess, but i am not into calling someone Daddy. I am a Sir kind of girl.(∗´ര ᎑ ര`∗)

The whole time that I have been writing this, I have been thinking about 3 characters. 2 I will share, the 3rd will be mine to keep.

A grumpy man once called me an ADHD poster child. So expect I go in and out of topics. Chaos is my second name :P.

1.Nagato from Sesame salt and pudding. A very cute manga about Haruhi, a 22-year-old machine operator, who wakes up one day to find that she drunkenly married an older man the night before. They make a deal and end up living together. I don't remember much about it besides that he was a lovely grump and he took care of her. I remember him talking about his salt and pepper hair, and since then, whenever I see an attractive older guy with that hair, I am instantly in love. I can already imagine my friend sighing and thinking I am hopeless xD.

2.Jean Girardi by saagelius

Oh man, this is divine! I wish I could repost every piece of art about him. I just found out that there is an official fanfiction about him that I will definitely read today.

The first time I saw the art, I was captivated. It was exactly what I envisioned. I won't disclose any more; the images speak for themselves.

All I'm going to say here is that they confirmed my preference. It wasn't just a fantasy; it was what I truly liked and wanted...

Enough distraction!!! Man, these men make me a mess!!!

I adore the appearance of older men. They exude the warmth of a comforting embrace. A warm hug <3. They give off an aura of reliability, as if you could wholly surrender to them, entrusting them with complete control, knowing they understand what's best for you through their experience. they can guide and lead you. I find older men's natural protectiveness endearing, and their wrinkles and white hair are quite attractive to me.They embody qualities like patience, love, and a strong appreciation for women, thanks to their extensive life experiences. Regarding your second question, it seems I've already provided a broad answer. But let me elaborate. Older men make you feel heard and valued. They can also make you feel empowered with their guidance and mentorship. You can have genuine conversations with them. They usually handle things more carefully than younger men who are still learning.

Wow... well that was a long answer. I hope i didn't make you regret asking. well thank you for asking. This was really fun to write about.

[eriquin]

The Trolley Problem, Part 52

(master post)

“I can’t believe it’s still frozen,” Dustin said.

“Of course it’s still frozen,” Lucas snapped back at him. He lifted his side of the bucket up as they walked and Dustin had to follow suit. “This is, like, a ton of meat. It’s frozen solid. It’s not gonna just defrost on its own in an hour, Dustin.”

“I just thought it would warm up,” he said. “Ice cream melts so fast when you leave it on the counter.”

Lucas groaned as they trudged along. It hadn’t been terrible to sneak into Steve’s house while he was gone. They just waited until his mom went out grocery shopping and then went in through the back door and through to the garage. The meat had been right where Carol had left it, and they’d snuck back out again with it. Carrying it back to their meeting place in the woods was harder, though. Their hands were too full to bring their bikes as well, so they had hidden them in the bushes near the road and walked the rest of the way. It took forever.

When they finally reached Fort Byers, the other three kids looked like they had been waiting for ages. They had Will’s radio playing static and a bandana, and El had a nosebleed, so they must have been trying to find Eddie again. “She can’t find him,” Mike said. “She tried, but we don’t have a picture of him here, so it didn’t work.”

“Did you try a yearbook?” Dustin asked. “He’d be in that, right?”

Will shook his head. “Jonathan doesn’t have one.”

“And we can’t go all the way back to my house,” Mike said. “My mom is home.” 

“Okay, then, so much for that plan,” Dustin said. “So what are we going to do now? Go home?”

“No, we can still lure the demogorgon out,” said Will. He picked up the backpack that looked stuffed with things. “Once it opens a gate, we can push this bag of supplies through. Then, when we can find Eddie, we’ll send him a message about where to get it. That should hold him over until we can figure out how to do this more reliably.”

“It’ll be, like, proof that our idea works,” said Mike. 

“And after we do that, then we can get Steve and Tommy to help us set a better trap. We can get Eddie back and kill the demogorgon and everyone will be safe.” Will looked very proud of the idea. 

Dustin frowned. It felt like a risky plan, but both Mike and Will looked too eager for him to say so. “Okay, so that’s the plan. Well, we got the meat bucket. I hope it’ll be useful, because it was a complete pain in the ass to carry it all the way.”

“Well, I hope the demogorgon likes frozen meat,” Lucas said. “It’s, like, a meat popsicle.”

Mike grinned. “Meatsicle,” he said. “Gross.” 

El kept looking back and forth between them with a confused frown on her face. Dustin started to try to explain why it was gross and funny at the same time, but Will interrupted. He held up a rifle and a box of bullets, asking Dustin if they could use it against the demogorgon.

“I mean, we can shoot it? I guess,” Dustin said. He crossed his arms and stared at the gun. It felt weird for them to have it out here. Will’s mom had yelled at them when they’d first discovered the gun his dad had left in the shed and made them promise never to do anything with it. He added it to the list of rules they were breaking.

“Shooting it doesn’t work,” Lucas said. “Steve told us that. Guns don’t do anything against it.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Will said. “I wanted to know if Dustin could make, like, a booby trap or something. Maybe some kind of firecracker from the gunpowder, or just set it up to go off in order to distract it if we need to run away or something.”

Dustin groaned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t like this.” But he was already thinking about ways to jerry-rig it with a remote pulley system. They always had plenty of string. They could probably make some kind of tripwire and aim the gun out in the woods... He sighed heavily. “Yeah, okay. I’ve got some ideas.”

“Great,” Will said. “So we have bait—”

“Once it defrosts,” said Lucas.

“We can build some distraction traps to be able to confuse the monster. There’s whatever Dustin comes up with, plus El can use her powers to make noise. We’ll set up the bait, and then we all stick together and keep watch. We can put flashlights around it so we know what direction the monster comes from. When it shows up, we can figure out how it does it, and then maybe we can...” Will sighed and looked off into the distance. “That’s where I get kind of stuck. I think one of us is going to throw the supplies through the gate.”

“Maybe El can do it,” Dustin said. “I mean, with her mind. She doesn’t have to get close to it, you know?” 

“Maybe,” said Will. He looked unsure. “Maybe we’ll just see whoever’s close enough, or who can do it safely.”

“We should have jobs,” said Lucas. “So, like, two of us are lookouts, and two of us are on noise-trap duty, and one is ready with the bag of supplies.”

This led to a long debate about who would be best at what, and where to set up, and what they would do if they got separated. In the end, they figured out a plan. They set up traps with the meat in the middle of them, and Lucas climbed a tree to keep watch through his binoculars. Dustin was very particular about where the rifle went, and made sure that all of them knew how dangerous it was. It felt strange to be worried about a gun when they were baiting a monster, but it was already there and the monster was basically theoretical until it showed up.

Then, once everything was in place, they settled down to wait. Will climbed the tree after Lucas, while Dustin stayed on the ground with Mike and El. They did their best to keep watch, but Will said that the demogorgon probably wouldn’t show up until dusk. Dustin grabbed a candy bar from his bag and split it with El while Mike turned his nose up at the nougat. El liked it, though.

It got darker as they waited, and Will and Lucas decided to climb down while it was still light enough to see. They set out the second set of traps. Dustin had them place flashlights in a wide circle around the meat, reasoning that the demogorgon affected lights and seeing them blink would give them advanced warning. It wouldn’t have worked during the day, he explained, and the batteries would have worn out.

The meat was definitely not frozen any more, and it had started to smell, even from a distance. As the sun set, the five of them huddled together with their backs against each other, watching in all directions. 

“Do we think that maybe this was a bad idea?” Dustin asked. 

“No,” Will said. “We just have to be quiet and careful. The demogorgon hunts by smell. It’ll go after the meat. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, but—”

The flashlight furthest away from them blinked twice, and they all turned to stare at it. “Was that... Was it just the batteries?” Mike whispered.

They kept quiet and kept staring and listening, and soon heard a low, clicking noise. It was as if the five of them all stopped breathing at once. The flashlights all started to flicker. Dustin grabbed the hands of the two closest to him, Mike and Lucas. They all held on tight to each other.

“We’re so dead,” Lucas whispered. He sounded terrified.

“No,” said Will. His voice was steady. “But we can’t all keep staring at the same place. That’s not the plan.”

Dustin and Mike nodded and started to turn, slowly. But El grabbed onto them and shook her head. “It’s here,” she whispered, pointing.

Sure enough, when they followed her finger, they saw the bottom of the tree bulge out with a sickly, unnatural stretch. The flashlights flickered more, and the demogorgon burst out. It clicked and snarled and shambled towards the bucket of meat. 

The five of them remained frozen in place, watching it. The monster didn’t make any move towards them. It hadn’t seemed to notice them at all. In fact, something about it looked wrong in a way that wasn’t just about it being a monster. It was dragging its feet, like it was injured. Still, that didn’t mean that it was less dangerous. Dustin remembered his books about wild animals and injured ones were more likely to react and lash out. The thought made him grip his friends hands tighter. He could feel his knees shaking and they were the only thing keeping him upright.

Will moved first. He took the slowest of steps to the side, leaning down to grab the bag full of supplies. Mike sucked in a breath, sounding like a hiss, and they all froze again and watched the demogorgon. It didn’t react. Mike tried to grab at Will, but Will just waved him away. He pointed at the bag, and then at the tree. The hole was still there. 

The three boys shook their heads at him, but it was clear that he meant to go over to the little mini-gate and toss the bag through. He had a determined set to his jaw and he mouthed the words ‘cover me’ to them. 

Mike hissed again and broke away from the rest of the group as Will started to sneak away. El took a step towards him, and Dustin found himself clutching more tightly to Lucas. Mike looked wildly between Will and El, but the panic of Will going off on his own got to him and he stumbled after him. Dustin bit on his knuckle as they watched Mike trip and just barely catch himself. El looked as terrified as he felt. 

“The distractions,” Lucas whispered under his breath. He kept his S’s soft, so it sounded like ‘the dithractionth’ when he said it, and Dustin thought that it sounded like something he’d read in a book once. He pointed at the wire trigger that Dustin had hooked up for the gun. It was within reach. Dustin nodded and stood up, ready to trigger it if Will or Mike needed it. 

Lucas also pulled his slingshot out of his back pocket and silently strapped it to his wrist. He had a pocket full of stones and was ready to use them. Dustin wasn’t sure if he planned on shooting at the demogorgon or was just going to use it as another distraction. It didn’t matter, though. Will was nearly to the tree with a gate in it, and Mike was just a few steps behind him. The demogorgon was still focused on the meat bucket. It looked like they were going to get away with this.

The change happened so fast that Dustin wasn’t sure what set it off. A branch snapped, and the demogorgon swung around. Its face split open like a flower and it let out a terrifying snarl as it turned, looking for the source of the sound. It settled on Mike, who stumbled back and stepped on another branch. 

Dustin grabbed at the wire for the gun, setting it off. It echoed through the woods, doing its job when the demogorgon turned towards the sound. Lucas also took aim and shot a rock off into the trees. The demogorgon spun left and right at the sounds, and Mike started to scramble backwards. He was too close, and making too much noise. It turned back to focus on him. El shrieked with panic and used her powers to throw the bucket at it, splattering the bloody meat all over it and parts of the forest floor. 

The monster spun in place, snarling and slashing at nothing. Lucas took off behind the trees. Dustin thought he was running away, but he was just getting a clear shot to shoot another rock at the demogorgon, hitting it right in the center of its toothy face. He kept running until he reached Mike. They were both panting hard enough that it must have been able to hear them, but it couldn’t seem to decide which way to turn.

Dustin scrambled over to El and grabbed her hand. She had a nosebleed, but he hoped that the smell of all the meat would be stronger. They heard Mike shout out Will’s name. The flickering flashlights made it hard to see where they were, and where the demogorgon was, but it didn’t stop El from wrenching her hand free from Dustin’s grip and using her powers again. She reached out again and flung the monster back with her mind.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dustin whispered, trying to figure out what to do. He grabbed onto El’s arm again and started pulling her towards the other boys. “We’ve got to get out of here!” 

El glanced at him and nodded. They ran past the flashlights towards the tree-gate, trying to stay out of the middle of the clearing. Lucas was there, hauling Mike to his feet, and they nearly ran him over. 

They circled up. “Where’s Will?” Dustin asked, looking around. The lights were still flashing.

“In the tree!’ Mike yelled. He tugged at his hair. “He went in!”

“What?!” 

Mike wailed. “I couldn’t stop him!” 

“Guys! Demogorgon!” Lucas yelled back. He had another rock loaded in his slingshot. “Where is it?” 

The lights all blinked out at once, and the three of them huddled together around El, waiting for the demogorgon to show up again. Dustin whimpered, regretting every decision he’d made that day. 

It was so fast. Suddenly it was there, looming and snarling, clawed hands ready to gut them, and just as fast, it was thrown back through the trees. El gasped and swayed, leaning on Mike and Lucas, but still standing. 

“Holy shit,” Lucas shouted. “Holy shit!” 

“She’s a damn superhero,” Dustin said. He quickly came to his senses. “Come on, we’ve got to go. She can’t keep doing that.” 

Mike looped his arm around El’s back so he could hold her up, but also looked back at the tree where the gate had been. It was too dark to see if there was still a gate there. “But Will!” 

“We can’t stay here!” Dustin shouted. “It’s gonna smell the blood and come back.” He grabbed one of the flashlights off the ground and swung it around, highlighting the splattered mess of raw meat on the forest floor.

Lucas got his arm around El, too, mirroring Mike’s position. “Come on,” he said, getting them moving. El looked like she was going to faint, but with Mike and Lucas holding her up and Dustin in the lead, they started moving as fast as they could. 

He got two more flashlights off the ground as they went past and handed them to Mike and Lucas. “Advanced warning,” he said. “My house is closest, come on.” They quickly got to a part of the woods that was familiar, and he didn’t even need his compass. 

Along the way, Lucas whipped off his bandana to clean the blood off El’s face and tossed it behind them. She still looked weak, but they were moving fast now despite that. They made it to Dustin’s back door, panting and wheezing, and his mom pulled the door open and ushered them all in. 

“Dusty! All of you! What in the world? What is going on?” She sounded frantic, fanning herself as she pulled the door closed. They four of them skidded to a stop in the kitchen and collapsed on the floor, all still holding onto each other for dear life. 

While Mom started going on about how much trouble they were in, how all their parents were looking for them, and how the police chief had made an announcement about staying out of the woods, Dustin looked at his friends’ faces. They all looked the way he felt, about thirty seconds from either crying or throwing up. Mike broke first, burying his face in his hands. “We left him,” he sobbed. “How could we leave him?” 

El pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth. Lucas just sat and stared at the ground. Dustin wiped his face and turned to his mom. She was staring at the four of them and tapping her fingers together. 

She was looking at El. “You’re not Will,” she said softly. “Boys, who is this? Where’s Will? What’s happened?” 

Tagging: @neonfruitbowl