#you know I love a series and its characters when I start brainstorming on what daemons they'd have lmfao

[hiroasu-akika]

In a Daemon AU, Okarun would absolutely have a cheetah daemon and you can't change my mind. Like what would be more perfect for him than the lanky, fast in bursts, low stamina anxiety kitty?

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

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: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

.

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

.

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar. 

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat. 

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see. 

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them. 

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision. 

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real. 

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself. 

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you. 

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.” 

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented. 

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?” 

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it? 

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly. 

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes. 

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”  

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.  

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.” 

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim. 

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body. 

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?” 

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him. 

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture. 

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed. 

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.” 

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.” 

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.” 

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?” 

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.” 

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it. 

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.” 

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity. 

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?” 

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.” 

“How’d you lose it?” 

“I didn’t… lose it.” 

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.” 

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-” 

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him. 

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains. 

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder. 

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears. 

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully. 

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again. 

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said. 

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity. 

“Why?” he finally asked. 

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?” 

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.” 

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not. 

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.” 

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…” 

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees. 

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete. 

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck. 

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him. 

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?” 

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support. 

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion. 

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash. 

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-” 

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain. 

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.  

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else. 

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.” 

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.” 

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?” 

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it. 

“Of course, captain.”  

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”  

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?” 

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men. 

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both. 

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad. 

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it. 

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow. 

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful. 

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s. 

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.” 

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did. 

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.” 

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say. 

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.” 

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.” 

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.” 

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.” 

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?” 

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you. 

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?” 

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway. 

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.” 

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?” 

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked. 

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.” 

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”   

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around. 

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.  

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen. 

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing. 

Twine, needles, thread. 

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling. 

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil- 

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort. 

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind. 

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates. 

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?” 

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.” 

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.” 

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath. 

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover. 

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.  

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine. 

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this. 

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense. 

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here. 

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?” 

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.” 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy. 

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin. 

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.” 

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?  

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.” 

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him. 

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.” 

“Then how did he find this place?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same. 

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought. 

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?” 

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while. 

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.” 

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over. 

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?” 

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said. 

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.  

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”   

“What?” 

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.” 

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.  

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth. 

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.” 

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real? 

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.” 

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping. 

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”  

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!” 

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain. 

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still. 

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head. 

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” 

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really. 

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process. 

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away. 

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood. 

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.” 

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?” 

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor. 

And after that came the chaos. 

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else. 

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?” 

A gloved hand waved in front of your face. 

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly. 

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm. 

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.” 

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.” 

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.” 

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?” 

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.” 

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said. 

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.” 

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.” 

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm. 

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?” 

“I-” 

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.” 

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.   

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot. 

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill. 

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.” 

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him. 

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you. 

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked. 

He nodded, urging you on. 

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.  

“What if I get drunk?” you asked. 

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another. 

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle. 

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat. 

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.   

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink. 

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.” 

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you. 

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.  

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?” 

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.” 

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it. 

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.  

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ” 

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes. 

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.” 

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.” 

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.” 

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible. 

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”  

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.” 

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too. 

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were. 

“Beg me again.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.” 

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?” 

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?” 

You frowned. 

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue. 

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage. 

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them. 

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”  

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.” 

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue, 

Once filled her vagina with glue, 

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in, 

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth. 

And then there was nothing left. 

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place. 

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off. 

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop. 

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” 

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist. 

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped. 

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?” 

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur. 

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.” 

“No! You started it!” 

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?” 

“I don’t!” you insisted. 

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands. 

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then. 

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.” 

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.” 

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin. 

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness. 

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”  

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?” 

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.” 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad. 

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.   

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed. 

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation. 

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.” 

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.  

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.” 

“’m fine,” you told him. 

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 5 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

i have successfully kicked my writer's block to the curb and am ready to pick back up on plug!eren!!!! woohoo!! this is the part of the story where it gets really plot heavy and there's a lot of moving parts, so it's been a fun exercise to write and brainstorm. if anything is confusing or u have any theories/questions PLEASE hit my inbox i'm so down bad for plug eren i could talk about him for days.

get ready to meet a new character who is......not the best lol. this is also the first chapter written in eren's pov :o things are about to get interesting!

still haven't caught up? series masterlist HERE <3

specific cws: mentions of smut but nothing outright, alcohol use, swearing, u know the drill

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“If music be the food of love, play on. / Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, / The appetite may sicken and so die.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act I, Scene 1)

Eren is, admittedly, a romantic person, especially given his occupation. Not romantic in the cheesy, buying-flowers and kissing-in-the-rain sense, but he appreciates the little details of life. He loves autumn, when the leaves catch on fire with the changing of the season. He loves the little crook of a woman’s neck, that slope where it goes from tendon to shoulder to collarbone. He can appreciate a good bourbon; after years of raiding his dad’s stash, he developed a palate for it early on. Eren’s romantic nature leads him to believe in signs. When the universe tells him something, he listens.

The text still sat in his inbox unopened, marinating in its own bizarre, heartbreaking nature.

> heyyyy lover boy! i’m back from austria! missed u, let’s catch up ;)

Eren knows that Breeze knows him, knows him well enough to understand that his three-week radio silence isn’t a no, it’s a maybe. He hates himself for not immediately texting her back and telling her to fuck off, but after his conversation with you, he thinks it might be the universe telling him it’s safe this time, that he won’t end up a shell of himself. Maybe.

You had been firm in your assertion that you and Eren were better off as friends, and as much as he wanted to fight it, Eren respects women. As much as he can when he’s prone to wrenching their jaws open and spitting in their mouths while he’s balls deep inside them, at least. He’s disappointed, but he respects it, and if he’s honest, he likes you.

He likes your sharp humor, likes the way you tend to keep your hair up off of your neck, likes the way your eyes light up when someone gives you an excuse to talk about your studies. He hasn’t been “just friends” with a woman in a long time, but it’s refreshing, an excuse to go grab a coffee and shoot the shit like a normal person instead of lurking in the corner of a frat party handing out pills like a perverse ice cream truck.

The last three weeks of “friends” have been the best Eren’s had in a long time. You’re easy, that’s what he likes about you. He can drop the cold mask he wears so often, giggle over a stupid meme, listen intently as you prattle on about some long-dead 18th-century author that was “so ahead of her time!”, smirk when you chastise him for doodling little hearts and flowers all over your coursework.

Sure, he still steals a glance down your shirt when he can, and he’d never admit it, but he thinks about you late at night. He thinks about you when he’s in the shower, when he’s got himself in his hand, panting and swearing under his breath, but he manages to feel enough guilt over it to still consider you a friend. You’re caring and considerate and easy, wholesome fun, unlike someone that’s made a sudden reappearance into his life.

After that first night, just when he was starting to entertain the thought of promoting you from one night stand to official fuck buddy, the closest thing to commitment Eren allows himself to maintain these days, Breeze swept back into his life, and you hit the brakes on him. While it may not have been the sign he wanted to receive, Eren’s a romantic, and he listens to the universe, especially when it goes so far out of its way to tell him something.

He’s decided to let Breeze stew for a little while longer. Campus will be clearing out for Thanksgiving break soon, along with most of his business, and he’s going to wait until his hands are empty of work and you before answering her. Plus, she had flitted off to Europe after college like their entire relationship had been nothing more than a passing phase; Eren’s owed at least a little bit of pettiness, right?

> paradise ath 1130! see uthere ;)

Eren snorts at your text. Being as uptight as you are about grammar (you’re constantly hounding him about his texting style, and he’s been making them even more incorrect just to hear you berate him), he knows you’re not just texting quickly, you’re drunk.

“Yo, ‘min!” Eren calls into the kitchen, an excited flutter already rising in his chest beneath his hoodie.

“Yeah?” Armin’s head pops around the doorframe, a dab of ketchup on the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna go to Paradise later?”

“The club?” Armin’s nose wrinkles. Connie’s head appears right beside Armin, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Connie answers for both of them before Armin has the chance to shoot the idea down, “who’s going?”

“Like you don’t know the answer to that,” Armin scoffs, ducking back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes.

“I never took her for a ‘club’ type of girl,” Connie adds air-quotes to emphasize his confusion.

Eren mulls that over for a moment; he doesn’t really take you for a club type of girl either, but from the sound of it, Historia and Sasha have already done the job of getting you good and drunk and talking you into a night on the town. Eren’s always wanted to see what you’re like when you’re well and truly fucked up; every time you indulge him with a story from college, he ends up laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

Supposedly, when you go all out, you drop the mom-friend act and become a little less tame; is this Eren’s opportunity to get an eyeful for himself? He’s not waiting around to find out.

Eren shrugs. “Come help me make these runs and we’ll go. Armin, you’re driving.”

The drop-offs are uneventful, and as soon as Eren steps foot inside the club, his nose scrunches with distaste. Ironically, he’s never been into the partying scene, much preferring a quiet beer at Scout’s or a blunt on the couch to a club. The music’s horribly loud, bass thudding through the fabric of his hoodie and beating against his chest, and as he looks for you, he can barely see through the mass of bodies and the fog machines. You’re here? It’s difficult for Eren to imagine you, in your favorite flannel and those cute little Vans he likes, tucked against the bar throwing back your signature craft beer. As Connie urges him and Armin in the direction of the bar, calling for green tea shots, Eren nearly regrets his decision, until fingernails dig into his shoulder, spinning him on his heels.

“Hey, you.”

Eren blinks stupidly as you grin up at him through thick, black lashes. He’s never even dared to imagine you like you are now, piercing eyes gazing up at him through a heavy dusting of makeup and the shortest, tightest dress Eren’s ever seen hugging every inch of your curves. You look sinful in a way he’s never seen you before, not even when he was holding you tight to him and wrenching out orgasm after orgasm from your body. He gulps.

“Holy shit– hey,” he lets you pull him in for an overexcited hug, bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the bulge already swelling in his pants.

“I missed you!” You pinch his cheeks, much to Eren’s dismay.

“Just saw you yesterday– quit pinchin’ me. What are you even doing here? Didn’t think this was your scene.” Eren has to actively keep his eyes trained on your face; there’s a little bead of sweat traveling down the expanse of skin between your breasts that’s making his mouth water. Friends, he scoffs in his mind. Are you trying to kill him?

“Well, it’s not, but Sasha says I need to be more fun, and Stor says I need to find a boyfriend.” You gesture around like it’s obvious. Eren cocks an eyebrow, ignoring the inappropriate envy that twists in his stomach at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

Boyfriends never like the guy friends, it’s practically a law of nature. If you’re dating around, it’s only a matter of time before some square in a button-down steals you away from your coffee dates and movie nights with Eren, but he can’t get too caught up in that now, not when you’re looking up at him all dizzy and sexy and bursting at the seams.

“Don’t know if this is the place for that.”

“That’s what I said!” Oh, you’re drunk drunk, all of your movements overexaggerated and shaky. It makes him want to laugh seeing you like this; his little book nerd, trashed and mere inches away from having her ass out at a club. Well, either laugh or drag you into the bathroom to bend you over the sink. He can’t be sure.

“Hey mama!” Connie shouts over at you, handing you a shot. Eren has half a mind to snatch it out of his hand after catching the slurring in your voice, but he’s too late; you throw it back without so much as a shudder, grinning all wide and wet and pretty when you swallow.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you tell him, pulling him down by his collar so you can speak into his ear. Eren has to bite back a groan at the feel of your hot lips against his ear. Friends, he reminds himself urgently, pushing you back from him but keeping his hands firm on your hips, relishing in the way your flesh gives under his grip.

“You know the rules. You call, I come.”

“That’s what she said,” you snicker, pinching his cheek again.

“Cut that out!”

“Make me.” Oh fuck, Eren’s going to die. He’s going to die if you keep looking at him like that, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and fuck-me eyes on him.

“You’re not being very friendly,” he manages to choke out, trying his hardest to give you a suspicious look through the dizzying wave of images that flash through his brain. You with your mouth full of him. You spread out on his bed, back arched and fingers twisted in his hair. The little “o” your mouth made when you rode him for the first time. Eren wants to smack himself, jump in a cold shower, something. Get a grip, dude.

“Maybe not,” you shrug, eyes darting over to the bar. “Hurry up and grab a drink, I wanna dance.”

“Not much of a dancer,” Eren admits, taking the beer that Connie hands him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

Eren isn’t sure if he likes or loves the sound of that, powerless against that stupid little dress you’ve got on as you drag him behind you to the mass of bodies he had so disdainfully eyed on his way in. He’s greeted by a loud round of shrieking, one more pinch to the cheek by Historia and a slap on the ass from Sasha. You make a show of teasing him for how pink his face gets, but luckily, your friends are instantly distracted by Armin and Connie’s arrival right behind him. You pull him back down, glossy lips pressed right against his ear.

“I really like this song.” You’re barely audible over the pounding music, but even if Eren hadn’t heard what you said, he’d get the gist from the way you grind against his thigh, slow and sensual. Maybe you are actually trying to kill him.

“Yeah?” He’s breathless, irreparably and embarrassingly caught in the little web you’ve woven.

“Yeah.” You’re moving harder against him now, throwing your arms around his neck and grinding your hips into his. Eren’s only thought is to let his hands fly back to your hips, let you use him like a stripper pole to show off.

He can feel eyes on him, not the eyes of friends, but of other men around him, wondering who the lucky asshole is that’s getting the royal treatment from a girl as hot as you. If he were to be truthful, it’s getting him off, how every eye is on you and, by proxy, him, holding you like a lifeline as you let the beat rock through your body.

So this, this is the party girl you claim to have living deep inside you. This seductive, electric creature moving tantalizing against his body, this is the source of the stories Historia tells him that make you blush? How you could ever be embarrassed of this is beyond him; you’re like a little devil, sent straight from hell just to torture him, and Eren’s mouth is watering.

Song after song goes by, and you don’t let up, don’t let him catch his breath for a moment, moving from facing him to pressing your ass into his crotch and then back again, arms above your head or wrapped around his neck. Eren wishes he was mentally sound enough at the moment to feel ashamed that you can absolutely feel how hard he is through his pants right now, but he’s drunk on you, letting you press into him so insistently he has to tug your dress down for you, letting you drive him so crazy that he’s grateful for the loud music now. He’d die if Connie or Armin could hear the way he’s grunting and groaning low under his breath, powerless underneath you.

Suddenly, as if you haven’t just been riling him up for the last half hour, you back away enough to face him, shaking your empty cup and him and mouthing something that Eren’s still too dizzy to make out.

“Huh?”

“Get me another drink!” you shout over the bass, laughing at him.

Eren nods stupidly, darting away from you before he can grab your jaw, pull your lips to his like he so desperately wants to. Finally out of the throng of bodies, he can feel his head clearing, some semblance of sanity crashing over him. What the fuck has gotten into him? It was just one night, and you’ve kept him at arm’s length ever since, only seeing each other under the guise of coffee, or a beer, or Eren insisting you need to continue your education in the wonders of horror films. You’re drunk, that’s the only explanation; drunk and teasing him like you aren’t going to wake up and throw him right back into the friendzone. He rests both elbows on the bar, shaking his head like he’ll be able to knock some sense into himself if he rattles his brain around a little.

Eren orders your vodka soda and a beer and a shot for himself, something to clear his head and keep his blood pressure manageable. Hopefully, at least.

When he turns around, drinks in hand, that plan flies out the door. There you are, center of the dance floor, hands above your head and hips moving like you’re intentionally trying to make him lose his fucking mind. He tilts his head in interest when a man approaches you, grazes his hands over your hips like he means to start grinding against you. Eren can feel his own hands tightening around the bottle and the plastic cup in his hand, but he holds himself back; he’s got no claim on you, and if you’re willing to entertain the man (who, if you ask Eren, is way below your standards), who is Eren to stop you?

You surprise him in the best way: when the man touches you lightly, you whip around, brows furrowed and a little glitter in your eyes so mean that even Eren nearly flinches. He can’t read your lips in the low light, but he snorts to himself anyway as the man puts his hands up and backs away from you, eyes wide. As if nothing had happened, you spin back on your heel, facing a cackling Sasha with a shrug.

Eren feels a wide, proud smile blooming on his face. As much as he feels an unwarranted protectiveness towards you, he likes watching you get your teeth out and stand up for yourself. Before he can make his way back over to tease you, a voice from his left makes his blood run cold.

“Rennie?!”

Two thin arms are tossed around his neck before Eren can even respond, the familiar scent of vanilla and coconut enveloping him.

“Breeze?” Eren chokes out, too shocked to keep his composure. She pulls away from him and grins, a little diamond glittering from her right canine tooth.

“You didn’t text me back, you tease,” she swats at his chest, snags the vodka soda he’d bought for you right out of his hand, taking a sip. Eren takes the opportunity to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, one last tentative glance towards you before he turns his gaze back to Breeze.

She’s cut her hair, something short and choppy that swings around her ears, and fuck, she’s still just as pretty as he remembers, little freckles on her button nose visible in the darkness of the club.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Eren shrugs, forcing his face to remain schooled into one of cold apathy. She had left him, like he was nothing to her. He hates her, he realizes, god, he hates her so much it burns in his veins. Breeze cocks her head, frowning.

“Why would you think that?”

“You fucking left me, Breeze, don’t be stupid,” Eren makes a move to steal the drink back from her, but she holds it close enough to her chest that he’d have to practically grope her to take it, and his fingers recoil at the realization.

“Are you double-fisting, or did you buy this for someone special?” She teases, brushing right over Eren’s bristly demeanor. When he doesn’t answer, she raises her eyebrows. “It’s for someone. Well, point her out! Is she cute?”

Breeze turns on her heel, standing on her tiptoes to glance through the crowd. Before he can stop himself, Eren’s grabbing her upper arm, spinning her back to face him with anger blazing in his eyes. When he meets her gaze, her baby blues are alight with mischief, and he knows that no matter which direction he moves, he’s losing whatever little game she has him trapped in. That was the thing about Breeze; Eren was always losing her games.

“Fuck, just…just stop it, Breeze. What are you even doing here?”

“I’m back in town, didn’t you see my text?” Breeze shrugs innocently, sipping your drink.

“Okay, well, welcome back,” Eren deadpans, leaving her question hanging in the air between them. He turns back to the bar to order another cocktail for you, having given up hope of getting the first one back from Breeze, but she’s relentless, has always been that way. She slides up to the bar beside him, smiling demurely up at him.

“I missed you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. Breeze flinches, but Eren knows her better than that. It’s all an act, it always is.

“I never realized how much I hurt you,” her fingers grazing over his cheek nearly burn with how cold they are in contrast to the heavy, thick air around them, “‘m sorry, Rennie.”

“It’s fine.” Eren hates the way he twitches and nearly leans into her touch when she swipes her fingers over him. How many times has he thought about this, seeing her again after all these years? Everything he’s planned out, everything he’s ever wanted to say is lodged in his throat, a jumble of letters and words so squished out of order that they no longer hold meaning. He doesn’t love her, not anymore, but his body reacts before his brain can stop it, a conditioned response.

“Can we talk about it soon? Maybe over coffee?” Blue eyes blinking up at him earnestly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Breeze,” Eren rolls his eyes, swallowing thick around the knot in his throat.

“There is,” she insists, “I brought this amazing espresso blend back with me from Florence, and–”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone for tonight?” Eren can feel the exasperation in his tone, can feel the weight of his mistake weighing on his shoulders. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll make up some excuse and get out of it. A long conversation with Breeze about their breakup is the last thing he needs.

“Maybe,” Breeze tucks her lip in between her teeth, a little smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “unless you change your mind.”

“We can talk or whatever another time, but I’m going back to my friends, okay? Go find yours.”

“You’re my friend,” Breeze purrs, one hand stroking over Eren’s bicep, “and I haven’ seen you int–”

“Don’t push it,” Eren nearly growls, scowling down at her. He knows half of the hatred buzzing through his veins is reserved for himself, but he’ll unpack that at home with a blunt, not in the middle of the club with you waiting for him on the dance floor and Breeze staring up at him hungrily.

“Always wound so tight,” Breeze hums, reaching a hand up to squish his cheeks, “but fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She miraculously leaves him there with nothing but a wink, taking your vodka soda with her; Eren’s shoulders slump in relief. Knowing Breeze, it was a wonder she hadn’t tackled him right there. When he turns around for the second time, two drinks in hand, you’re already staring at him. Shit.

You don’t look mad– and why would you be? You’re friends, Eren reminds himself. There’s no reason for you to know who Breeze is; he’s never told you about her, and he never planned on doing so. Eren knows Historia, though, well enough to believe that she told you everything from the godforsaken moment he walked into your apartment that day. 

He doesn’t like that look you’ve got, though; again, not mad, but he can see the gears turning behind your eyes. Eren has to practically force himself to walk towards you. Your head’s cocked in confusion, something watery and hesitant glimmering in your eyes through the low lighting. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you almost look hurt, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You didn’t want him, you had made that abundantly clear.

“Sorry it took me a while. Long line.” Eren hands you your drink, nearly wincing at how naturally the clearly false statement rolls off his tongue.

“Mhm,” you nod, downing nearly half of your drink in one long slurp. Your movements aren’t fluid and dynamic anymore; you’re stiff as a board, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet along to the beat of the song. “I…I actually have to pee, do you mind holding this?”

“Now?” Eren blinks, confused. “I just got your drink.”

You offer him a tight smile. “I wanted to wait ‘til you were back, so you could watch my drink. And so you didn’t think I ran off on you or something.”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

He watches you slink away into the crowd, watches the dozens of eyes follow you, surely wondering what happened to the little firecracker in the middle of the dance floor. Eren knows you get like this sometimes, suddenly pensive and nostalgic, knows that per your own admission, you like to handle it yourself. He hadn’t done this to you, had he?

A firm pinch to his cheek distracts him, pulls him down a foot below his normal standing height. Could everyone just stop pinching his fucking face? “Shit, ow!”

“Was that Breeze?” Historia yells directly into his ear. Eren, six-foot-something of hell on wheels, blushes furiously.

“Dude, was that fucking Breeze, or am I too fucked up?” Connie echoes Historia’s sentiment from over her shoulder, eyes comically wide. Armin’s peering around him, eyes flitting back and forth between Eren, Connie, and Historia as he tries to understand what’s happened.

“Who cares?” Eren snaps at Connie. Historia’s grip on his face loosens, releases entirely. If Eren didn’t like the look that you had given him, he hates the look Historia’s shooting at him right now. All daggers and disappointment. She turns on her heel without another word, making a beeline for the bathroom and dragging Sasha along behind her. Eren doesn’t miss Armin’s eyes either; stripping him to the bone without saying a word.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Eren scoffs, waves a hand in Armin’s direction.

“When did Breeze get back into town?” Armin shouts over the music.

“A few weeks ago,” Eren admits, avoiding Armin’s eyes and looking for a spot at the bar where he can escape the heavy gazes of his friends, run away to drown this conversation in a shot of whiskey.

“Did you–”

“I don’t know, man, you know how she is. She just showed up.” Eren knows he’s being unnecessarily gruff, but in his defense, the last hour or so has been a whirlwind of memory and emotion and lust that he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

Armin nods simply, takes a sip of his beer. Eren’s known Armin since they were kids, and he knows Armin can read him like a book. If he had a little less pride, Eren would pull Armin to the side and ask if he can make any sense of what’s going through Eren’s head right now because Eren sure as hell can’t. There’s you, with your skimpy dress and your flirty eyes, grinding on him like you’re going to take him home and fuck him stupid again, like you hadn’t demanded an honest-to-god friendship that Eren happens to very much enjoy. On the other hand, there’s Breeze, flighty and just as much of a ghost as she is a real person, popping back into his life and batting her blue eyes at him like she’d never left.

You’re his friend, and Breeze is his terrible ex. There shouldn’t be a choice here– there isn’t, it’s just the way things are, but Eren feels stuck at a crossroads for some reason.

He finally gets fed up with the music and the bumping of bodies around him and storms off to the bar again, biting back the urge to snap at Connie and Armin who he knows are hot on his heels. Eren’s just looked up from the shot of whiskey burning its way down his throat, acknowledging the dizziness that’s come with his drinks for the night, when he spots you.

You don’t look angry, that’s a small mercy you unwittingly grant him, but you’re cowering. Historia, even being shorter than you, is practically pinning you to the wall outside of the bathroom, shouting at you with her finger in your face. Sasha doesn’t look all too pleased either, arms crossed and a deep scowl written into her features. Eren gets a glimpse of your phone in Historia’s other hand that she’s waving around erratically, and wonders what the hell happens in women’s bathrooms. He’s not exactly sure what prompts it, but he checks his own phone. Nothing.

“Are they fighting?” Connie asks, nose scrunched as he peeks around Eren’s arm.

“Looks like it,” Armin nods, wincing as you try to make a grab for your phone from Historia, resulting in Sasha saving you at the last second from face-planting as Historia holds it out of your reach.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“Absolutely not,” Armin and Eren echo each other, looking at Connie as if he’d just suggested they all walk into oncoming traffic.

Eren watches as Historia grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the bar, your feeble protests doing nothing to stop her insistent steps. Sasha follows both of you, gently pushing you along by the small of your back and shooting a regretful glance at Connie, mouthing a sorry as you all make your exit. It’s hardly been five minutes before Eren’s phone buzzes.

> had to leave. do you mind paying our tab if i venmo you? it’s under reiss.

Eren bites the inside of his cheek again, not worrying in the slightest about covering the tab, but more so the reason for your abrupt exit.

> yeah i got u everything ok?

> thanks a ton! see u next time.

It’s purposefully avoidant, especially coming from Historia, who never misses a chance to make fun of you good-naturedly. If you had been sick in the bathroom or far too drunk to stay, she would have come out and said it. Eren throws his card down, going to pay the hefty tab you and your friends racked up, but not daring to pay his own. After all of the shit that’s just gone down, he owes himself at least one more drink.

Once he’s signed, he pulls out his phone again, thumb hovering over your text thread, then Breeze’s, then yours again. Mindful of Armin’s prying eye over his shoulder, Eren sighs heftily and shuts his phone off, leaning in to order another shot. The following morning’s approaching quickly, whether he wants it to or not, and he’ll save his fucked-up emotions for the daylight.

[interstellar-inn]

꩜— greetings all, happy wednesday! mod cotton here and i am pleased to announce our creator of the week!

what is creator of the week?

creator of the week is a project started by the network to celebrate different writers and artists in our community. with such a vast network of amazing and talented creators, we think it's only fair we show a little extra love to each one, one creator at a time. creator of the week aims to show a little extra support to creators by shining a special starlight on them and featuring a few of their works. you can help support too by giving them a follow, or if you read their fics and find that you like any of them, make sure to reblog and let them know!

with that, congratulations to fawn a.k.a @dearbraus! as this month being pride month, we wanted to highlight a creator who writes queer fics and fawn is practically the pioneer. they are a very pleasant individual to interview and talk to! during our interview, we talked about their experiences as a queer creator on tumblr, fandom, and the community all together; and get to know them more! touch read more for the full interview below!

1. what made you join tumblr? how long have you been a member all together?

i joined tumblr originally for fanart and fandom! i believe it was for the hunger games and percy jackson! that was back in 2014 so it’s been about ten years as of this year!

2. what's keeping you to the site? is there anything you like about it? what could be changed?

honestly the community! even with all its flaws it’s the community that keeps me on tumblr. i do of course love supporting my fellow artists and writers but this specific corner of tumblr is really special in a way that it cannot be found elsewhere. i really like how tumblr allows you to personalise your blog and the ask function as it makes for fun interactions without the pressure of it being private. i’d honestly only change how the tag system works because it can be so finicky with getting posts to show up lol!

3. what is the most difficult part for you when it comes to brainstorming/writing?

hm, it’s definitely picking a character! i have such trouble picking just one of my favourites because i want to give them all love! and when it comes to writing fics i struggle with starting things off. i tend to get ideas of a specific scene in the middle of the story and have to build around that one scene so it makes the beginnings and endings a bit tricky.

4. what is the proudest/most inspirational moment you've experienced in creating so far?

i’ve had many moments but if i had to choose just one it’d be when i created my royal au series as it pushed me to my limits in terms of creativity and how much i could write. i’ve never written as much as i have for that series and i’m really proud of myself

5. as a queer creator yourself, what was your experience as a content creator? what keeps you going?

i’ve had a lot of ups and downs when it comes to writing as a queer person whether it be due to people questioning my identity or just blatant homophobia. there are times too where it has definitely felt a bit lonely as someone who writes a substantial amount of queer fanfic or at least enough to where i’m know for writing such fics, however i’ve managed to find and make a small community of other queer writers which is really important to me. they’re definitely what keeps me going and so are my readers. i’ve received some very lovely comments on my work that really just motivate me to keep going and remind me why i write what i do even when i feel discouraged

6. where do you find your muse to start creating? what inspires you?

i started writing as a kid and always loved to insert myself into whatever piece of media i was currently fixated on. i didn’t take things too seriously when i was younger and it was very much just a hobby back then but it has now evolved into a passion that allows me to express my innermost feelings even if it’s through writing anime x reader fics. i still am very much inspired by self inserting through my current fixations but it has shifted more towards inserting in the name of representation. while i’ve been a bit too busy as of late to delve into writing longer fanfics, last year i wrote two fics which centred heavily around readers experiencing mental health issues as well as compulsory heterosexuality because these are things that i’ve found to be not so readily spoken about outside of online spaces. i really do enjoy using fanfiction and writing in general to explore things that are considered taboo in a slightly unconventional way

7. do you have any advice for any first-time content creators?

don’t put so much pressure on yourself! i think due to the commodification of hobbies, there’s this idea that if we write or make art that it must be mass produced but what makes art special is that it’s one of a kind! so if you’re a first time writer/artist on tumblr, don’t force yourself to creator in the hopes of appeasing others! create because you’re inspired and because you’re having fun! also, don’t let others ruin your fun!!!! i think that’s the most important thing, block liberally to protect your peace, use tumblrs filtering feature to hide anything that you dislike, and ignore those coming into your inbox looking to cause trouble!!! i definitely struggled with taking things to personally when i first started writing and it sucked the fun out of sharing my writing very quickly until i learned that i shouldn’t let others being negative and mean get in the way of my enjoyment

8. do you have any advice for anyone looking for a server/network to join?

hm, i think my biggest piece of advice would be don’t be scared! join servers and networks even if you don’t know the owners/mods super well! it can be super scary being in a new space with new people but i promise it’s well worth it! way back in 2021 i joined audrey’s very server not knowing anyone and have since join all the other iterations that came afterward because there was such love and care put into her servers (that are still there with the interstellar inn!) and have loved meeting so many new people who are in all kinds of different life paths. and for anyone reading this looking for a server or network to join i definitely think you should join the interstellar inn, theres so many fun events and watch parties being held that make the server a really fun space! and the network is very well organized and cared for that i’m in awe! and of course i would love to befriend any person reading this who ends up joining hehe

visit fawn's blog ( @dearbraus ) or check out their tag at the inn here!

that's all from us! see you next time and be sure to follow fawn and check out their works! <333

— cotton

edit: thank you to the anon who pointed out our oversight! we have since corrected it. fawn's pronouns are they/them. we deeply apologize for our mistake.

[inkandgeese]

--Writeblr Intro--

Hey there!! I'm Ash (she/her)! I'm a first year architecture student who has always loved writing so I thought i'd join the writing community here!

Some things about me and my writing:

- Because of school, I definitely won't be super consistent with posting! However, I will always come back eventually, I promise

- Most of my stories are fantasy as I just LOVE the idea of magic

- I absolutely adore god awful protagonists. give me main characters that are terrible people, i beg you

- I write for fun!! Because of this, most of my stories aren't super far along in the process as i love to jump around in them

Under the cut will be some short WIP intros!!

Jaded Ashes - a low fantasy/ magical realism novel

Status: Drafting (my current nanowrimo project)

As a senior in high school, Jade wants to leave her small town more than anything. Years of feeling left out and abandoned have left her with nothing but resentment towards this town. However, after picking up a mysterious lighter, Jade starts to see dark creatures that feed off of the negative emotions of the people living there. After one saves her, Jade makes a simple deal with it: It will protect her from any possible harm, and she will help it destroy others of its kind. Working with Elliot, a boy from her school that Jade always tried to avoid, she starts to destroy these creatures little by little. The more time goes on, though, the more Jade can't help but wonder- would it be better to just burn everything down and start again?

- The best way of describing this story is that it is about two incredibly lonely people who desperately want to be seen for who they truly are

- While there ARE magical elements in this story, they almost aren't the focus. The focus is very much on Jade and her mental state. The magical elements are mostly there as a way to express those things in a different way

- This story in general deals a lot with mental illness! It has a very depressed and self destructive main character who does not appreciate it when others tell her what to do

Manic - an adult fantasy novel

current status: brainstorming/revamping

This story is currently undergoing a HUGE revamp, so I unfortunately won't be able to say much but i KNOW i am going to mention mira many many times so i thought i'd at least introduce it!

Mira, a knight, wants more than anything to be a hero. Something that is untouchable by time and remembered forever. However, after being attacked by a monster, Mira realizes a terrible, terrible thing: she herself is being turned into a monster as well. Infected with no chance of a cure, Mira knows what she will do anything to keep herself from dying, even if that includes sacrificing the entire world.

- This is planned to be a trilogy

- A HUGE part of this series is the idea of what makes somebody human and where that line is drawn between human and monster

Some other WIPS:

Bella and Iris

- This is another fantasy novel. In a world in which most gain their magic from plants, two characters gain their magic from death, either from killing or by drawing it from the dead. Without meaning to, Bella and Iris get pulled into a plot between gods that they had never wanted to be involved with in the first place.

Ophelia

- A lighthearted fantasy novella consisting of short vignettes following Ophelia in her small cabin throughout the winter. She meets plenty of mythical creatures in the forest that bring far more problems than help.

[jacksgreysays]

I'm going to 1) boost this absolutely fantastic webtoon because i love it so much and i really would love to see other people interact with it and 2) so it makes sense for it to be on this particular blog, do a little brainstorm for what kind of fanfic i would theoretically write for it

And ao3 is down right now anyway, so you may as well, lol

REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD READ MY IN-LAWS ARE OBSESSED WITH ME:

Season 1 just finished (75 chapters total) with Season 2 scheduled for next year (presuming translation time) so if you're worried about starting something that isn't complete or, conversely, jumping in to something that is dead in the water, do not worry this webtoon will take care of you

I consume a lot of garbage media so trust me in knowing what is and isn't garbage. Yes the title is weird and also it initially looks like a cheesy vampire harlequin but trust me it's not.

It's got everything I love and, hopefully, if you're reading this post you love some of these things too: time travel, political ramifications for things, DRAMA, beautiful fashions, the slowest of slowest burns of yearning, supernatural mystery revolving around a blood curse, a female lead who is more concerned about SURVIVAL and VENGEANCE and BUSINESS than romance (but also the romance is very cute eventually, emphasis on the eventually)

The art in general is stunning (again, kudos to the fashion) and the story telling in the visual medium is absolutely heartbreaking. Slight spoilers, but there's a part where it gets into the ML's PTSD from being at war and the way it's portrayed is absolutely devastating. Actually a lot of the FL's anxieties and self doubts are also portrayed wonderfully in this medium. It's THOUGHTFUL in its usage of imagery. There's also a fun recurring bit where every time the FL is framed weirdly in the shot it's because the ML is right next to her right off screen being devastatingly handsome

The side characters are great. The titular in-laws are fantastic. I weep thinking about the residence manager who is so bad at his job and openly cries about having to do work. Celphius would be my son if he weren't so enamored by having Pereshati as his mom instead.

All of the characters are SMART. Or, at least, they're logical. I never ask "why are they doing this?" because everyone is acting rationally for what information/abilities/biases they do have. And yes, the biases are important also (because god knows I hate the villains but they are, unfortunately, rational in their cruelty).

They're also proactive about things? Like, very often protagonists are just reacting to the next awful thing thrown their way, but both the FL and ML are taking steps to achieve their goals even if a lot of it is off-screen.

Please. I beseech thee, read the first ten chapters at least, if you've gotten this far in this post, just read the first ten chapters.

Anyway, so as to at least maintain the thinnest veneer of this being a writing post, the theoretical fanfic I'd write for this series is under the cut and does contain SPOILERS:

It would appear, at first, like a straightforward AU, beginning with the characters at the age they are in the canon. So ~early/mid-20s(?) ish?

But, just straight up, Therdeo is not the grand duke and Pereshati is an imperial secretary(?/scholar?). But Therdeo is probably head of the knights of the grand dukedom, so he has to be in the capitol for ~reasons~ especially since he's probably still the "hero" of the war.

The fic appears to be a straight forward meet-cute romance between elite knight, third son of the Lapileons and imperial secretary, only daughter of the Zahardt countdom. The levels are not exactly equal, but it's a lot more evened out than in canon. Maybe there's still a "please pretend to marry me so I don't get trapped in an engagement with the 4th princess" but her vibes are SO RANK I don't even want to deal with that :/

So now why does it only APPEAR to be a straight forward meet-cute romance?

Double time travel.

Well, possibly quintuple time travel depending on how deep into it we get, but basically: Pereshati and the four Lapileon in-laws who are older than her (Therdeo, Saoirse, Phineas, Gloria) all travel back to the first time someone died from Gen's blood being sold (not Islette's) which is at least several years, if not over a decade from the canon start time.

Maybe the Lapileons coordinate with each other about this, but regardless, since it's from Pereshati's view she wouldn't get to see that.

On her side what changes is: unfortunately, I don't think she can save her mother. But maybe she can prevent her father from re-marrying and emphasize cherishing the family they already have (ie, each other and her uncle+his family). And because she does now have so much experience running a household and is, you know, a fully educated grown adult in a child's body, when she goes to the academy she does EXTREMELY well. Like. Imperial Scholar well.

And, yes, she is her father's heir. But he's healthy and not married to someone who will kill him, so she sort of has the freedom to have this imperial scholar job for a while until he decides he wants to retire and have her take over, etc.

So she's working in the capitol, and Therdeo's also in the capitol.

Or maybe she works at the academy as a teacher now?

If Celphius didn't still exist, I would cry. But maybe his father is still alive and that's why Therdeo isn't the grand duke. Or even if Celphius' dad is dead (RIP) then Saoirse's family is definitely still alive and so SHE'S the grand duke(/duchess) and Celphius has an older cousin that he has to be VERY CAREFUL WITH.

Regardless, at the very least. Saoirse's son goes to the academy. Maybe the meet cute is, now that Celphius is old enough, he ALSO gets to go to the academy. And as a Good Uncle (This Time) Therdeo will be there to support him and also bring him to the Academy and be an extra set of eyes for whichever of his older siblings is the grand duke and anyway he meets Pereshati and they are both trying to hide the fact that they know each other because of time travel while also falling in love(?)

Maybe.

I just really liked the idea of re-leveling their respective statuses so they can stand on more equal footing when they meet T_T

ANYWAY PLEASE READ IT. I KNOW AO3 IS DOWN NOW ANYWAY, SO YOU MAY AS WELL

[padme-amitabha]

I don't like how TCW took away the classic, fairytale elements of Anakin and Padmé so they could be more "relatable" as a couple. That was neither necessary nor did it make any sense for their romance because that was never the point of them to begin with. They were the type to quite literally jump off a bridge for each other, call each other sweet names, always wanting to be close, the passion, the dreamlikeness, etc. They were more of the mythological, fairytale, classic literature type of couple. The ideal couple that, due to numerous unfortunate circumstances, it was doomed. Some people also argue that they would not have lasted, but they don't get that the rules that apply in the real world don't always have to apply in a fantasy setting. I've been seeing this kind of "remake" of fantastical, classic, fairytale(-esque) couples so they seem more realistic and modern, and it just saddens me (which is also why most Disney LA remakes also piss me off). It's because of what that series's portrayal of Anakin and Padmé that people either have this "bff" conception of their romance or that Padmé was always annoyed by him when she would have thrown away everything for him (and viceversa, ofc, I mean lol). Smh

I agree. TCW for me just goes against the original authorial intent. Although GL did make a lot of the decisions, he was not alone and ofc eventually Filoni and co took over. But when he started out he always said he didn't care about fans liking it. It was always about the story he intended to tell, whether they liked it or not. And that's so admirable to have a story be told just for itself and not for fanservice and it shows GL was passionate about it and he just had to retcon or brainstorm more because of the backlash. He always said SW is a homage to all the movies he loved. It's reminiscent of the cheesy soaps he grew up with and in the PT appreciation video I shared recently, it shows so many scenes are similar to older films. GL was even aware of the dialogue and how it wouldn't resonate with modern audiences but he needed it to fit in a specific style.

It's funny how fans appreciate how "classic" the OT is but expect the PT to be hyper modern when it should be even more rooted in mythology. The OT is fairytale-like too. I mean when you think about it the big bad is defeated by the power of love and Luke just forgives a man who killed so many people because he's his father who he doesn't even know? Vader even goes easy on him and he never actually is threatened by him. It's not very realistic either nor is it for Obi Wan to be hiding out in Tattooine and waiting to hand over a magic quest to Luke but it does work in fairytales because it is the hero's journey - like the prequels is similar to a Greek tragedy unfolding in three parts. It's supposed to be cheesy with morals and messages and recurring themes. And without any war when the galaxy is at its golden age so to speak, of course Anidala would be more of a Shakespearean romance with a dash of tragedy mixed in it. If GL can call them space Romeo and Juliet, he is acknowledging they are young and naive and impulsive and the audience isn't suppose to view them as ideals or think of RL relationships to be similar. None of the OT characters are particularly complex either and the ideologies are even more black and white. Ultimately, it's the message about family and love and yes it is very simplistic and fairytaleish because it's suppose to feel good. I don't get the point in trying to make it modern and realistic when it was never supposed to be one. It's space opera and fantasy - not science fiction. And tbh TCW makes the characters even more generic and westernized than they ever were in the prequels. Don't get me started on Chadakin and Girlboss!Padme (or discount Han and Leia) when they were much more imperfect, multifaceted characters in the movies while seamlessly fitting in with the fairytale-ish narrative.

[doodle-pops]

Hii mina mae-duh-whores anon here! Hope you are doing good! first of all,i saw that ask mina and if you were to actually write mgime related stuff, please id really go crazy!! i love your writing so much!!

Second of all to that anon, if you actually start writing silmarillion mgime i wanna be the first to read it!! id love to beta read or just brainstorm or plot with you if you're up for that kind of thing!!

Third, I've got a recommendation or two that no one really asked for haha. There aren't many silmarillion mgime fics so I thought I'd share the ones I've read on ao3 that I think you or your followers might like!

The first fic called, stardusts in our souls by Autumn_moonlight. its ecthelion x oc, it was last updated in July or something, but its such a fun read so far! the oc reads ecthellion the harry potter series and his reaction and eagerness to find out what happens next, its so cute!! I love when the modern girl shares technology or stories or songs from her world and seeing the characters' reaction to it is just so!!! Oh, there's also maeglin x oc smut in later chapters so there's that i suppose.

Second fic, it's called the knowing princess by Fantasticoncer. it's kinda long? The author still updates it I think, I haven't really finished it yet tbh lol. anyways main pov is basically female of x maedhros but it has got lots of other ocs x characters too, like fingon and mairon etc. it contains reincarnation and stuff, mc gets reincarnated as an elf in valinor along with her sisters from her own home reality.

Third is the Oialëa series by natelly

It's mcu/tolkien crossover fic, its kinda long I suppose, multiple books and many chapters etc but it's fun read, tbh I haven't this one either. its not exactly silmarillion events set but oc is kinda part of the kidnap fam, glorfindel's sister, and I've read spoilers that maedhros travels to mcu in second book or something so I thought I'd add it to the list? The first book which I've read is hobbit period set, btw its elrond x oc, and the oc is also doctor strange's daughter, and she also has powers and stuff. So yeah, if you love mcu and silmarillion hobbit lotr and mainly elrond, this fic is for you. Honestly I don't even like elrond that much, more into his sons lol, but still,, it was so interesting I ended up reading the first book! The oc is such a fun gen z mgime and i love her so much! The series is so well written too and there's even separate prequels and epilogue and fics written from other characters perspective and stuff too! In one of the books maedhros and oc also goes to therapy, haven't read that part but mae,, im so glad he got therapy, he really really needs that haha

I am doing better as I've resurfaced from my week disappearance 😁. Though, everything feels strange as though I've been gone for longer 😅.

Some recommendations for those who enjoy the Modern girl in Middle Earth troupe and for the anon who's in the process of creating a story for modern day reader. Thank you for assistance 💖

[hawkinslibrary]

there's a new article out about the play. i think it's paywalled for people outside of the us, so here's a twitter thread with screenshots. i've also typed it all out under the cut here:

LONDON – Next month, the Upside Down extends its tentacles into London’s West End with “Stranger Things: The First Shadow,” a prequel stage production that expands the world of Netflix’s sci-fi/horror blockbuster. 

And the creative team behind it hopes the play will be as groundbreaking as the series itself.  

“We’re about to bring the actors, who’ve just been in this cocoon of a rehearsal room for seven weeks, into [the theater],” producer Sonia Friedman says of “The First Shadow,” which is set to open Noc. 17 at the Phoenix Theatre. “We’ve been making sure it can stand alone without the special effects, because it’s all about story. We are going to blow people’s minds. We are going to terrify with some of the most startling, extraordinary things with the physical production.” 

The project originated with director Stephen Daldry, who approached Netflix’s then-content chief Cindy Holland after the show’s first season aired.  

“One of the conversations Stephen and I had been having was, ‘What theater have we ever seen where you get genuinely scared?’” Daldry’s co-director Justin Martin says. “It was an interesting challenge and provocation. We talked about other [Netflix] titles, but this one felt like the most imaginative and the most challenging to try and find a stage language for.” 

“The goal was to figure out, what does a mega episode of ‘Stranger Things’ look like on stage?” adds Matt Duffer, who created the series with brother Ross. “It was a very long, multi-year process to figure that out. But where they’ve landed is incredibly exciting.” 

For the Duffers, the idea of expanding the “Stranger Things” universe in new forms was an exciting prospect. They're currently working on several spinoff shows, including a children’s animated series and an anime series. The play exists on its own, but it also informs the narrative and characters fans know.  

“The idea was to explore Henry Creel and his backstory and fill in a gap that we don’t explore in Season 4,” Ross Duffer says of the villain also known as Vecna. “The play was being developed simultaneously with us writing Season 4 so we were adjusting as we went. It was an interesting way to develop a story, but to do it concurrently like that made sure everything locks in mythology-wise.” 

Development on “The First Shadow” began during Season 2. Daldry approached Friedman after seeing the magic and spectacle in her company’s production of “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” at London’s Palace Theatre. The creative team spent time brainstorming the story during the early months of the pandemic with screenwriter Jack Thorne, but eventually decided they needed someone who knew the series intimately. 

Kate Trefry, a writer on “Stranger Things” since Season 2, was an obvious choice for Daldry, despite the fact that she’d never written a play before.  

“Season 2 is really when we started to expand this world and mythology,” Ross Duffer says. “So Kate knows that as well as us. She's been with us in the trenches for so many years that we were so happy that she had this opportunity to do this.” 

From early on, no one wanted to simply remake the first season. Daldry wanted the story to be what Martin calls “in the center of the conversation,” rather than a secondary narrative, so a prequel made the most sense. 

“When we met with Stephen we had just cracked this Henry Creel stuff in the writers room,” Ross Duffer says. “We said, ‘Well there might be an opening here.’ And Stephen really fell in love with it.” 

“There are questions of ‘Why Hawkins?’ and ‘How did all this stuff happen?’” Martin adds, referring to the show’s fictional Indiana town, which becomes a hotbed of supernatural activity. “This felt like a good way to address that.”  

“The First Shadow,” set in Hawkins in 1959, is told over two chapters. Several familiar characters appear, including Bob Newby, Joyce Maldonado and Jim Hopper, who are in their last year of high school when a new student named Henry Creel arrives. Nearby, Dr. Brenner is getting his start in his lab. There are also new characters, like Bob’s sister Patty Newby. Trefry calls it an ensemble play with Henry Creel as the “spine” of the story. Beyond that, everyone involved is as tight-lipped about the plot as they are about the forthcoming grand finale of the Netflix original. 

“It’s about outsider kids who come together to solve a mystery,” Martin says. “And in doing so find themselves and each other. That's really ultimately what ‘Stranger Things’” does so well and why so many people connect with it.” 

Trefry adds that it’s also “about the loss of innocence and coming of age and how you are changed and ruined and saved by these formative events that happened in high school.” 

“So, hopefully, you’ll see that Hopper and Joyce and Bob are all presenting echoes of the trauma that is at the center of this play,” she says. 

In the first season of “Stranger Things,” Joyce, Bob and Hopper seem surprised by what’s going on in Hawkins. But Trefry confirms there’s an explanation for why they don’t immediately connect it to their high school years.  

“The climactic events that happen within these two stage episodes had to be something that could be written off as not magical or science fiction,” she says. “It had to be spectacular and make sense, but we had to go forward in honesty with our characters.” 

As a TV series, “Stranger Things” has a recognizable aesthetic. The Upside Down and its monsters are familiar to viewers, so a stage version needed to incorporates similar visuals.  

Because Trefry had never written a play, she didn’t worry about whether certain effects or scenes would be possible, which upped the ante for everyone included.  

“She cross-cut scenes as she would in the show and wrote crazy visual effects sequences as she would in the show,” Matt Duffer says. “She wasn’t limited by that because it then just presented a challenge for Stephen to solve, which is fun. The opening sequence of the play -- I don’t think anyone even knew if it was possible. I'm still not sure how they’re doing it.” 

Friedman and Daldry put together a notably skilled creative team. Friedman set the bar high from the outset, telling them, “I need to be taken to a new dimension of what is possible with theater.” 

That team includes illusions design and visual effects artists Jamie Harrison and Chris Fisher, who are responsible for the onstage magic in “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.” Harrison and Fisher spent nearly a year coming up with the effects in “The First Shadow” and have continues perfecting things during rehearsals. 

“It’s very pressurized because there is nothing worse than a bad effect because the audience knows straight away,” Harrison says. “We have to go through quite a lot of watching our work be quite bumpy before it gets smooth. And we have to bring the actors from zero magic skill to being very expert in a condensed period of time.” 

“When you have the world of ‘Stranger Things,’ people know it,” Fisher adds. “They have those big sequences, so we naturally are creating big sequences. We’ve pushed it and I think by us pushing, the directors and Kate have pushed us even more and said, ‘Now we know you can do that, we want this.’” 

As a series “Stranger Things” relies on CGI alongside practical effects, but onstage everything has to be done for real. 59 Productions are creating the video design and visual effects for the play, which will work in tandem with the illusions and Miriam Buether’s set design. Harrison says that “anything that can be achieved in film can be achieved in theater.” 

“In film, people want absolute reality,” Harrison says. “For the effects to be visually real. In the theater, we have a level of imagination that we can use as well. For example, in the piece we’re creating there are a lot more blood and guts.” 

Trefry adds that the stage show is genuinely terrifying. “It’s scary like ‘Stranger Things’ is scary,” she says. “There’s a little bit of like guts and gore, and then there’s also real trauma – people dealing with real stuff.” 

Other elements of the production will hint at the series as well. For instance, Harrison and Fisher met with the creature designer from the series during their design process to ensure “visual continuity,” although they won’t say which creatures appear in the play. And D.J. Walde’s original music recreates the familiar synth theme song with a theremin that matches the late 1950s setting.  

For the Duffers, bringing the “Stranger Things” universe to life on stage satisfies their love of practical effects.  

“The downside of CGI is that the audience is conditioned to the fact that we can basically do anything,” Matt Duffer says. “But there’s something about seeing it actually done. When I saw ‘Cursed Child,’ my jaw was dropping in a way it rarely does now with these big movies. We want to do the same here.” 

Because Trefry wrote the play while Season 4 was in development, the series’ writers were able to retrofit elements of that season to reflect the stage show. The events of the play will also help to “enrich” Season 5, Matt Duffer says.  

“There’s a ton of conversation and dialogue between this play and the events that happen in Season 5,” Trefry says of the final season, which is over halfway written. “It was about trying to create something that is canon, but where you don’t have to see it to see Season 5. But if you do see it, it’ll make Season 5 better.” 

“There are hints of where [the show] is going to go,” Ross Duffer adds. “I think when [Season] 5 comes together, all of those pieces will hopefully click.” 

“The First Shadow” tickets are currently on sale through Aug. 25, 2024, although Friedman confirms the case signed one-year contracts and the production is open-ended. The plan is to bring the play to Broadway and the rest of the U.S. as soon as possible.  

“Hopefully it can get to as many places as it can so as many fans as possible can experience it,” Matt Duffer says. “That’s one thing we’re trying to figure out: How do we make sure people are able to see it before Season 5 releases?” 

“The First Shadow” marks the beginning of a broader universe for “Stranger Things.” The Duffers say they can’t “focus on the spinoffs until we’re landed the plan with Season 5,” but so far they’ve enjoyed letting other artists re-imagine their ideas. 

“This was originally pitched as a standalone story and so to be here now is surreal,” Ross Duffer says. “But this has been the most rewarding experience for us creatively." 

[otwdfanfic]

Very random and out of pocket but!! A few weeks ago I followed some classes on designing book covers based on themes and what you want possible readers to feel when seeing the book for the first time.

So it's been a while since I did that, and I got to thinking, what if I make some little cover sketches for otwd to practise? After some thinking and rereading some of the earlier chapters, I put down a little concept;

The most important part, for me, was showing one of two main things that really jumped out to me when reading; the ocean/freedom and betrayal. So, I jotted down some things for either idea.

For the ocean/freedom, I decided to go with a bit more of a traditional cover, very balanced, very light, as Nuffink's story isn't dark from the very start. I'd combine it with lighter shades of blue (to connect it to Nuff's main colours as well) with the colours darkening in ITPN and book three (see the colour palette in the top! Would also help the cold of itpn stand out)

In the first option, I also thought it would be really cool if the ocean was parting slightly as a way to invite nuffink to its waters, real "child of the ocean" vibes (and also to keep the image more balanced). The mist in the background would be a nod back to HTTYD and RTTE, where the mists to both the Dragon Island and into the Great Beyond was a symbol for mystery and adventure. And that's what Nuff's doing! He's going on an adventure that's gonna scar him for life! I'm still contemplating if the Chicken should be drifting on the ocean in the bg, but I think it would be a very good nod to Nuffink being invited onto the open waters. This cover would be leaning towards a light blue!

The second cover I based on the theme of betrayal and, more literally translated into the image, backstabbing. This would be much darker and colder immediately, which I'm not certain is the best decision considering the first chapters of otwd aren't outright dark, but it would display the idea of betrayal very well! As for colours, again, it would be darker, but still keeping the idea of blue to connect it back to Nuff and his ocean. The knife would be hanging just above his back (which would also be pretty significant as for the most part in otwd, he's not actively being betrayed, it's more hanging above his head and hits him at the end and thus it hanging above his back instead of already being in his back would make this more clear)

Anyways, that was a bit of my thought process behind these cover ideas! I'm not entirely certain if I'll work them out (it really depends on time lmao) but just in case I won't, here are the sketches and the ideas!

Again, this might be very out of pocket but I just love thinking about these kind of things haha

That class sounds really cool omg. I love these ideas! I've brainstormed otwd covers in the past but very generic ideas like just a picture of the kids flying on their dragons lol not so much theme based like a real book cover. 

The composition of the first idea reminds me of the painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog which is soo fitting! I like the idea of ocean/freedom/betrayal as the fundamental themes for the first one and it's interesting to think how the themes would change over time through itpn and totg. Do you know the book series Red Queen? They're sitting on my shelf rn and the covers have a similar shade of blue and each book is darker as the story becomes darker, I love the effect.

My dream would be to eventually commission a set of matching covers like these (maybe after I finish all 3 fics or at least start posting totg) and also make my own set of covers. If I ever make my own set I'd probably give each character their own cover- maybe Nuffink for otwd, Baldur for the downed dragon, Bjorn for itpn, Eret for the dancing and the dreaming, and Zephyr for totg? Gustav's prequel would be tricky lol

[peyton-warren]

My favorite fic of yours Although I fell in l've with your writing with "The Hidden Sun" this has to be "Blinded By The Fog" I just love all the characters so much!

My favorite chapter in my favorite fic of yours Chapter 4 of Blinded By The Fog. I re-read this so many times. Always finding all these little scenes that melt my heart. And then that last little words “Ni-night, baby.”  It always breaks me and I'm sobbing like a baby 😭

A fic I haven't read yet from you, but I want to Stick handling series. It's sitting in my drafts for a long time and I swear I will get to it, promised

What made me the most emotional after reading

Already mentioned it, but it is just so, so heartbreaking!

“Ni-night, baby.” 

What I like the most about your writing

Your characters are so full of life, they have their own personality, their flaws, they are loveable. Also, you get emotions out of me with your work, it's just wonderful!

A fic i'm excited for you updating/posting

Well, it's no secret that I hope to see an update on Blinded By The Fog...

Something I wish/hope you write

Anything that makes you happy ad comfortable!

If i've ever shared/talked about your fic to someone else

Yes, I did! Because you need to be praised! You're such a talent!

A fic I didn't expect to like so much

Arresting and arrested - I send you this ask but I didn't think to get THAT! And damn, it was so much better than everything I had expected. This man hanging from the Ceiling is plastered into my mind!

My dear @peyton-warren You have an alley in me and I will always do my best to support you. I know you're having a hard time. Just know that there are people who really love what you create! Because I do! 🥰

Found this in my inbox when i got a new ask tonight. This has been sitting there entirely too long . First of all thank you for your kind words and support. You know how crappy of a day I had today, and how many tears I shed. And this ask brought more tears to my eyes but for good reasons!

Your Favorite Fic of mine: I didn't know you started out with Hidden Sun, I am glad you liked that one. its one of my first here on tumblr and that first chapter holds a special place in my heart. I know how much you love Blinded by the Fog, you are my #1 cheerleader on that one, and I really appreciate as I try to get more of it out.

Your Favorite Chapter of a Fic of Mine: Chapter 4 of Blinded hits me more and more every time I reread it. And once I wrote your ask about the behind the scenes of how Sy was feeling, it is now a whole other level. I didn't intend for him to have so much feeling in that chapter, but man he breaks my heart too.

Something of mine you haven't read yet- I know that one is no longer true because you were able to help me brainstorm Chapter 8!

Whay you like most about my writing: Thank you hon. I honestly just write what the characters tell me to write, and I dont intentionally try to draw out emotions. I do love writing, and I love telling a good story. I am glad it comes across in the writing.

Writing you are looking forward to me writing/posting: It is no surprise at all you want me to post the next chapter of Blinded. And I appreciate your patience as I work through my own stuff as i try to get past this writer's block. And trust me, you will probably be the first person to know I when i finish that chapter.

something you wish I'd write: make me cry why don't you, Nina.

You telling others about my work: I don't think anyone has shared my work as much as you have, ever. I appreciate all of your support, and you telling others about my writing. It means so so much to me, more than you could ever know.

The fic that you were surprised by: I think that fic surprised many people, especially me. your prompt threw that scene in my head and I just wrote it down verbadum as I saw it in my brain. I need to get back to that. Tell the rest of the story that's in my head.

Again, Nina, I just I have no words for your support and how much it means to me. I keep saying thank you, and telling you it means the world to me, but even that does not cover how much you mean to me. Thank you, my friend from the bottom of my heart. You are a such a rare treasure and i value you so. Whether we are talking dogs, hairy titties, or fic, I always love seeing you pop up in my asks, dms and feed. Thank you for being you.

[graphitedemon]

Thank you for tagging me @beesinspades! I love being tagged in stuff like this!

What book are you currently reading? I'm still trying to finish War Storm, the fourth book in the Red Queen series, but fanfics keep taking its spot as my bedtime stories.

What's your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? Across the Spiderverse, hands down.

What do you usually wear? T-shirt and jeans with a sweater or flannel shirt on top when it's cold.

How tall are you? 5'5'' (166 cm)

What's your star sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? Scorpio. The US elections happen on my bday lmao

Do you go by your name or a nickname? A nickname that's a shortened version of my name.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child? I still don't know what I want to be, so no.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one? No, and don't have one. Unless fictional characters count.

What's something you're good at vs. something you're bad at? Drawing. I'd like to think I'm not that bad of an artist, but I also suck at actually starting a drawing.

Dogs or cats? DOGS! I'm a dog person who likes cats tho.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what's your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year? The Basil portrait that's still my pfp, I like how sketchy and loose it is.

What's something you'd like to create content for? Trigun, even if I'm technically already working on something that I can't reveal yet. And I'm still in the brainstorming stage.

What's something you're currently obsessed with? Again, Trigun. Specifically Vash, I love him. I'm not normal about him.

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? Nothing that I can think of, tbh.

What's a hidden talent of yours? I'm good at fitting a lot of things in a small bag by basically playing Tetris with the items I wanna put in it.

Are you religious? Lmao no.

What's something you wish to have at this moment? A soulmate. Not necessarily the romantic kind. Just someone I can be the most unfiltered version of myself with. Or just a good cuddle buddy.

Idk who to tag except @themindoflore. Hope you don't mind! And you don't have to do it, of course. I just enjoy tag chains.

[kanisema-blog]

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me

Chapter 5

The next morning, I gathered my team in the conference room to share the exciting news from my meeting with Lisa. Everyone was eager to hear about the plans for turning our project into a series.

“Good morning, everyone,” I began, smiling at the eager faces around the table. “I had a productive meeting with Lisa yesterday, and she’s really excited about expanding our movie into a series. We discussed adding more depth to the characters and introducing new story arcs.”

“That’s fantastic news, Kelly!” Emily said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I’ve got so many ideas for expanding the backstories of some of our characters.”

“Great to hear, Emily. We’re definitely going to need those ideas,” I replied. “Lisa also mentioned wanting to introduce a new antagonist. Someone who can challenge our protagonist in unexpected ways. I think it’s a brilliant idea to add more tension and keep the audience hooked.”

Mark leaned forward, nodding. “I’ve been thinking about that too. I have a few concepts for an antagonist that could really shake things up.”

“Perfect, Mark. I’d love to see what you’ve got,” I said, feeling the energy in the room lift with each new suggestion. “Now, let’s talk about tasks. Emily, I want you to start working on the backstories. Mark, start developing the antagonist. Jessica, I’d like you to focus on storyboarding some of the key scenes we discussed.”

Everyone nodded, jotting down notes. “Let’s make this series as amazing as our movie. I know we can do it,” I encouraged them, feeling a surge of pride in my talented team.

The rest of the day was a blur of brainstorming and planning. We exchanged ideas, sketched out scenes, and began laying the groundwork for what promised to be an incredible series. By the time the workday ended, I was both exhausted and exhilarated.

I decided to stop by the grocery store on my way home. My fridge was looking pretty bare, and I needed to stock up. As I roamed the aisles, grabbing what I needed, my mind kept drifting back to the project. I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t notice him.

There, standing by the oils, was John. He seemed to be deep in thought, scanning the shelves. I hesitated for a moment, then walked over to grab the oil I usually buy. As I reached for it, I couldn’t help but make a comment.

“Aren’t you going to buy the most expensive one?” I said, a hint of teasing in my voice.

John looked at me, his expression as nonchalant as ever. “Trying to spend my money wisely these days,” he replied, then glanced at the oil I had chosen. Without another word, he grabbed the same one and walked away.

I watched him go, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Seeing John always stirred up old feelings, memories of our time together, both good and bad. I took a deep breath, shook my head slightly, and continued with my shopping.

After picking up the rest of my groceries, I headed to the checkout counter, paid for my items, and walked out of the store. As I approached my car, I nearly jumped out of my skin when John appeared beside me, offering to carry my bags.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his tone casual.

I almost punched him in surprise. “John! You scared me,” I said, my heart racing.

“Sorry,” he said, though his expression remained unchanged. “Just thought I’d help.”

I hesitated, then handed him a couple of bags. “Thanks.”

We walked to my car in silence. As he helped me load the groceries into the trunk, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him. Despite everything, there was something comforting about his presence.

“Thanks for the help,” I said once we were done.

“No problem,” he replied, turning to walk away.

I watched him go, a part of me wishing things could have been different. But life had its own plans, and we were both trying to move forward. I got into my car, took a deep breath, and drove home.

Once home, I put away the groceries and settled onto the couch, reflecting on the day. It had been a whirlwind, from discussing exciting new projects with my team to the unexpected encounter with John. As much as I tried to focus on the future, the past had a way of sneaking back in. But I knew I had to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

[foxwitchaine]

list five things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last ten people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your followers, mutuals and all the wonderful people on here!

Five things that make me happy? Let's see...

1.) Food

I'm a home chef who likes trying new recipes. Food to me is a love language all on its own. To me, there's nothing more loving than seeing a freshly prepared hot meal on the table. Cooking is also a huge de-stressor for me. Whenever I feel too stressed out, I go cook something.

It's tons easier when the summer heat isn't lurking around, lol

2.) Brainstorming

Had a bit of trouble with this one since it covers a wide range of what I like to do. I like playing matchmaker for different canon characters, be it with other canons or with OCs. I like planning out projects and how they will go. Acting on them is another story altogether, but I'm learning.

Which brings me to my next one...

3.) Learning

Probably has something to do with nearly everyone in my family, both immediate and extended, being in the education field. I like learning new things, be it art, music, or programming. I'm currently studying programming so I can start breaking out of this funk I've been in regarding the TWST fan game. It's still happening, I'm just having to make some choices to accomplish what I want with it.

4.) The arts

This should be a no-brainer. Visual art and animation aren't the only things I love. I've got a passion for music that I've been nurturing lately. I used to sing and perform when I was in high school, but I dropped that to focus on college. Well, now that I've been out of school for a few years (I just dated myself, didn't I), I've been rediscovering my old hobbies and hoping to bring them back to life. I've slowly been getting back into playing piano and I've been saving up to take singing lessons.

5.) Video games

Anyone who knows me knows that I've been a gamer for years. Two of my favorite series of all time are Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy. I also like playing indie titles such as Ib. And some horror games I really enjoyed are Haunting Ground and Eternal Darkness. Lately, I've been playing Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail with my partner Rafe. We're slowly inching back into Minecraft for winding down.

This was fun. Thanks for the asks 🙂

[leelovelavender]

St. Amia Uniforms

Introduction + Inspirations:

Uniforms have always been my favorite part of fantasy schools and real life school. I've been wearing uniforms my whole life it's effected my fashion and heavily influenced my love for accessories. So I had a lot of fun designing them.

The uniforms themselves took a lot of brainstorming. Like most things in the story they changed constantly as I continued to iron things out not only around the characters, but also specifically in the worldbuilding.

Past versions

The only way to explain what you see here is 10-year old over ambition. When the original plan was to have How To be a Magical Girl a graphic novel my ten year old self had planned for each of my characters to have their own personalized uniform. This uniformed belonged to an early form of one of my characters, it's riddled with star motifs and her main colors pink and yellow. There are also gold star buttons and what I think are patches on her shoulders along with a bow at the back (idk if that's attached to her blazer or her skirt). At the time my only reference for actual school uniforms were the girl's at my older brother's school who wore the common western styled ones of blazers, button downs, and pleated skirts. (I'm thinking one day I should do a full showing of the others or maybe even a redraw of these cause there are a couple more). For obvious reasons these designs were impractical not only for me as an artist to consistently draw in a graphic novel, but even more impractical as the school itself developed into a more concrete idea rather than "Knock-off Winx school"

These iterations of the uniforms consisted of color blocked dresses and silk capes. I also thought about overalls and including pins with the capes. Although years later after watching spy x family you might notice the resemblance to the Eden's school uniforms. At the time of these designs Amia was halfway figured out. I knew I wanted St. Amia to still be an exclusive and strict kind of private school but uniform wise I wasn't completely sure where that put them. Aspects of these versions of the uniforms drew from Beauxbatons academy from the Harry potter series. Its also around the time when I started gearing the story towards Light academia themes. Now, there is nothing fundamentally wrong with these uniforms. I kept the palate and some structural ideas from this, but as I fleshed out the school again the uniforms needed to change too.

Final Uniforms (For the foreseeable future)

Everything on the drawing is labeled but I'm still going to describe them. In the final version the bell sleeves stay (they just look more pronounced because of how my art style has changed since). The beret stay and so do the bows also stay because I just love bows. There's a new addition of flared pants and a patterned lining along with a practical way to hike them up (see the small snaps on the sides). In a lot of character design videos the thing they press on are "distinct silhouettes". I'm hoping I've accomplished that.

Anyone who has ever been to a school where uniforms are customary, you'd know that no one wears the same uniform. Lots of dress codes allow thing like school sweaters or outside accessories. I personally enjoy wearing headbands and a sweater vest with mine. I like to have some elements of realism in my story and in my character designs (despite how cartoony my art style is). Girls have the option of skirts (of different lengths) or pants. Also since St. Amia campus is on a mountain (and famously called "The Winter Garden") students also have the choice of knitwear overtop their blouses. Each girl wears a different variation of the St. Amia uniform based on their personal style, lifestyle, and characters.

Alice(left) is a girl known for her bubbly disposition and is from Japan. She prefers to wear a bigger version of the standard sweater vest and a shorter skirt meant to be more reminiscent of her old uniform she would've worn before Amia.

Evie(middle) is a druid and botany student. She spends most of her non-core classes in the school's greenhouse right in the flowerbeds. In addition to the usual gardening aprons the school provides she also buttons up her flared pants and prefers the tighter version of the sweater vest.

Abia(right) comes from a more noble background and prefers a longer skirt and a cardigan since she tends to run hot internally but cold externally (lore thing). As an astrology student she also prefers the cardigans for their pockets so she can stash pencils in there for midday classes.

[scentedsstuff]

Red Queen

By Victoria Aveyard

Rating: 2/5⭐️

The PREMISE, The premise of this book is what easily caught my attention but as I proceeded to actually read the book, that’s where it lost me.

Quick Plot Summary:

Mare Barrow is our main character, born into a world divided by blood, and in this world you are either a red or a silver.

The reds are the commoners who labour away all day and the silvers are the ruling class, born with supernatural powers.

But what happens when this “norm” is disrupted by none other than our main girl; Mare Molly Barrow. In a turn of events it is discovered that Mare, a red, has supernatural powers of her own much to the surprise of everyone, including Mare herself. Why and how does Mare have the abilities that she does? Is she the anomaly or could there be others?

What follows is the beginning of a revolution.

Thoughts:

The idea was there, the execution, however, was not. Initially, I was intrigued by the premise, if you have two very different groups of people; reds and silvers, how can someone like Mare exist? Why does she have the abilities that she does despite having red blood?

I felt there was potential for me to like this book, but it was the characters that really deterred me from giving anything above 2 stars.

Mare was a bland main character, she really wasn’t standing out much from any other protagonist in a YA dystopian setting which made the book overall feel less memorable. The same could actually be said for the world building in general. It was an okay book with an okay protagonist but it wasn’t doing much for all the praise it seemed to be getting on social media.

Mare makes mistakes (like anyone else does) but doesn’t seem to learn from them nor grow as a character. There’s not much character development, and whilst I am aware that this is only the first book in a series, there doesn’t seem to be much promise for her character to get any better.

The rest of the characters suffered the same fate and were just as annoying.

There's a scene in this book that lives rent free in my brain (not because it’s particularly amazing but because I don’t remember ever cringing so hard from reading a book) :

Mare and the rebel gang are all together, plotting and scheming as one does, and they start to brainstorm how their plans are going to take care of a whole legion of soldiers under Cal (the big brooding brother)’s order.

Maven chimes in with “I happen to know a girl who knows a general very well” (**hint hint, It’s Mare and the general she knows very well is Cal).

She goes off on a lil tangent of “C’mon this is Cal, the solider, the general, the prince, Cal would never betray his country, not for anything!”

………literally the following excerpt reads “I know my brother, if it comes down to it, we both know what he’ll choose”

Mare ‘not like other girls’ Barrow responds “He would never choose me”

Maven shakes his head. “He will always choose you.”

Giirrllllll………..what the actual………. The way my eyes rolled so far back into my head (if that's even correct). I shut that book up and THREW it across the room.

I’m sorry but it feels like he just met you and before this dialogue she literally comes to the realisation that he loves her. How? How did this happen when they’ve only had a handful of scenes together where there was barely any build up. I can understand if he likes the girl and vice versa but love?! Bye. This book was testing me.

Mare had the personality and charisma of a blank piece of paper and I’m supposed to believe she had 3 guys head over heels in love with her.

Overall this book was very much a product of its time. Any redeeming traits were far and few and I just didn’t like it but that could just be me. If the premise seems interesting to you and you’re wanting to read it, be my guest.