#Familiar Animals (Series 5) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

souliebird · 5 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 10]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Words: 4.2k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

When Minnie was six months old, you used to sleep on the couch so you wouldn't wake her up trying to get ready for bed. It would hurt your back - your couch was not very comfortable to sleep on - but you would sacrifice your comfort so she could sleep. No one in their right mind would wake a sleeping baby - even one that was always happy to go down for a nap.

As your mind begins to stir, you become aware of the familiar ache in your lower back and the unfamiliar one pulsing around your eyes. Your hand slowly snakes up from where you had curled it against your chest and press your fingers along the bridge of your nose and up to the curve of your eyebrow, testing to see if the throbbing was sinus related. Nothing is triggered but your memories of the night before creep into your consciousness.

Minnie with her tantrum and Matt with his amazing senses.

You groan into the cushion as it all falls into place. Your eyes hurt from crying, not your sinuses, and you must have fallen asleep on the couch after your breakdown.

Shame and embarrassment course through you. You hate crying and you hate that someone witnessed it. You can't imagine what he must think of you now - losing it like that. You should have been able to handle the news far better than you had and you're going to promptly apologize the next time you talk to him. You had acted so selfishly when it was clear he had control over the situation.

But you don't have time to sit and wallow in your wretchedness - your daughter needs you to get up and be a capable adult, so you will your aching body to sit up.

Your phone is sitting on the table in front of you, so you grab it to check the time. It's half past seven and your daughter has probably been awake for at least an hour. More shame courses through you - you always try to wake up before her so you can take care of her. You can only guess what state she is in.

Your head spins as you stand, but you try to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bedroom. You prepare yourself to find a soiled bed - you didn't bother to change her into her night clothes and a pull-up and she is still mastering waking up when she needs to pee at night.

The door is partially open and as you near it, you hear her tiny voice talking nonsense as she plays with something. You take a deep breath and push into the room, ready to face the start of your day.

Your mind short-circuits at what you encounter.

Both beds are clean and made, far tidier than you usually make them, and Minnie is sat on the floor with Scooby and some of her other stuffed animals, having what looks to be a tea party. To your absolute confusion, she is already dressed, and her hair has been put into pigtails with mismatched bows. You know for a fact she can't reach where you keep her hair supplies - you put them on a high shelf after she got into them to play salon before and managed to get her hair tangled so badly you had to cut things out.

It doesn't even take her half a second to notice you and her little face breaks into the biggest smile, “Mommy!”

Still very much confused, you step forward to join the tea party circle and kneel down to be level with her. “Hi, sweetie,” you greet, trying your best to not alarm her. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”

“Not-uh! Mister Matt helped! We watched lots of videos about hair and he made me pretty!”

You frown at that, “Mister Matt helped?” Had he stayed the night after you fell asleep? If so, where is he now? Your apartment isn't that big, and the bathroom door is open. Had he left before you woke up? You don’t like the idea of him leaving Minnie unsupervised.

Your daughter nods as she turns back to her toys, pretending to pour you a cup of tea and handing it over. You automatically pretend to take a sip.

“He helped make me pretty,” she confirms after putting her tea pot down, “now he's getting foods. Bagels!”

You turn the statement over in your mind - there is a bagel shop around the corner Minnie loves and if Matt is right about her also having enhanced abilities, maybe, just maybe, he didn't leave her unwatched.

You bite your lip, then dare to push.

“Mouse, do you think you can tell me where Mister Matt is right now? Can you hear him?”

She doesn't acknowledge you right away, fussing with another piece of her tea set. You wait, allowing her to process what is being asked of her and watch as she slowly starts to move her head in minute movements, like she's tracking something. It's terrifying and fascinating to see a look of concentration come over her face and after about thirty seconds, she breaks into another big smile.

“He's talking to a frog!”

“A frog..?” You ask, wondering if Matt was wrong about Minnie having heightened senses and she's playing pretend again.

“Yeah, he says…he says.. He's telling froggy he can't go to work. He's gonna stay with us!”

It clicks instantly. Matt isn't talking to a frog. He's talking to his business partner, Foggy Nelson, and as far as you know, Matt hasn't mentioned him or Karen yet by name to Minnie.

“Can you tell where he is?” You ask again, being sure to be gentle with your question.

“Outside,” is her response, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Froggies can't come inside. Do you want sugar?” She holds up her toy spoon and you offer her your tea cup.

“Yes, please.”

She pretends to scoop sugar and you watch her in amazement. You are of course going to have to confirm that Matt was talking to Foggy, but it is so hard to believe your little one can hear that. You can't hear what is going on in your own living room, let alone outside your apartment. You cannot imagine how loud everything must be, how much input Mouse must be getting - but she doesn't seem bothered by it at all right now.

She seems to be completely over her tantrum from yesterday and you want to ask her about it, but you aren't sure how or if she has the ability to express it. You know there are days you get overwhelmed and upset and you can't think of another way to explain it other than “too much”. You can't expect a three year old to articulate it better than you can.

She's got a sweet little smile and part of you fears if you bring up her previous upset, it will spiral right back into a meltdown. So, you watch instead - watch as she goes back to playing make pretend with her toys, seemingly unbothered. You sip at your tea, making up a list of questions for Matt when he returns from his errand.

Minnie plays for about five minutes before she perks up, beaming up at you, “Mister Matt asks if you can open the door, please thank you."

Her statement throws you for a moment and you aren't sure how much you like the idea of her being able to tell you all these things. It scares you - her knowing things you don't and not knowing what she does know.

Maybe it is one of the things you and Matt can talk about - then talk about it with your sweet Mouse. You are going to have to get used to it, either way.

You push yourself into standing and motion for Minnie to come along. She scrambles up and runs out of the room, delighted laughter following her.

You are still in your clothes from the night before and you wish you had taken a moment to check your hair or even brush your teeth. You try to tell yourself it is fine, but your anxiety just argues back, and you feel like a complete slob by the time you get to the front door.

Your stomach and heart both do a funny clench at the sight of Matt, who is still sporting his borrowed shirt. You don't know if you want to fall into his arms or throw up or go hide under your covers so you can pretend all of this is a dream. Instead, you step aside so he can come inside and silently beg your mind to stop collapsing in on itself.

“Breakfast delivery,” Matt says as a greeting, his entire face lighting up with a smile. He's holding a bag from the shop around the corner in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks along with a small one in his other.

You can feel your face starting to heat up and force your eyes down to the ground, mumbling, “you didn't need to do that.”

He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, “I wanted to, and someone,” his voice turns teasing as he directs his next comments to Minnie, “wouldn't stop talking about bagels.”

Your daughter erupts into giggles, then turns and runs back towards the kitchen. Matt gives a pleased laugh, and your stomach flips again. He follows Minnie, and after you relock the door, you join them.

They are sitting at the dining table, Mouse watching with a big smile as bagels are laid out on the table. Matt narrates for both of you, “Three egg bagels with plain cream cheese, two large coffees, and one kid’s hot chocolate. Now, is that the right order or was someone taking advantage?”

Minnie giggles more and that relaxes your shoulders. “No, that's right. Thank you, you really didn't -” You cut yourself off as you realize the table is clear of any mess from the night before. There are no plates on the table or in the sink, there's no lasagna stains on the floor, there's no leftovers sitting out. Your eyes drift to Matt.

He must have cleaned after you had fallen asleep. Guilt courses through you - he shouldn't have to be dealing with your messes, especially in your own living space. You are going to need to not only apologize but return the favor somehow. You aren't sure how you'll do that - no one has ever done this much for you before, and Matt has done so so much in such a short time.

You're dragged from your thoughts as a coffee is placed in front of you.

“It's just black, I didn't know how you took it,” the kind, handsome lawyer says, and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears. It beats harder when you remember that not only can he hear your body and mind freaking out, but so can your daughter.

Your instinct tells you to panic at the idea of someone knowing that much about you. You always try to stay calm on the outside while having a meltdown, but that doesn't matter with him. He'll know you're a mess. You can't hide it.

You hear Matt ask Minnie something about her tea party and watch as she skips away from the table, but it's like your mind doesn't process it. You feel completely frozen because you don't know how to act - you don't know how to hide yourself from the man in front of you. You don't know how to hide yourself away from your daughter.

How can you protect her from yourself? Your own body?

Suddenly, Matt is in front of you, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands and whispering your name. He's practically right on top of you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin, “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

“What?” You ask, so confused about what is going on. You don't understand why he's saying it's okay.

“A deep breath, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath?”

Your mind will not wrap the reason for the instruction, but you do as you are told. You inhale through your nose and that earns you a soft smile. He continues to pet you, gently instructing you to exhale after a moment and you obey.

“Again?” He prompts and you nod. You feel shaky as you try to focus on breathing. You've always hated these exercises - they've never worked for you and have only served to frustrate you, and now you are just trying to make sure you are doing it right. How embarrassing would it be to fuck up breathing in front of Matt?

“That's it,” he says so calmly, “Just breathe. I know it's a lot. I know. One step at a time. Let's have some breakfast, okay? Let's sit and have coffee and we can all talk. How's that sound?”

It sounds good, it sounds like the right thing to do, but your throat is clenching and not wanting to produce words, so you nod instead.

You close your eyes to try to center yourself and somehow calm down. Matt lingers, keeping a hold of you until you hear Minnie coming back to the kitchen. It seems like he waits until the last possible moment before pulling away.

Seeing your daughter looking so happy helps to reset your mind. She's fetched Scooby and Pig and runs up to the table to put them in their chair. You smile at the sight.

She really does seem like she's perfectly fine and maybe Matt is right and everything is okay. For now, at least.

You force yourself into action, moving to set one of the bagels in front of Mouse, setting it on a napkin. You're going to need to transfer the hot chocolate into a mug or Mouse will spill on herself.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

She practically dives into her bagel, picking it up and taking a big bite and getting cream cheese on her cheeks. She is completely engrossed with her food.

“Thank Mister Matt, he got us breakfast,” you advise before going to get a napkin. While you are in the kitchen, you grab your creamer from the fridge.

“Thank you, Mister Matt!” she chimes before barreling on. “Mommy, did you know Mister Matt can braid hairs!”

Guilt courses through you and you remind yourself you need to thank Matt for everything he has done for you. But you tell yourself to not think of it right now - you are terrified of Minnie sensing your panic and that somehow shuts your mind down and you go into parent mode.

“No, I didn't. Did you ask him to braid your hair?” You ask as you move in to wipe her face. She obediently tilts her face towards you and closes her eyes as you clean away the cream cheese. In the corner of your eye you see Matt sip from his coffee, a smile forming in his lips.

“She wanted puffs,” he advises, “I learned a lot of new hair terminology today. Minnie is a very good teacher.”

Your daughter preens at the praise before taking another bite of her bagel. More cream cheese gets on her face. You decide to wait until she's done eating before tidying her up again. It will be pointless otherwise.

Instead, you start to fix your coffee, removing the lid to add creamer. You eye your daughter as you do, letting yourself finally take in her appearance.

“You're a good stylist,” you tell Matt, and it is true. Her pigtails look even and as smooth as can be expected for a toddler. You don't see any tangles and if Minnie is happy, you have no grievances with the outcome - only guilt that Matt was the one who dealt with it.

“I have some experience,” he hums, before taking another sip of his coffee. Then he directs his smile to his daughter, “my best friend used to have long hair. He has little nieces and they used to do his hair at Christmas, and I got roped into helping. I'm told I do a pretty good French braid.”

Mouse giggles before gasping and pointing at you, “do Mommy's hair!”

Embarrassment floods you - you don't think anyone has done your hair since you were Minnie’s age, and your current hair is a gross greasy mess and you don't want anyone touching it.

Matt hums as he tilts his head towards you, “I think Mommy is better at doing her hair than I would be. But maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time,” you agree, hoping that will be enough to deter your daughter from this path.

Luckily, she quickly parrots, “Next time!”

You offer her a smile and take a much needed drink of your coffee. It not only warms you but helps to ground you back into reality.

You remind yourself nothing has actually changed - you are just more aware of the world. To Minnie, this is the same as any other day and you need to get yourself back on track.

Which means you need to confirm some things with Matt.

You set your coffee down, then pick up Minnie’s hot chocolate and bring it to the kitchen to transfer into one of her kid-friendly tumblers. You clear your throat, then dare to try, “Minnie said you'd be spending the day with us?”

“You told the froggy!” Mouse happily adds.

Matt looks confused for a few seconds before it must click, “Foggy, sweetheart, not Froggy. Foggy is my best friend - the one who had long hair.”

“Froggy!” Is the defiant response and you know better than to argue. Once something is named, the name sticks. But of course, Matt doesn't know this and you decide to let him learn.

“Foggy,” he tries. “Like a cloud. Not a frog.”

“Froggy!”

“Fog. Foggy. No ‘r’.”

“Frog. Froggy! Froggy! Froggy!” Minnie bounces in her seat, starting to giggle. You return to the table, securing the lid to the sippy tumbler before placing it down.

“Ribbit ribbit,” you add and that gets you a delighted burst of laughter.

“Ribbit ribbit!”

Matt practically pouts but seems to realize he isn't going to win this. “But yes, I… told Foggy I wanted to spend the day with you. When I was in the phone, outside.” His dramatic sad face turns into something soft as he tilts his head towards Minnie, “Did you tell your Mommy you heard me?”

“I, uh, asked if she could,” you say, feeling silly for admitting it. But you know this is the path you need to take to start understanding what enhanced senses mean.

“I can hear everything,” your little one proudly says, and you've heard her say it before - but now you know she isn't just playing pretend.

“Yes, you can,” is Matt's soft reply. Unlike your underlying panic, his voice seems to carry a fondness about the whole situation. He is the one with the experience and you want to trust him with the lead on this, but it's still absolutely terrifying.

But you know you need to set the ball up, so you gently push, “Did you know Mister Matt can also hear…everything?” You know it's not everything, at least by what Matt said, but you aren't going to get technical with a toddler. “Mommy can't, though. Mommy’s hearing isn't as good as yours and Mister Matt's.”

Mouse looks between the two of you, pursing her lips up as she thinks, then she reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly, “I'll tell you what I hears, Mommy.”

Your heart soars with so much love and you turn your hand so you can take hers and give it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, baby.”

“I can hears a bark-bark dog and a woofy dog,” she starts, “and there's a puppy going ‘yip-yip-yip!’”

Matt laughs a little and your focus is ripped away from Minnie and over to him. He absolutely beams at you, looking proud as can be. You wonder what this like for him - having someone else who can hear what he can.

“There's a doggy day care about two blocks north,” he informs, and it is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact your daughter can hear that far. “Clients are starting to arrive, and they are lively.”

There's a flash of brown and Minnie is waving Scooby at Matt, “Bark bark bark!”

“Is Scooby a barky dog?” He asks, leaning forward towards her and putting his elbows on the table. “Not a woofy dog?”

“Bark bark!” Is the response before Mouse makes him growl. You finally allow yourself to sit and watch the sweet interaction. Everything still feels like it's too much and swirling inside you, but seeing Matt and Minnie bond is soothing - even if it's over something you can't understand yet.

“What about Pig? Does he go bark-bark or woofy?”

His question gets Minnie to gasp as if she's scandalized. “Pig isn't a doggy!”

“Oh, he isn't?” Matt teases, “I can't see him. What is he?”

“He's a piggy!” She snatches up Pig and clutches him to her chest beside Scooby. You hope she doesn't have cream cheese on her fingers because cleaning her toys is always an adventure. She hates when they have to get washed and now, you guess, you understand why. They probably smell different after being washed or the texture is off. It's something you'll have to explore later.

“What type of noises do piggies make?”

“Oink-oink-oink!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he hums, then hunches forward more and lowers his voice, like he's talking in secret, “And what sounds do little girls named Minnie make?”

You finally get to take a bite of your bagel as you watch her contemplate the question. Her face screws up in thought before lighting up when she decides her answer.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo!”

Matt throws his head back with laughter, which makes Minnie dissolve into happy giggles. The sheer joy between the two of them pulls a smile out of you and the heaviness in your chest starts to lighten more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo?” You question and your daughter giggles more.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo! Like Scooby!”

You don't understand what that means but you just let the positivity continue.

“What about Mommy? What sounds do I make?” You ask, curious what her response will be.

“Bumbum-bumbum.” They aren't words, but you instantly get it is supposed to be your heartbeat. You feel yourself start to flush. Matt had told you that Minnie listens to your heart to ground herself, so of course that is what she associates you with. But hearing it from her mouth and getting that confirmation still rocks you.

“It's a good sound, isn't it?” Matt asks Minnie and you can imagine how red you are turning. You try to hide behind your coffee.

“The bestest,” Minnie agrees before adding, “After Scooby Song. Scooby Dooby Do! Where are you!”

“We've got some work to do now,” you half mumble, half sing with her.

“I've never heard the Scooby song,” the man beside you says and that triggers Mouse into action. She slides off her chair, and still clutching her toys, hurries across the room to the television. She knows how to bring up what she wants, so it only takes a few seconds before there is an episode starting to play on screen.

She drops her toys and the remote before running back to Matt and tugging on his - technically yours - shirt. “You gotta listen!”

He barely gets to stand up before being pulled into the living room. He does not resist in the slightest to being directed to sit on the ground and you watch as Minnie begins to explain the intricate lore of her favorite show. To your wonder she describes each character by their voice first and you can tell Matt is completely enthralled by what he is being told. Scooby gets moved from laying on the floor to being shoved into Matt's lap so he can hold onto him.

You realize without fanfare that you can barely hear the television. It is still on low volume from last time you had it on, and it dawns on you that you never really have it turned up too loud. Minnie can probably hear it just fine and doesn't need it blasting throughout the apartment. You never got to really watch television as a kid, and you wonder what the normal volume for watching things is supposed to be.

You sip at your coffee, watching as Minnie plops herself next to Matt on the floor, going on excitedly about mysteries and different sounds. Both of them are smiling and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

This is what you want your life to be like, you decide.

You want your family to be full of love and joy and you have fought so hard to get to this point. You've climbed your way out of a cold and distant household to make your own little corner in the world and right now you need to enjoy it instead of letting your mind be taken over by darkness and despair.

So, you set your coffee down and move to join your daughter and her father in front of the television, asking in a teasing voice, “So who is the blonde man again?”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock

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persevereforahappyending · 3 months

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Maybe in Another Life |1|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Slight Titans Curse Spoilers

Word Count: 3.7k

Note: This will be following more of the book plot specifically 3-5 so there will be slight spoilers as this goes on. If you've read the books, it will be obvious that I've shifted the timeline slightly.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

You were in position, arrow at the ready as you waited in the trees. Your sisters were around you, scattered throughout the woods as they awaited orders just like you. You watched as a couple kids fought the manticore, fought was being generous, they seemed to be losing. They were trying to protect some kids but ended up finding themselves caught between the monster and a helicopter, humans never knew when to mind their own business.

Finally, the horn sounded, your goddess gave the order and you and your sisters let your arrows fly. Every single one of your arrows pierced into the monster, into his arms, his legs, and yours found a home in his neck. You couldn’t help but smirk as you watched him stumble back.

The manticore roared, eyeing the woods, he didn’t need to see you to know you were there. He fired his spikes aimlessly into the woods, hoping to hit at least one of you. You smirked at seeing the spikes coming directly at you before notching another arrow and letting it fly. You and your sisters’ arrows intercepted every single one of the monsters’ spikes perfectly, disintegrating them in the air.

All the kids looked around confused, trying to see through the darkness of the trees. You and your sisters were never seen though, not unless you wanted to be seen. Your goddess signaled for you to show yourselves, you all rushed forward, ready to end the monster. Zoe was given the order to take the shot but one of the girls that had been originally fighting it jumped on its back, compromising Zoe’s shot.

You all waited, bows at the ready to get a kill shot of the monster, then Zoe finally gave the order. Once again you and your sisters let your arrows fly, each one nailing the monster in the chest and neck. The monster staggered back but he wasn’t down yet, he let out another roar before quickly jumping over the cliff, the girl still on his back.

“Annabeth!” one of the boys yelled, running forward as if he was going to follow her over the edge.

Your goddess mumbled something about mortals not being allowed to witness her hunt, then she raised her hand and the helicopter that had been hovering over them turned into a flock of birds. You smiled, shaking your head as you looked up where the helicopter had been, oh how you loved it when she turned people and things into animals.

“Zoe Nightshade,” someone said. You turned to see Zoe standing toe to toe with one of the kids you all had saved. When you got closer you couldn’t help but smirk, recognizing the girl.

“Thalia Grace,” Zoe said with an eyeroll.

“Well, well, well,” you said, slinging an arm around Zoe as you approached the group. “Look who’s no longer a tree.”

“Y/N,” Thalia said with an eyeroll.

You smiled; Thalia wasn’t your biggest fan, but she hated you a lot less than she did Zoe. Unlike Zoe you hadn’t done anything to directly make enemies with Thalia, she wasn’t the biggest fan of Hunters after her last encounter with all of you, but you also just tended to rub people the wrong way. Most people found you too intense and arrogant.

“Four half-bloods and a satyr my lady,” Zoe said, informing Artemis of the kids you just saved. You rolled your eyes, Zoe, always being so formal.

“Some of Chiron’s campers, I see,” Artemis said, approaching the group.

“Annabeth!” the boy screamed again. You furrowed your brow, that name sounded familiar. Your eyes flitted back to Thalia, that’s when it clicked, Annabeth had been the little girl traveling with Thalia and that boy from a few years ago. “You have to let us go after her!”

“I’m sorry, Percy Jackson, but your friend is beyond help.” You tilted her head at Artemis, she was great at recruiting young girls to the Hunt, but she really wasn’t the best with people, which was saying something because her and her brother were the most ingrained in the mortal realm, walking amongst humans more than any of the other gods.

Your ears perked up at the boy’s name, tilting your head at the one you now knew as Percy Jackson. You had heard of him, everyone had heard about him, son of Poseidon, another child of the prophecy. You looked from him to Thalia, realizing a child of Zeus and Poseidon now walked the earth again, either one of them could be the one from the great prophecy.

“Who do you think you are?” Percy questioned. You raised an eyebrow at the boys’ guts, he clearly had no idea who he was talking to.

“Watch your tone,” Zoe snapped, shaking your arm off her, quickly throwing a glare over her shoulder at you as she approached the boy.

You shook your head with a smirk. Zoe was your goddesses second and she was technically older than you, born a whole thousand years before you even. Physically though, she looked younger, she was stuck at the young age of fourteen whereas you were frozen at seventeen, meaning, you loved to treat her like a little sister.

“It’s okay,” Artemis said. “I sense no disrespect, Zoe.” She stepped forward so she could stare Percy in the eyes, but she never offered him a hand. “I am Artemis, goddess of the Hunt.”

“You’re a goddess, why can’t you go after Annabeth?” Percy asked once again, clearly having a one-track mind.

“She is gone, can’t you sense it?” You sighed, it was obvious the boy couldn’t sense it, he probably had no idea what he’d even be trying to sense.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Some sort of magic,” Artemis looked around, confused as to what kind of magic could make the girl disappear. “She’s vanished. But trust, if she can be found, I will find her.”

Percy didn’t seem happy about her answer, but he grumbled, having to accept that there was no way he’d be able to go after his friend. The conversation quickly turned to the two kids the half-bloods had been protecting, Nico and Bianca, orphans, demigods, their parent unknown. Nico seemed very into the idea of being related to a Greek god, it was a little concerning how excited he was. Bianca on the other hand had a more reasonable reaction, it was hard for her to deny the truth though after being attacked by a Manticore.

Artemis ordered for camp to be set up while she talked to Bianca. Zoe smirked as soon as Bianca agreed to the conversation while Thalia glared at her. You knew Thalia’s feelings on what was about to be discussed but at least she had the decency to hold her tongue this time. When Nico asked if he could join, Artemis had the decency to redirect his attention to the satyr friend of the demigods, Nico didn’t seem to realize he was being pawned off, all too happy to talk about his little figures and game with the satyr.

You made yourself scarce, moving as far away from the others as you helped set up camp. As you walked away you could already hear the bickering between Percy and Thalia starting, it seemed the friend they lost had been their mediator, it was only a matter of time before they tried to kill each other without her. You and your sisters worked effortlessly, the motions of setting up camp having become second nature, even without any sort of magic you had the whole campsite set up in minutes. One of your sisters blew the whistle, signaling for the wolves to come out. You glanced up to see Thalia and Zoe now bickering, you shook your head then went back to more important matters, giving treats to the wolves.

You watched as Zoe approached Percy then led him into the tent you knew Artemis was residing in. Zoe gave you a nod as they passed, you gave one in return before giving the rest of the treats to the wolf. You quickly brushed off your hands and followed behind Zoe and Percy. Once in the tent Percy took a seat next to Bianca, Zoe took a seat on Artemi’s right and you stood behind your goddess on the left. You eyed your guests, Bianca looking deep in thought, barely registering that Percy had sat next to her, her mind most likely playing over all the benefits of Artemis’s offer.

You stood dutifully to the side as Artemis explained her whole deal to Percy, he seemed confused by the whole ‘rejecting romantic love’ thing, he couldn’t fathom the idea of why someone would ever accept that. He wasn’t disrespectful about it though, you would give him that, most men when they stumbled upon Artemis or the Hunters they didn’t understand, didn’t try to understand, and it always cost them, Artemis made sure of that. You couldn’t help but smirk when Percy’s eyes widened when Artemis and Zoe started talking about the last boy to have seen your camp and how Artemis had turned him into a jackelope. Her turning boys into jackelopes was secretly one of your favorite things, there was a part of you that always hoped a boy would stumble upon your camp and she’d turn him into an animal.

You zoned out a bit, making sure you could still hear the conversation around you. Percy was filling in Artemis on the manticore and what he had said before you and your sisters arrived. Percy’s details were vague and confusing, but Bianca clearly had the better memory and helped fill in the gaps or correct Percy on wording if he got it wrong. You didn’t fully tune back into the conversation until Artemis said she must hunt this new monster.

“We’ll leave right away, my lady,” Zoe said. You stood at attention ready to follow them into the next hunt.

“No, Zoe. I must do this alone,” Artemis said. She glanced back at you to make sure you knew she was serious. You frowned, Artemis may have been a goddess but the idea of her going off and hunting this unknown monster didn’t settle right with you. Despite your reservations you honored your goddesses’ wishes and kept your mouth shut.

“But, Artemis-” Zoe did not keep her mouth shut.

“This task is too dangerous even for the Hunters. You know where I must start my search. You cannot go there with me.”

“As… as you wish, my lady.”

Zoe also having reservations about Artemis going off on her own didn’t settle your uneasiness. Zoe was a rule follower, she was the type of kid you hated because she’d rather follow rules than do something fun. You always followed your goddesses’ orders but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have fun. Usually, you were the one arguing with Artemis, respectfully, and Zoe would snap at you.

You continued to remain silent through the following conversation until Artemis asked Percy to escort the Hunters to camp Half-Blood. While once again Zoe went to argue with Artemis, you could only groan. You knew there would be no swaying Artemis on this decision, with her going off on a mission so dangerous that she didn’t even want her Hunters by her side, there was no question that she’d want to know you were all safe. As much as you hated camp half-blood, one of the only things Zoe and you ever agreed on, you had to admit it was the safest place for all of you.

You smirked when Artemis mentioned them having rebuilt the cabins that got burnt down last time because of the Hunters. “That was a fun time,” you mumbled. Artemis flicked you a glare and you raised your hands, silently agreeing to not set cabins on fire this time, at least you’d try to. You couldn’t make that promise and she knew that, the campers just had a way of irritating the Hunters, it wasn’t your fault with how you and your sisters reacted.

“Have you made up your mind, my girl?” Artemis asked, looking at Bianca.

Your eyes shifted to the younger girl, you knew before you all came into the tent that Artemis had been informing the girl of what it meant to be a Hunter and offering her a place. Percy’s eyes widened in shock, and he instantly tried to convince Bianca joining the Hunters wasn’t the answer by telling her how much fun camp was. Zoe was quick to shut that down by telling him being a Hunter can offer much more than camp ever could, such as immortality, and they’d be immortal unless they fell in battle, or they broke their oath.

“What oath?”

“To foreswear romantic love forever,” Artemis answered. “To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally.”

Percy’s mouth hung open as he seemed unable to process why anyone would choose that. You continued to remain silent while Zoe snapped at him telling him Artemis didn’t discriminate by birth and you all weren’t demigods. Which was true, Artemis accepted any girl into the Hunters, demigods, nymphs, mortals, literally anyone as long as they were willing to take and honor the oath. For those that broke the oath though… Artemis might have been one of the kindest gods around, but she was also one of the most unforgiveable, you had personally seen what could happen if a Hunter broke their oath.

Percy tried a new tactic, telling Bianca how Nico wouldn’t be able to become a Hunter. Artemis agreed with that but mentioned how Bianca could still see him every now and then. Bianca looked down at her hands, going over everything. Taking the oath and choosing to follow Artemis wasn’t an easy decision, especially to someone so young, you had seen many girls take it out of impulse and then fail to honor the oath later on. Artemis would accept any girl willing to take the oath at any age, she tended to like them younger though, before they could fall for boys and fall in love with someone. You were a rare case in that regard, you took the oath at seventeen and though some closer to the same age or even older than you had taken the oath before they never ended up keeping it.

You could understand Bianca’s predicament, you hadn’t had any siblings, at least you didn’t think you did. You had been with Artemis for a thousand years and you didn’t have many memories of your life before then, everything from that time slowly fading. You had seen girls with siblings take the oath before, it always took its toll on them. Artemis would allow the girls to visit their siblings from time to time, but time was always scarce, it could be a visit every few years and not last more than a day and while the girls would remain the same age forever, their siblings would age and eventually die.

“Is it worth it?” Bianca finally spoke up, looking at Zoe.

“It is,” Zoe answered. No one was more proud to be a Hunter than Zoe, it was why she had been with Artemis so long, it was why your goddess chose her as her second.

Bianca shifted her gaze to you. This happened almost every time, before a girl agreed she’d look to Zoe and you, you were physically the oldest and Bianca had been at Artemis’s side the longest, with you following right after. If anyone clearly thought this life was worth it, then it was the two of you.

“It might get weird hanging out with a bunch of people at least three years younger than me,” you joked, earning you a glare from Zoe. “But I have never regretted my decision.”

Bianca nodded, taking in both your and Zoe’s answers. “What do I have to do?” she asked, looking at your goddess.

“Say this,” Zoe said. “ ‘I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis.’ ”

“I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis,” Bianca repeated.

“ ‘I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.’ ”

“I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.”

“Now, once lady Artemis accepts the pledge it will be binding.”

“I accept,” Artemis said.

You smiled at your new sister as Artemis and Zoe welcomed her. It was a big decision to make but the second Artemis accepted the pledge you could see Bianca physically relax. Bianca loved her brother, you gathered that much but not knowing their godly parent and growing up orphans for so long meant Bianca had to grow up fast, she spent her life making sure her brother was okay and doing what was best for him, never getting to choose something solely for herself.

You had to hold in another groan when Percy asked how all of you were getting to camp when Artemis informed him, she was going to ask Apollo. Zoe once again didn’t hide her distaste for the situation and did groan, thankfully she didn’t try and argue with Artemis about this. When you all left the tent and packed up camp, Zoe stood on Artemis’s right, her arms crossed as she glared up at the dark sky, just waiting for the sun god to show himself. You couldn’t help but silently chuckle at her.

You laughed at Artemis’s complaints about her brother always being lazy. When the sunrise eventually came a sports car came speeding down from the sky, parking not too far from your group. Apollo jumped out of his car happily greeting his sister, much to her annoyance, before waving a flirtation grin at all of you, like usual. Zoe glared at him, you rolled your eyes, and the other Hunters took a few steps back, getting as far away from him as possible.

You waited as Artemis asked her brother to take all of you to camp, watching as he quickly turned his sports car into a large bus. He smiled widely, gesturing at the giant bus. The Hunters quickly shuffled forward, throwing all their gear into the bus before making their way on it and all the way to the back.

“Here, sweetheart. Let me get that,” Apollo said, smirking at Zoe as he tried to help her with her gear. Zoe quickly ripped her bag away from him, clenching a fist.

“Brother,” Artemis chided, preventing Zoe from decking the sun god in the face. “You do not help my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart.”

Apollo sighed dramatically, holding up his arms as Zoe passed by, making sure to bump him in the shoulder on the way. Zoe followed the other Hunters, making her way straight to the back of the bus.

Apollo smiled widely when his eyes landed on you. You had your bag slung over your shoulder with one hand, looking unamused as he approached you. “Hello gorgeous,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “how’s my favorite Hunter doing?” Apollo smirked. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before elbowing him in the gut. He groaned but quickly recovered and threw his arm back around you, leading you onto the bus.

You were the only Hunter to not have complete disdain for him. Despite finding him annoying you were also the only one to entertain him. At first Artemis would always chastise him when he would flirt with you but after a few hundred years of never being swayed and only seeming amused by his failed attempts she eventually let it slide, she knew you’d never break your oath for her brother or any guy. Apollo also took the form of someone around your age, and you had to admit it was nice having that around sometimes.

“Okay, so who’s driving?” Apollo asked once you were all on the bus. He looked back at your sisters, you followed his gaze to see them all pressed together on the back bench, practically sitting on top of each other to get as far away from him and Percy as possible. You decided to humor him and take a seat up front with him, Percy, Thalia, Grover, and Nico.

Percy mumbled he was only fourteen when Apollo looked at him. He then looked at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he smirked. You answered him by scoffing, crossing your arms and turning your attention out the window. He then turned to Thalia who reluctantly took a seat behind the wheel.

After getting off to a rough start you had a death grip on the seat, glaring at Apollo as he casually shouted directions at Thalia. Percy was gripping the back of Thalia’s seat as he yelled directions at her as well, for someone who couldn’t drive he sure had a lot of opinions on what she should do. You weren’t sure what was worse, the fourteen-year-old yelling directions or the fifteen-year-old driving who had been a tree less than six months ago.

Thalia turned the wheel sharply, crashing you all right into the lake at camp half-blood. Everyone flung forward with a groan. You looked up to see Thalia gripping the steering wheel as she stared unblinking out the windshield. Apollo, completely unbothered by the rough landing, applauded Thalia on the back, singing her praises.

All of you quickly piled out of the bus, watching as Apollo took off, switching back to a sports car as soon as the last of your feet stepped off the bus. Percy and Thalia took Nico to go meet Chiron and inform him of everything that happened. You watched as Zoe led the rest of the Hunters off to cabin eight. With your bag slung over your shoulder you looked around at the camp, most of the campers not even awake yet or the few that were were sleepily making their way to get breakfast. With one final eyeroll you sighed and made to follow your sisters. You could only hope your goddesses’ hunt would be swift because you couldn’t imagine wanting to be at this place for more than a day.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #maybe in another life

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coopers-hand · 1 year

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your 6H and how you find comfort

TLDR: our 6H is responsible for our day to day lives, including our habits and routine. one thing about those is that through these repetitive actions people find the sense of familiarity, stability and comfort. the position of the ruler of this house will show you areas through which you may find this comfort❤️‍🩹 to gain more insight, look at the signs of both 6H and it’s ruler, as well as to your Moon and virgo-pisces axis! ٩(^‿^)۶

~ the position of your 6H ruler and how you find your sense of comfort

1H: pampering oneself, being pretty and comfy, and being well fed and having walked on their little walk, and their skin is moisturized and their nails are groomed — these people need to take care of themselves and their own body to feel comforted🍃

2H: those people may be the type of ppl that have their emotional support stuffed animal, or sweater, or coffee mug — anything, actually, that they can hold and touch and that has some physical weight to it. they may sleep with plushies and wear the same mittens their mom knitted for them centuries ago🧶☕️

3H: escaping to the books, movies, series, etc. — these ppl find the most comfort in stories and ways people share their thoughts with the world ✏️ so they may have their comfort piece of media that they keep coming back again and again

4H: sense of comfort is brought through the feeling of home and passed childhood. the perfume of their mother? that one sandwich they’ve been eating since they turned 5? that one pair of socks knitted by their grandma? you tell me 🥹 || I have my 6H ruler in here, and I find comfort in eating the same breakfast my mom was cooking for me when I was at school, so yeah…

5H: hobbies!! those people may be the ones that have been doing the same thing since childhood, like they’ve always been drawing with crayons, or collecting stickers, or crafting, or making little silly songs with their old electronic piano. they may find comfort in their old creative supplies, in their ancient watercolors they bought like in 7th grade, or in that one song that makes they soul dance itself out

6H: regime!! those people need to have their own familiar structure of life, even if this structure doesn’t make sense for everybody else. they need their morning walks, they need their sunday movie nights with that one person, they need to do this exact type of exercise bc it’s important for them and only they will get it.

7H: those people are about lifelong relationships, they may be one of the most devoted partners you can find. they find comfort in people they’ve been with since forever, they are feeling sure and good and comfy around their best friend that they’ve known for 20 years, that they’ve grown up with and that they share almost all of their life experiences with👭

8H: those people need their alone time. they need their sacred space, their little castle that nobody can invade and make them put on a human suit again. they find comfort in knowing that there’s completely no one around so that they can be so much and unapologetically alone and themselves.

9H: those people are the greatest optimists, that will not let the humanity destruct itself in the storm of hate and pessimism. those people always know that there’s hope, that the world is a good place to be in, that there’s joy and love and laughter and cool people and also little animals and big animals and flowers and so much more!! I love them so much omg sorry but those people literally save the world by finding their own sense of comfort😭

10H: another type of people that need the structure, but, on the contrary with 6H fellas, this is kind of an external structure. it may be a literal social institute that provides them with it (e.g. school, work, gym membership, language clubs??), or a kind of style of living that they accept to follow. those people may find comfort in knowing that they have their life together, in knowing what will happen tomorrow🏹

11H: those people crave the sense of belonging. they need to know that they are not alone in this world, that there’s at least another person on Earth that can say ‘hey! im here! I know how you feel’. the greatest sense of comfort for those people is knowing that they are understood.

12H: hello my lovely existentialists 🥰 for these people comfort may look like something unattainable, bc they are prone to existential dread every working day and holidays included. however, the sense of comfort is attained through daydreaming, sleeping and meditating — and also other 1000000 things that can be linked to sleep. I also have noticed that those people may need more sleep than others to stay healthy. so, remember — it’s not that the world hates you, maybe you just had very little sleep in the night💤

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ghoul-bonez · 9 months

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~To You He Feels Like Home~

(Neteyam x Fem! Na’vi! Reader)

Summary: You were born to the forest, wild by nature, wild by nurture, and surely wild in spirit. Your animal family had always warned you about strangers, the odd people who looked like you, but when one approaches you, you can’t help but be curious. When your curiosity wears off and you deem him weird enough you’re convinced you’ll never see him again, but Eywa has other plans.

Word Count: 40.6k

Author’s Note: Welcome to the “To You He Feels Like Home” series! This was heavily inspired by by @imeanwhynotbruv ‘s Mowlie! Spider AU which you should check out! There will more than likely only be 3-4 actual chapters & a few “bonus” ones, but this could change…

Important Information: Neteyam & Reader are 18, everyone else is cannon ages, so Neteyam is a few years older than the rest.

~Main Masterlist~

Table of Contents:

Part 1: To You He Feels Like Home

Part 2: Your New Home

Part 3: He Makes Anywhere Home

Part 4: Welcome Home

Part 5: Anywhere Will Be Home If You’re With Me

Part 6: You Are Home

Extras:

The Second Meeting: You Always Find Your Way, Especially Back Home

The Third Meeting: A Halo Above His Head, A Dawning In Your Heart

The Fourth Meeting: There Is Familiarity, Even In New Places

Character Analysis: (Y/n) From Author’s POV

#fanfic #fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #avatar movie #atwow fics #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x fem!reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam suli x reader

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agent-cupcake · 3 months

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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.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy x reader #my writing #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute #flashbang

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

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midnight panic

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Request: dark!Rowaelin x reader angst to fluff, she wanders around the castle and they can’t find her and think she ran or something.

Summary: Rowan and Aelin find you missing in the middle of the night

Warnings: darkish rowan/aelin, sleepwalking, hypothermia, fighting, toxic relationships

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: this is a standalone, but also fits between parts 4 & 5 of my dark poly!rowaelin series (have your little girlfriend), but you don’t need to read the actual series to understand this one!

Aelin squinted, the light from the full moon hitting at the perfect angle to shine directly on her face. Keeping her eyes shut, not wanting the sleepiness to disappear, she turned back towards her, reaching her arm over to pull her back into her side, to cuddle into her warmth again.

Aelin’s hand hit the bed, the space beside her warm - but empty, her eyes shot open. Majority of the time, she slept between her and Rowan. Lifting her head, she wasn't on his other side. Things had been … testy, lately. She couldn’t shake the feeling that y/n wanted out, wanted to leave the two of them, to escape to gods-know-where. She listened carefully for sounds in the bathroom - or even the sitting room, but nothing. How had she left without them noticing?

“Rowan,” she said, trying to keep her voice low enough she wouldn’t startle him. Wouldn’t trigger the battle-honed instincts. A grunt, and he rolled towards her, reaching his own hand out and - his eyes shot open as well. Rowan checked the bathroom, and she peeked out onto the balcony - empty. Nothing was out of place, no missing items, if anything she’d left with only the clothes on her back.

“What the hell,” she muttered under her breath.

“She was here an hour ago,” Rowan said, all traces of sleep gone. A good bit of distance could be covered in an hour, especially if she’d shifted into her animal form.

I’ll check inside the castle, she said silently

I have the city, he assured her. In bird form, he’d be able to cover more ground. Signal if you find her. If we don’t in two hours, meet back here.

One they’d used throughout the years - a pulse of magic, strong enough the other could recognize, but subtle enough to not cause alarm to the general public.

It was midnight, and absolutely freezing. There was snow on the ground, ice covering the windows, the temperatures well below freezing. Even inside the castle, a bitter chill set in. Within minutes, they were dressed warmly and armed with their usual assortment of weapons. Rowan propped the window open, and with a flash of light a white-tailed hawk soared into the night.

Aelin knew all of the routes to take to avoid any guards or sentries. It went without saying that they’d keep this under wraps. When they found her, there’d be hell to pay. She raced through the halls, checking her workshop, the private library, every place she usually liked to spend time. Every scent was faint, she hadn’t been there in the last few hours. Each minute she grew angrier and more worried.

Tracing back, on impulse she checked on of the older passages out of the castle - and caught her scent. Running, she’d tried to run. Breathing deeply to tamp down her anger, threatening to flow over into her magic, she focused her senses. There’s no way she’d let her get away. A mating bond was for life. There’s nowhere she could run that her mates wouldn’t find her, even if it took years.

Rowan flew over the city, backtracking through every route she could take out, searching for any trail of her scent. He spotted Aelin, following a path out of the castle, and shot down, shifting to fall in step with her.

“She went this way,” Aelin said quietly, and he picked up on the same trail. Fae, at least she hadn’t shifted, that would make this much easier.

This was familiar, something they’d done in their time before her. They were going on a hunt.

Did she really think they wouldn’t notice? He needed to figure out how he’d given her the impression he was that stupid, and fix it.

They trailed her out of the castle grounds, past the gates - a guard currently sleeping on duty. He’d quickly find himself out of a job in the morning, but he didn’t have the time to address that now, instead sending a sharp wind towards him when they were out of sight. A shield wrapped around them, hiding their scents as they stuck to the shadows, tracing her steps.

She led them out of the city, just past the gates, right to the edge of the forest. His anger was rising to dangerous levels, and he knew that. Rowan prayed she wouldn’t fight them.

Aelin held a hand out, as they paused just before a clearing.

They’d found her, and it wasn’t what he expected.

Barefoot, in only her nightgown, not a weapon or any kind of provisions on her, she walked back and forth along the edge of the clearing. She crouched every few steps to pick up something, but her hands came back empty. Something was wrong - there was a daze in her eyes, murmuring random phrases under her breath, low enough he couldn’t hear. She didn’t drink any alcohol that night… Could someone have slipped her a drug? No, they ate all of the same food in their rooms, and he always made a point to check for any kind of poison.

Following Aelin’s lead, they slowly approached her.

“Y/n,” Aelin called. She didn’t react, didn’t even turn around. Aelin repeated her name - louder. Still nothing.

A warm flame caressed her skin, starting to warm her back up. Gods, she’d be hypothermic by now. He’s surprised she hasn’t passed out on the ground.

All Rowan wanted was to sprint towards her, to grab and shake her, to find out what the fuck she was thinking, but instinct had him moving carefully and slowly, keeping his footsteps purposefully loud.

Aelin met his eyes; what do we do?

His breath caught as she turned, but no recognition flashed through her eyes. Actually, it was like they weren’t there at all.

Aelin tried calling her name, again and again and didn’t get a single reaction. Nothing to register she was aware they existed.

An exasperated sigh, and she closed the distance, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Y/n screamed, stumbling backwards, her ass hitting the ground, hands scrambling on the rocks to try and get away. A wall of flame, but not one that would burn her, blocked the path. As she reached the warmth, something in her calmed. Almost like she’d recognized Aelin’s magic, even wherever she was right now.

Did she ever mention sleepwalking? Rowan asked her.

Not that I know of.

That doesn’t mean it’s not possible. There’s a chance she would hide something like this from them, probably not thinking it was important. He’d bet a decent bit of gold that’s exactly what’s happening right now. Gods, they’d be putting locks on everything now.

After five minutes of trying to reach her, five minutes of her increasing distress, five minutes of fear starting to fill the air, he gave up. Palms already bloodied, wiping them off on her nightgown, he crouched as close to her as he could get.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and pulled the air from her lungs, catching her before her head could hit the ground.

Mercifully, she stayed asleep as they ran back to the castle, moving as quickly as possible while staying hidden. Aelin kept the flames going, kept slowly warming her temperature back to healthy levels. Rowan had thrown her over his shoulder, one arm securing her legs in place. It didn’t look comfortable, but it was the quickest way to get back. Comfort could come later, after she was home, warm, and safe. Her mind whirled with the things she needed to do; find a way to secure the room, run a warm bath, hope she’d wake easily, and figure out if she was hiding this from them.

They made it back without incident, taking all of the hidden passageways through the castle. Nearing one in the morning. She’d been outside for two hours. Anything could’ve happened to her. Especially considering how gods-damned vulnerable she was. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but Aelin was still pissed off.

Not how they’d thought, but they came so close to losing her without even knowing.

She felt warm water around her, her muscles tense and aching. Wasn’t she asleep? How the hell did she get into a bath? It took more effort than it should’ve to open her eyes, but she saw Aelin, right there, watching her every movement. Relief flashed through turquoise eyes, followed by … anger or resentment.

“Do you know what happened?” Aelin asked, voice rough.

“What do you mean?” She moved her foot up and down, her leg feeling weaker than normal. The water was warm, she knew that, but a shiver still ran through her and she wrapped her arms back around herself. The bath heated a few degrees, and she felt Aelin’s magic running through the water. Soothing and comforting.

“We found you in the gods-damned forest,” Aelin hissed, struggling to keep her voice low.

The door swung open, revealing Rowan. She noticed they were both fully dressed, weapons still sheathed. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have you ever sleepwalked?” He asked mildly. A dangerous kind of mild, especially considering the rest of his body language, and the anger she could feel radiating down the bond.

“Not since I was a child,” she admitted. Green eyes darkened, fixed on her, like he’d located his newest target. Her throat bobbed, chest tightening. It was never good to be on the receiving end of that look.

“And you didn’t think to share that?”

“It’s been years,” she focused on keeping her tone quiet and calm, on staying steady, even as her hands threatened to shake. She didn’t like this side of them. Darting her eyes to Aelin, she found herself on the receiving end of that same look.

Liar, her eyes seemed to say.

“I never lied,” she knew what their reply would be.

“Lying by omission is still lying.”

She was tired, aching, and still dazed. Her mind could barely focus enough to actually get a grip on the situation. The forest. Sleepwalking. Lying. It was too much effort to speak, to keep her eyes open, darkness swirled in her vision.

“Stay awake,” fingers pinched her cheek, and she startled, water splashing over the sides of the tub. Fire evaporated it before it could reach the ground.

“I’m trying,” y/n mumbled, running a wet hand over her face. The water heated again. How long had Aelin been doing this with her? “I don’t understand,” she gripped her hair with both hands, yanking at it. Frustrated. None of this made sense.

Hands gripped her own, tugging them away from her hair. She was lifted out of the bath, towels drying her, leaning against someone as they slipped a nightgown over her - too weak to stand on her own. The next thing she knew, she hit soft and warm sheets, cradled between two warm bodies, and let sleep take her under.

Every so often, her name would be called, eyes blinking open, gazing up at either Rowan or Aelin, they’d give her a small nod and she understood that - she could go back to sleep. There wasn’t enough space in her mind to question what was going on, it was easy to listen to what her mates said, to sense and follow their intentions.

Aelin met Rowan’s eyes in the bathroom; she’s too confused.

We won’t get anything out of her tonight, he finished her thoughts.

Seeing the state of confusion, the distress, the vulnerability, all made it easy to just take care of her, to shove away the other emotions for now, to focus on making sure she’s safe. Free from anything that could harm her, including the sleepwalking. But, the major concern now was making sure her body recovered from her little adventure. Neither of them slept that night, Aelin didn’t try - she only grabbed a book and tried to focus on it. Inevitably, her eyes would switch to the clock, waiting for the next half-hour to wake her. It probably wasn’t necessary, or recommended, but she had to know y/n would wake.

When dawn broke, she finally felt like she could leave the room, Rowan still keeping a careful eye on her. Just a week away from Samhuinn, the days rapidly got shorter and shorter as they approached the coldest months. They’d get maybe ten and half or eleven hours of daylight today. The sun always disappeared too quickly for her liking.

A fire roared in the sitting room behind her, and she busied herself making tea, adding extra honey to y/n’s. She was out in the cold for a few hours, and her voice did sound hoarse earlier, Aelin figured she might have a sore throat. If not, she had a sweet tooth anyway.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Aelin heard y/n’s voice rising, “I can get out of this damned bed on my own.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Rowan snapped at her. She agreed with him, and carefully balanced the three cups.

Pushing the door open with her foot, she found Rowan standing over the side of the bed, ready to pin y/n to the bed if she tried to move again. She was propped up against the headboard, fists clenching the comforter. Aelin could tell y/n woke up ready for a fight. Good, she wasn’t feeling particularly calm either. But first, tea.

Aelin came back in, but y/n knew she wouldn’t be on her side. It was two-against-one now. Even as Aelin shoved the cup of tea into her hands, taking up the space next to her on the bed, legs crossed, and hands cradling her own cup. Silently, Rowan took the other from her, and dragged his chair closer to the bed.

Y/n knew exactly what the cups would have. A good amount of sugar for Aelin, plain and boring for Rowan, and based on the scent - honey for her. She’s not sure how, but Aelin picked up that her throat was sore. It was enough to soothe some of the sting from the impending argument.

Sure enough, honey exploded on her tongue - more than usual, but it was soothing her throat, and she wouldn’t complain. Complaining would only make her situation worse. She debated just accepting blame, letting them win this one, but truly - she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no indication to think she’d end up sleepwalking again. Gods, she’d forgotten about it.

“I haven’t sleepwalked since I was seven years old,” she kept her eyes on her cup, swirling the liquid to give her something to focus on.

“If we’re going to talk about this, you need to look at us,” Rowan said too calmly. Fuck.

Throat bobbing, she looked up at them. Seeing the gleam in their eyes, she went right on the defensive. “I was asleep, how the hell is this my fault?” Rowan stiffened, and she looked to Aelin.

“The problem is, you didn’t think to tell us,” Aelin’s voice was neutral, but she knew that was the sign of her growing anger.

“You never asked,” she hissed back at her.

“Watch your fucking attitude,” Rowan snarled.

Closing her eyes, a few deep breaths later, she tried something different, “my parents always told me it only happened when I felt safe, when my mind - even asleep, thought I couldn’t come to any harm.”

Emphasizing that she feels safe with them, that even though it was dangerous - the deepest parts of her mind believed she couldn’t come to any harm around them. At least she’s hoping that’s what they’d read out of the situation.

“We thought you ran,” Aelin said quietly, her hand reaching out, and y/n slipped her palm into hers, giving her a light squeeze. She could tell Aelin had already softened, that her anger was slowly ebbing out. Rowan, however, would take a bit more time, and maybe some more soothing.

“I’m not running,” she murmured. It’s the truth, she doesn’t want to leave, even if she craved some space away - something she could never tell them. Truly leaving them, she doesn’t think she could ever do that. Her heart and soul might not survive it, even if her mind says it could be better.

Rowan was still assessing her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, and she read the words in his eyes instead, the silent communication; you didn’t think.

I’m sorry, she answered.

Are you really?

That I put both of you through that. Rowan seemed to be waiting, waiting for her to add something. And myself, she tried. He gave her a short nod, and she understood; conversation over.

She’d expected a much larger fight, but gods she’s glad it didn’t come to that. Y/n stretched, trying to place her mug on the table, but Rowan was there before she could get halfway, snatching it from her hands to place it there himself.

Another realization struck her. Rowan told her briefly that she nearly froze to death. Now they’d be absolutely insufferable until they were satisfied she was healthy again. Knowing them, it could take much longer than necessary. Maybe this was her punishment, she met Rowan’s gaze again, reading the gleam in his eyes. Yes, it’s definitely her punishment.

She debated reaching back into that part of her, trying to shift into her fox form - where everything would be easier.

Rowan - the bastard, sensed that. “Try to shift and I’ll rip the air out of your lungs.”

“A bit dramatic,” she huffed, but it put an end to that idea, and her attention switched to Aelin, who looked tired. A bit of guilt crept in, she’d been up all night for her. “Will you take a nap with me?”

She is tired. Sleep sounded very, very nice. Aelin latched on to the idea, almost chucking her mug at Rowan before sliding in next to her.

Aelin tugged her into her chest, their bodies molding together, legs tangling. Aelin ran her fingers through her hair, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. It was sweet, seeing Aelin in her fussy mode. At least this part of it. “Sleep, my love,” she murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. She heard Rowan rustling around the room, but every time she tried to look, Aelin tucked her head back in. Based on the movements, she figured it out pretty quickly. He was setting up something on the various doors in the room, some kind of noise or object would fall to alert them if she made it out over there. On the off chance both of them were asleep and didn’t notice.

Without having to ask, she knew there would be locks on the doors by the end of the day. Locks she wouldn’t be able to access the key to, at least during the night. It felt vaguely like a cage, but the bed dipped again, a strong arm wrapping around her waist, Rowan’s strong chest pressing against her back.

“Rowan,” she murmured, struggling to stay awake, “how the hell did I get past you?”

A low growl from behind her, and she hid her laughter, tucking her face into Aelin.

“I’m the one that found you,” she chuckled, hand resting on the back of her head, like she might protect her from the glare she could feel coming from Rowan.

Y/n jumped as he pinched her arm, letting out a slightly-embarrassing squeak, but heard Aelin slapping Rowan’s hand away, chiding him.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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lemon-world1 · 1 year

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You're everything I never knew I needed. │Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

I’m fully aware of the inconsistency in my writing/posting. I’m even more aware that there are many similar fics, but... It’s never enough. I just had to. I’m a sucker for our boy Frankie taking care of his girl. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, period pain

summary: Your period came unexpectedly just as Frank comes to see you after being away from NYC. It's pure fluff.

Not everyone can say they're friends with the most badass vigilante in New York City. You and Frank have forged an unbreakable bond over countless nights spent stitching up his bullet-ridden body. He'd crawl to your balcony like a wounded animal seeking shelter, and you'd nurse him back to health.

Your friendship was simple, you took care of him, and he took care of you. He'd fix things around your apartment, like the water heater that blew up or carry your groceries to your apartment. But it wasn't just his actions that spoke volumes. You could see something in his eyes when he looked at you - a hidden feeling.

Sometimes, Frank's PTSD would get the best of him, and he'd lash out at you. But you knew it wasn't his fault. You stood by him, no matter what because you knew what he went through. You were always there for him, no matter the cost.

You never told Frank how you felt about him, but you didn't need to. He knew, just like he knew, how much you meant to him.

...

It's been a while since you last saw Frank. He had told you he would be out of town for a bit, which left you stuck in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts and the TV. You'd become accustomed to being on call in case he needed you, causing you to lose touch with most of your so-called "friends." But you never gave a damn about them. Frank was the only one who mattered in the big apple.

You had expected tonight to be just another dull evening spent munching on chips and binge-watching another crime docu-series on Netflix. You had passed out in bed, cuddled under the blanket you used to cover Frank with after a long stitching-up session.

But at two a.m., you jolted awake to a familiar pain stabbing your gut. You didn't bother tracking your period calendar because you hadn't been with anyone for so long that you stopped caring about when it would come.

Shit. You cursed as you realized your bed was stained with blood.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck. This can't be happening. Today was the day you had to pitch your new designs to your most critical client, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with the aftermath of a messy period. You had no time to wash your sheets, deal with the cramps, or even shower at this godforsaken hour.

You needed relief fast, but when you reached for your painkillers, you remembered giving them all to Frank when you stitched him up a few weeks ago. You searched through your first aid kit for anything to alleviate the pain, but in haste, you knocked the whole thing over, spilling everything onto the tiles.

Arrghhh. You were furious at this point, knowing the nightmare was just about to begin. Over the years, you had become used to being dependent on painkillers; otherwise, your period would kill you. Your ob-gyn had tried everything to ease the agony, but nothing worked, and contraception was out of the question. You always kept your prescription pills close by for emergencies, but not this time.

Forty-three minutes had passed, and you were already showered and dressed in fresh pyjamas. The sheets were washing, and a hot cup of chamomile tea sat on your nightstand. But the pain was creeping in, gnawing at you with every passing moment. All you wanted to do was wrap yourself in a fluffy blanket and forget about the world. You tossed and turned on the bed, but the pain persisted. At the realization that you probably wouldn't be fit to get up at 5 and get to work at all, you started panicking. How were you going to cancel the pitch?

My boss is going to fucking kill me.

Well, she might if your period doesn't kill you first. After another 20 minutes, your silent sobs turned into horrific cries from pain. And just when you thought things couldn't get worse, the familiar knock came.

Knock. Knock. You looked up and saw a hulking figure peeking through the curtains on your balcony. It was him.

You got up slowly, your feet planted on the ground as you made your way to the balcony door.

Frank knew something was wrong the moment he saw you. He could see the pain etched all over your face. Your puffy red eyes, thick, comforting blanket hugging your shoulders, and forearm holding your belly as if it offered support told him everything.

"Hey, baby girl," he said, his voice breaking as he saw you in such agony. "Is everything alright?"

You said nothing, still gazing at him, unable to process that he was really standing in front of you. His hand reached out, gently wiping away a tear from your cheek.

"Hi Frankie, uh... is something wrong? Are you hurt?" He couldn't believe your words. You were in obvious pain and still asked if he was okay. Another piece of his shattered heart glued together at the thought of your kindness.

His hand still on your cheek, he spoke again. "Nah, I just got back to the city. I drove by your buildin' and saw you were up. I figured I'd check up on ya," he said, his voice full of concern.

You cracked a smile, knowing that Frank was always looking out for you. He was the one person you could count on, no matter what.

A visible frown formed between his brows as he realized you were barely standing on your feet. Without warning, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest. You were so small compared to him. He gently stroked your hair and held you tightly, feeling the heat radiating from your body. He knew something was wrong because you were never hot. He had felt your icy cold skin whenever he touched you, even during the hottest summer days. Without question, he lifted you in his arms and carried you across the room to your bed.

"Frankie, I'm cold," you said, your voice trembling.

"Shit. You might have a fever," he said, his face creased with worry. "Why you ain't wearin' no socks, baby girl?"

Usually, you would melt under his sweet nicknames, but you couldn't even blush right now. He reached for your sock drawer, pulling out the thickest and fluffiest pair of socks he could find. He gently put them on your feet, making sure they were snug.

"You take any painkillers yet?" he asked, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of relief.

You shook your head; you could barely speak at this point. Your body felt like it was being ripped apart, but you refused to give in. "I ran out of meds. Nothing I have is strong enough," you managed to say, gritting your teeth.

A loud scream left your mouth, making Frank sit beside you on the bed and instantly wrap his arms around you. He hugged you from behind, letting you weigh into him. One of his palms rested on your forehead, wiping your cold sweat from the burning skin, and the other squeezed your hand placed on your belly.

Frank's eyes narrowed as he watched you writhe in agony. "I gotcha," he said, his voice low. "Just tell me what you need."

You shook your head again, unable to focus. "Just stay," you pleaded.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered in your ear. "I'll take care of you."

Another hour passed. You still lay there, your body racked with pain. Frank did what he could to ease your suffering, but he knew it wasn't enough. You started to fall asleep but remembered you couldn't be late for work.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you please set my alarm for 5:30 am? I can't be late; I'm pitching a new proposal to a client."

"Is that the big one you was tellin' me about last time?"

"Yeah, it's important," you mumbled again.

"I will." No, he won't. There's no chance you're going to work in such a state. When you finally fell asleep, he knew he couldn't let you go to work in the morning. He took your phone and dialled your boss's number.

You had her saved as "Your Highness," which always made Frank chuckle when you called her that.

Your boss picked up on the first ring. "Hi, it's good you're callin', the-" She started, but Frank interrupted her immediately.

"Mornin', ma'am. It's, ugh, Pete, actually. Sorry to bother you so early, but my girl won't be in today. She's, uh... under the weather," Frank said in a gruff voice.

"Oh dear, I hope she feels better soon. I was about to text her and tell her the client postponed last minute. She can take two days off; she hasn't used any sick days yet. Please give her my regards," the boss replied with concern.

"I will. She needs some rest. She'll call ya back when she can."

"Of course. Thank you for letting me know, Pete. She mentioned you a bunch of times. It's good she has someone to take care of her."

"'Course, ma'am."

Frank made one more quick phone call before he heard you moving. He rushed to you only to find you frantically searching for work clothes.

"Easy there, darlin'. Your presentation got postponed. You got two days off now."

"What? How?"

"I called your boss. Told her you were sick."

"You did what?!" You were surprised and angry.

"Relax. She said you could take your sick days. You go back to bed and get some rest."

"Really?" A huge weight just dropped off your shoulders. "Thank you, Frankie." You were relieved and grateful.

Ding. Dong.

"Who the hell is that?" you wondered aloud.

"Lemme get that. You go back to bed," Frank said, already halfway to the front door.

You were feeling better, but still in pain, so you crawled back to bed and waited for Frank.

"Who was it?" you asked, curious.

"Just a friend of mine," Frank replied as he handed you a package of pain meds. "A combat medic. He knows his way around this stuff."

"I thought you took care of the drug dealers, not became friends with them," you quipped, the first hint of humour in your voice all day.

Frank chuckled. "Anythin' for you, sweetheart."

You smiled at Frank, feeling grateful for his presence in your life.

You looked at him, trying to read his expression. "Frank, what does that mean? Anything for me?"

He hesitated for a moment as if weighing his words carefully. "It means I'll always be there for you, no matter what. I'll protect you, take care of you, and never let anythin' happen to you. You're important to me, more than you know."

You felt a warm sensation spread through your chest, and you couldn't help but smile. "You mean a lot to me too."

Your heart swelled with emotion as he leaned in and kissed you gently. "I'm not good with words, but I hope you understand," he whispered.

As Frank pulled away from the kiss, he looked at you with a tenderness that melted your heart. "You should rest," he said softly.

But you didn't want to be alone. "Will you stay with me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, darlin'," he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shifted over in bed, making room for Frank to join you. As he settled in next to you, you snuggled up against his chest, feeling safe and protected.

"You know," you said after a few moments of silence, "I never expected to find someone like you."

Frank tightened his arm around you. "What do you mean?"

"I mean someone willing to go to such great lengths to take care of me and protect me. Someone so kind and gentle but also so strong and fierce. You're everything I never knew I needed."

Frank's lips curved into a soft smile. "I feel the same way, darlin'. You're the one thing that makes everything worth fighting for."

You sighed contentedly, feeling more at peace than you had in a long time. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Frank's arms, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Frank would face it together.

For years, Frank had been haunted by nightmares, unable to find solace in anything. But with you by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope that he hadn't felt in ages.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fic #frank castle fluff #the punisher x you #the punisher #frank castle #frank castle imagine #jon bernthal #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x you #marvels punisher

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tyler-t0t · 6 months

Text

Crowns and Secrets

Established Wanda x Vision, cheating, sub!Wanda x dom!reader, reader w/ pen!s, no gendered pronouns, spanking, unprotected s3x, p in v, daddy kink, cream pie, implied impreg

Word count: 1.9k

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Wanda had never really loved Vision. To be honest, she doesn't know how she ended up dating the android, but they've been together for 3 months. She found herself sitting on his couch watching an old war documentary even though Wanda tried convincing him to watch a RomCom or an animal documentary. He claimed those programs were, "boring and overly staged," despite knowing they were Wanda's favorite.

Bored of the droning war documentary, Wanda pulls out her phone to scroll her various social media feeds. Upon opening one particular app, she sees that you've sent her several posts. Wanda shifts on Vision's couch to subtly turn her phone away from him, although he's more focused on the documentary than the woman sitting in his couch.

She taps the icon to open your app conversation to see a series of 7 rather lewd posts. Some are detailed fantasies while others are images of doms and subs in compromising positions. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip as she takes in the posts before her, feeling the all too familiar heat grow between her legs.

Just as Wanda was about to set her phone down, she feels her phone vibrate, alerting her to a new text message. Eager to talk to you, she wastes no time in opening up the new message, only to be met with 2 words: "come here" followed by a photo of a black metal crown on the foot of your bed.

The brunette sputters a little, knowing exactly what that crown meant. She stands and starts gathering her things. A simple, "I need to get home" all she says to the android as she strides out the door. Once inside her cozy SUV, Wanda's speeding off to your house, roughly 5 miles away. After parking in your driveway, she takes a moment to look herself over in the rear-view mirror.

She steps out of her car and smoothes out the crimson skirt she'd decided to wear, opting to leave her jacket in the car as well. When Wanda gets to the door of your home, she pauses, giving herself a moment to prepare for whatever you have planned. She pushes the door open to find the house in almost complete darkness, the only light coming from a candle set in the center of the entryway. On the table, beside the candle, is a note that reads, "as true as her beauty, the princess remains loyal to the crown."

You've always been a bit cinematic when it came to Wanda, but you knew how much she loved the sappy romance stuff, even amongst the filthiest of nights. You had built a simple wooden throne, even applying the upholstery yourself, shortly after your hookups with Wanda started, so you had a chair for your little witch to worship you on. That throne is where she found you, sat in the living room waiting for your little witch to come running at your call.

Wanda stood in the living room doorway like a deer in headlights as she took in your intimidating presence: dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt with the top buttons left undone to reveal your heaving chest. Your hair is neatly done with your shimmering black crown, and your cold gaze is blown black with lust. You absolutely loved the particular skirt Wanda had worn because it hugged the swell of her full ass and thick thighs. Just the sight of her in that skirt had your cock jumping in your pants.

You calmly place your hand on your clothed erection and as you give it a long, heavy stroke, you tease her out of her trance: "you gonna stand there, little doe, or you gonna come do something about it?"

The bashful little brunette steps forward and sinks to her knees. She eyes your erection as she licks her lips before looking up at you through her lashes. She keeps her gaze steady with yours as her hands release the buckle of your belt. Her nimble fingers slip the button of your slacks open before she slowly slides her hands along your thighs with a mischievous grin. With a sudden surge of boldness, the young witch leans forward and takes the zipper in her teeth, slowly undoing your pants as she sits back up. The sight of her using her teeth has you releasing a deep groan as your cock twitches in anticipation.

With your slacks now out of her way, Wanda brings a ringed hand up to stroke your thick cock. After only a few strokes she sees a wet patch forming in the fabric of your boxers. Needing to taste you, she leans in without hesitation, and starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your clothed cock. The sensations leave you craving more.

"Enough teasing, Doll. Do it properly."

She looks up through her lashes once again, giving you an irresistible doe eyed look, as she gently removes your throbbing length from the confines of your boxers. At the release of pressure, you breathe an airy sigh that quickly distorts to a guttural moan as Wanda wraps her warm, lush lips around your cock. Having had many nights snuck off to your place, Wanda's become familiar with the way you love her tongue running along the slit of your cockhead. The way her mouth expertly works over every inch and ridge has your head thrown back in bliss, which only increases as she moans around your girth.

You gently weave your hand in her hair, gripping the base of her ponytail, and start guiding her head up and down your shaft. It doesn't take long before you're shoving your entire length down her throat, her throat fluttering as she chokes around you. Tears flow down her cheeks, but you gently cup her face and use your thumb to wipe away the tears. Finally, you allow your little witch to come up and breathe. You silently watch as she gasps for air, her own drool dripping over her large chest. As her breathing gains a rhythm once more, you lean back in your chair. She eagerly jumps to her feet, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt before you stop her.

She pauses, giving a curious look as she slowly pulls her hands away from her skirt. You smirk at her obedience and give your lap a quick pat. Catching on, she giggles and straddles your lap. As she lowers herself you slide your hands up her thighs, under her skirt, to find no panties. At your discovery, you chuckle. She'd normally be shy and flustered, but there's something different tonight. She doesn't feel the need to be reserved, so she let's her need take over and grinds her bare pussy along your length. At the friction, you both release a long moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me," you chuckle, grabbing at her soft hips and guiding her motions. Under the grasp of your strong hands, Wanda leans back while she grinds, allowing her hands to delicately trail up her torso, taking her shirt with them. She cups and squeezes at her large breasts as moans spill from her lips. She's putting a show on for you, and you enjoy every bit of it. As she rubs herself along your length, you decide to slip two fingers into her mouth, which she sloppily sucks on with vigor.

Your ringed hand is coated in her warm saliva and your cock is dripping, just keening to go where it belongs. With your hands both firmly on Wanda's hips, you lift her up as if she were nothing, allowing your cock to line up with her drenched enterance. As you bring her back down, your cock sinks into her wet sex. She whines as your girth splits her open, which quickly turns to a screamed out moan as your bulbos tip bumps her cervix. Once at the hilt you both pause, panting for air as you reground yourselves.

The brunette hardly has time to breathe before you're thrusting up into her, each vein on your cock dragging along her silk walls. Finally, she grips the back of your throne and starts bouncing on your cock. Each one of her downward thrusts met with an upward one of yours to drive you as deep as possible. The constant abuse at her cervix has Wanda quickly approaching her peak. As her whines get higher in pitch, you lean forward to kiss along her collar bone. Each contact of your lips sends shivers down her spine until, finally, you bite at her pulse point.

Her delicate fingers weave into your now messy locks, pulling your face against her hot flesh as her body convulses. Her back arches as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. With your head pressed against her neck, you have no choice but to continue your assault on the soft skin. Once she's again able to form words, she's chanting in your ear, begging you to cum for she can feel your cock violently throbbing inside her sensitive pussy.

The thought of finally getting to cum inside her makes you feral. She'd always made you pull out so neither of you get caught.

With the new allowance, your arms restrict around her midsection, effectively pinning her petite frame against your chest as your hips piston with new found fire. Your renewed vigor brings about a whole other round of screams from the overstimulated witch. With her pinned to your chest, you easily start a trail of hickies across her bare chest. Releasing her chest with a pop, you groan, "bout to cum, baby. Fuck you feel so good." At your words, Wanda clenches around you, drawing a long, deep moan from your chest.

Noticing how you reacted, she intentionally clenches down even harder, begging, "please please, Daddy fill me up. Need your cum, Daddyyy." Your hips falter a moment, shock hitting you like a wall. "What'd you call me, Darling?" You question with a dark tone. Embarrassed, the young witch shakes her head. Your hand comes down on her ass with a harsh slap. "Say it again. Fuck, say it again, Princess." Drunk off your new title, you slam her hips down on your hard cock at the same time your rigid teeth sink into the soft flesh of her collarbone.

That final thrust forces the tip of your cock to slip past her abused cervix. The new pressure on your cock sends you growling as you paint her insides white. The screamed out moan that rips from her chest is borderline inhuman as she crashes through the most powerful orgasm of her life. Her clamped walls force your hips to a standstill, milking every drop you have.

As you both come back to reality, Wanda slumps against your shoulder, her body still shuddering from the intense aftershocks and her breathing ragged. You smile and rub her back soothingly, muttering praise and compliments. Finally, Wanda's eyes meet yours, but your gaze quickly dart to the dark trail of marks you've left on her. "Well, fuck. Gonna have a hard time covering those up. I'm sorry, princess." She giggles and gently puts a finger to your lips. "I'm done hiding. Let him see, so he realizes he didn't treat me how I needed." Your expression softens, a loving smile spreading across your features. "Besides, I have a feeling there'll be bigger conciquences to our night," she adds as she gently guides your hand over her stomach.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #x reader #sub wanda maximoff #dom reader #smexy #marvel fanfiction #creamp!e #first fanfic #smut

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froggyfics · 7 months

Text

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 5

Your wedding day arrives.

Note: (09/15/23) PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. If you have read this series before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. Therefore, the original chapter 4 is now chapter 3. Chapter 4 is new. This chapter and beyond are up to date.

Btw y'all it's gonna get saucy in the next chapter lmao

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Word Count: 4,844

This is the closest you’ve been with him in weeks. The intimacy of the moment is warped however, with underlying feelings of inadequacy.

This is your wedding day. Yet, you feel as though you are imposter. You can feel the red-hot glares of the jealous maidens in the crowd. After all, you are marrying the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm. If only they knew that you felt sick to your stomach, and you wished that they were in your place.

You don’t even look him in the eyes. You stare at his mouth, as if you needed to do so in order to understand the vows.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

No, you won’t, you say to yourself. You led me to believe that we could be more, but you tricked me!

He places a ring on your finger. Your hand suddenly feels like it’s weighed down by a ton of bricks. You nearly choke on your vows as they stumble out of you. When you arrived in Gotham a month ago, you were admittedly excited for this day. However, Damian’s icy demeanor as of late has left you bitter. How could it be possible to be so close with someone one day, and then completely cold the next. It befuddled you. Damianbefuddled you.

Your vows were sealed with a chaste kiss. Cheers and whoops erupted from the crowd. Through the noise, you could distinctly hear your father’s booming claps and mother’s animated laughs. Of course they were happy! Their daughter was married off – to a prince no less. Your marriage ensured a lifetime of stability and wealth for them. Not bad for a baron and baroness.

You wobble to the great hall for the wedding banquet with Damian’s hand clasped in your own. It wasn’t your choice to make physical contact – he was the one that initiated.

“Weddings are the end of their lives as they know it. The beginning of a prison sentence. The end of youth.”

This is an act. You must admit, if acting was a respectable career choice, Damian would be a top-notch performer. The vows meant nothing. The kiss was expected. The hand holding was necessary for the performance.

You sat right next to your husband. Aristocrats, both strangers and now familiar faces, approach to wish glad tidings upon you and Damian. You accept their kind words as politely as you can. All the while, you twist your ring, round and round, underneath the table.

You light up when Rachel approaches the table. A genuine smile finally crosses your face.

“Lady Rachel!” you call out excitedly.

You jump when you feel Damian’s presence near your ear.

“How do you know of Lady Rachel?” he asks.

You gape at him while Rachel curtsies shyly. His question is not shocking – you chalk it up to mere curiosity. It’s the fact that he’s talking…to you! Willingly. And the conversation does not revolve around simple greetings or pleasantries.

You can’t even answer him. Anger bubbles inside of you. He almost completely ignores you for four weeks and now suddenly acts like you should be receptive to his conversation. You have half a mind to ignore him in favor of speaking to Rachel. However, the ring sits heavy on your finger, and you suddenly remember your place.

He is now your husband. He is the heir to the throne. If there is anyone you should hold your tongue towards, it’s him.

“We met one week ago,” you reply. Rachel beams at you while you recount how you met her.

“We’ve only become closer and closer, day by day.” You hold your hand towards her, and she takes it affectionately.

“The princess is right,” Rachel adds. “It is almost like we have known each other our entire lives.”

Damian speaks only after he gulps his entire drink quickly. “Well, wife,” he emphasizes when he grabs your hand, “I am glad you have made a friend in Gotham.”

He smiles menacingly. You can tell by the way his lips unnaturally stretch over his teeth and the reddening of his face.

Rachel glances at your conjoined hands and clears her throat. “Well, I just wanted to say that I wish for the two of you to be happy.” She raises her cup and you raise yours with your other hand in support.

“To the happy couple,” she concludes. The edge of the cup reaches her lips, but she does not drink. She instead curtsies once more and disappears among the crowd of people.

As soon as she leaves, Damian releases your hand, wiping his palm on his pants as if you were a leper. You clench your teeth so hard that they squeak in retaliation. You manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself – in and out, in and out, in and out. It’s truly an act for him.

Everyone looks to be so happy. Not for you, of course not. They are happy for their own selfish reasons. Guests are fed the most delicious food and drink that the realm has to offer. Your parents rub elbows with highly ranked aristocrats. Your siblings dance merrily along the aisles. King R’as laughs heartedly a few seats away from Damian while speaking to his friends. Even Talia seems to be in a cheerful mood, scarfing down her food.

Perhaps you can attempt to be happy, too. It is your wedding day after all. You inhale deeply to gather confidence.

“Husband.”

Damian doesn’t acknowledge you.

You clear your throat and repeat yourself once more.

He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

“Damain!” you half-shout.

His head shoots up immediately. “Yes, wife?”

You want to punch him in the throat. His polite tone seems genuine, but it sounds fake to your ears.

“Are you…” You scan the great hall. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

He nods his head slowly like he has trouble understanding your question. “Quite.” He returns to his plate.

You growl, but say no more. After all, there is no point making a concerted effort at conversation now when you apparently have the rest of your life to do so. You might as well take what little enjoyment you have now and ignore the glaring loneliness that dwells within you.

The wedding took place at noon, but the reception continues well past sunset. You did not even know that there existed so much food in the entire city. Drinks flowed like a river all night long. Some people fell asleep in their seats, despite the rambunctious behaviors of others. Some people danced and danced until you thought their feet would fall off.

You remain glued to your seat nearly the entire reception. There were a few moments where you stretched your feet, such as when the guests stacked cakes on top one another, so that you and Damian could kiss over them. You managed to peck each other’s lips without the cakes collapsing to the ground, which made the audience break out into cheers. After all, if the cakes fell, it symbolized bad luck for your marriage.

As if you needed any more of that already.

The reception seemed like it would never end. Your posture slowly deteriorated over the hours, until you were slumped in your chair. Muscle aches began to surface for sitting for so long. You wanted the night to be over.

“Damian!” R’as called.

Damian pushes the table to make room to get up. He travels just a few feet farther to his grandfather who whispers something in his ear. Whatever was said made Damian stiffen and glance at you.

You suddenly develop that prickly feeling when you feel like someone is talking about you. Damian’s glance made you certain that you were the subject of their conversation. The realization made you shift in your seat. You decide to study the wooden table to distract yourself from your insecurity.

A tap on your shoulder breaks your concentration. You find Damian looking down at you with a stoic expression. As usual, you can never determine what he’s thinking.

“Follow me,” he bluntly says.

He doesn’t move an inch and you don’t realize until a few moments later that he expects you to get up first. You push yourself from the table and slowly stand up. You’ve been sitting for so long that your knees crack upon straightening.

Damian maneuvers you so that you remain in front of him. He’s mere inches behind you and his hands fix themselves to your waist. He pushes you forward, directing you towards the door.

The once lively room suddenly quiets down, until cheers are erupted once more.

You peer behind you to see that nearly everyone is looking directly at you. Men are jeering, throwing their hands in the air. Your father kisses your mother’s forehead while she blows a kiss towards you. Women are clapping obnoxiously. You face forward once again in mortification when you realize that they are cheering for your consummation. Everyone knows that you are walking out the hall a virgin – only to become a true wife by tomorrow.

You look back again, scanning the crowd for Rachel. She has been one of the few sources of support you’ve had as of late. You just want to look at her, to search for comfort in her eyes. You find her violet eyes eventually, only for your humiliation to turn into sadness. Her eyes do not necessarily brim with tears, but they are certainly glossy.

You give her a comforting smile as the door to the hall opens.

Don’t be sad for me, you want to say to her, but the door of the hall closes before your message can be relayed through your eyes.

Damian continues pushing you from behind through the castle. You are eventually brought to an all-too familiar, yet unfamiliar room.

It certainly has changed since you were in here last, all those years ago. Damian’s room still exudes extravagance, worthy of an heir. However, small details have changed.

There are several arms-related items laying around. A full armor suit sits at the corner of the room. Several weapons – swords, axes, morning stars – are hung on the walls. Papers are strewn across the room. They’re on his desk and dresser and end tables. Most importantly, the room feels larger than it did when you were a child. Well, that was probably due to the fact that you felt smaller now than you did then.

The door behind you slams shut. You jump in surprise at the loud noise and see Damian leaning on the door.

You hate it. You hate that you feel so nervous. It’s all too much. This room brings back happy memories that you cannot – should not – dredge up in fear of living in the past. You stand in a room, alone, for the first with someone known as your husband. Someone who is actually a stranger to you still. You can’t help but look down. It may be due to submission or shyness; you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that your girlhood has officially ended, and adulthood is crashing upon you.

You see his shoes from your peripheral. He stands toe-to-toe with you. You can’t bear to look him in the face. No good could come from falling for those green eyes.

He cautiously raises his hands to your waist. You grow numb as he removes your belt. Your dress puffs out into a shapeless blob.

He grabs your shoulder and turns you around, your back facing him. You can feel your dress loosening as he undoes your corset, one string at a time. Your breathing quickens at the intimacy of the act. You’ve had maybe two decent conversations with this man, and now, he has full access to your body. The discomfort makes you twitch.

“Raise your arms,” he commands. And you listen. He reaches down to hem of your dress, and pulls upward. You become blind momentarily until your dress is fully removed, and all that remains is your paltry smock. You feel overexposed. Your shoulders, arms, and legs are bare. Bare! You instinctively cover yourself the best you can with your arms, but Damian, while still behind you, firmly grabs your forearms to place them at your side. You gasp when he places a quick kiss on the back of your head.

You remain stuck in place despite hearing the crumpling of clothes behind you and await for Damian to direct you. There’s a creak, and several more creaks, and the crinkling of sheets.

“Come.”

You turn around and are met with a shirtless Damian, already beneath the sheets. He pats the unoccupied space next to him, and you follow his orders. You slink underneath the sheets and lay flat on your back, burning holes into the ceiling. The only sounds that could be heard is your breathing and the crackle of the fireplace.

You await for his orders once more. And wait. And wait. And wait some more, even as he slips completely underneath the sheets completely. From your peripheral vision, you can see that he turns his back towards you. You bite your lips nervously and you dare lift your arm up in an attempt to touch him.

“Good night.”

His words make your arm drop back down onto the mattress. The finality of his words make you close your eyes. There is nothing to do, nothing to expect. He is an actor, and you are at the whim of his play.

The extinguished fire from the fireplace doesn’t wake you. Neither does the blearing sun peeking from behind the curtains. What does wake you are the stomps of your ladies-in-waiting.

Your eyelids instantly open, the crust that developed during the night making it difficult at first.

“Princess, it is time to wake,” Matilda says in a voice that it all too loud this early in the morning. She wretches the curtains open and sunlight streams in. You hiss at the light, still walking the line between unconsciousness and alertness.

Joan grabs your shoulders and heaves you into a sitting position. In a militaristic approach, Joan, Matilda, and Honora perform your morning routine. You’ve had a month to adjust to their “help”, but it has only become slightly easier to tolerate their grubby hands and rude shoves. You can only say – Ouch! – so many times until you realize they do not care if they cause you pain. You are a job for them. They may be your household staff, but they are certainly still Talia’s minions.

The hubbub of the morning almost makes you forget where you are and what had happened the night before. You glance at the spot Damian was sleeping just a few hours prior. In his place is the outline of his body on the mattress.

“Where has my husband gone?” You wince when Joan tugs your hair particularly hard while brushing it.

“You have been summoned by Lady Talia.”

It hangs in the air, but you don’t expect them to answer your original question. It’s the nature of your relationship with them. It only reminds you to formally add Rachel to your household staff. Perhaps an ally in the mornings would improve your days.

You’re prodded and shoved and squeezed until you are dressed. A green and black gown once again. An emblem of the house that you married into. You are no longer a daughter of a baron – you are now a princess of the House Al Ghul.

You’re led to Talia’s room within the castle. A guard stands upright outside her door, and opens it for you and your brood. Within, you find your now mother-in-law with a table full of assorted small plates. Fruits, cheeses, bread. Your stomach grumbles in hunger, but you doubt you’ll be able to enjoy your meal. Not with Talia.

“Lady Talia,” you politely greet.

She waves you over without looking up. As you approach her, she finally glances at you, but now before grunting in disapproval.

She is now your mother-in-law. You must remain polite. You repeat the mantra to yourself several times as you become situated in the seat across from her. Your ladies-in-waiting stand off the side, along with Talia’s servants.

A moment passes. Then two. Then several. Talia says nothing and continues to eat. You recognize that she will not speak to you first, and that you must initiate the conversation. You desperately want to your roll your eyes, but you remember your mantra.

“Ahem, Lady Talia,” you start. “I have heard that you summoned me. Might I ask why?”

She sharply glares at you. “Do I need a reason to call upon you? After all, you are now my daughter.”

“Of course not.” You smile as sweetly as you can while simultaneously wanting to burst. You stomach rumbles again to remind you that it is empty, so you swiftly gather some items to make your plate full.

“Will Damian be joining us for this –”

“No,” Talia interjects.

“Oh.” Silence befalls the room except for the occasional chewing of food. “Is it possible for my mother to come join us? She will be leaving –”

“No. Is my presence not satisfactory to you?”

“Of course it is, Lady Talia,” you grit. She feigns a smile at you, and her eyes sparkle.

She knows that she’s irking you. She loves it.

“Are you close with Lady Rachel of House Azarath?” you inquire. The best use of your time here with Talia is to at least introduce the idea of Rachel as an additional lady-in-waiting.

Talia sips her tea generously before answering. “Yes, she used to be quite close to my son.”

“Well, her and I have only recently met, but we have become incredibly close. She honestly feels like a sister to me –”

“You’re talking about Lady Rachel?”

You gulp and shakingly nod your head. “Yes, I am. Erm – like I was saying, she has become a true friend. Since my family will return to my birthplace soon, and I have left behind my childhood friends, I was thinking about having Lady Rachel join my household staff. As a lady-in-waiting.”

Talia stares blankly at you, her green eyes burrowing into your soul. Her façade soon begins to break as her lips twitch and her eyes crinkles. Soon, she releases out a howling cackle. She laughs and laughs, holding her stomach to support herself.

Joan, Matilda, Honora, and the remaining servants in the room look to one another curiously before they begin to laugh as well. Their laughs start as awkward chuckles until they are bellowing to match their master.

You sit in utter disbelief at the situation unfurling in front of you. There’s a joke hidden in Talia’s laugh, but you remain oblivious to it.

“Oh, oh, my.” Talia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why, yes, of course! Lady Rachel is free to join your household staff.”

Your face is red with embarrassment as the laughs finally die down. You’re not sure what the joke was, and you so desperately want to know.

The food no longer looks appetizing to you. The measly few bites you had appease your stomach for the time being. Desperate for the attention to be off of you, the course of the conversation is redirected.

“Erm – thank you, Lady Talia. Say, how did you enjoy the festivities yesterday?”

“Ahem, yes, it was fine.” Her joyful tone suddenly reverts to its malicious nature. “I presume you enjoyed your wedding night, especially. How very lucky you are to bed a prince when you are…” She points in your general direction. “Well, when you are…you.”

A forced chuckle exits your mouth. Never have you ever met someone as blatantly, yet simultaneously subtly, rude. It dawns on you that her status allows her to speak however she wants, and that social graces are only for those inferior to her.

“I am eternally grateful that Prince Damian chose me to be his wife.”

She waves your pleasantry off. “Yes, yes. After all, he chose you out of…every maiden. I am certain you will do your duties as a wife to ensure his happiness. As long as you bear him heirs, I suppose that is all I can ask for.”

The conversation feels unpleasant to you. After all, shouldn’t your marital relations with Damian be kept between you and him? Admittedly, you’re not sure whether you should alert Talia to the fact that you did notbed Damian last night. Sure, you slept in the same bed, but you are certain that is not what she cares about.

The question that she was dancing around finally is brought to the forefront. “Last night was…successful, correct?”

Your hunger has not yet returned, but you abruptly feel the urge to stuff food into your mouth to avoid answering her.

“Mmhm.”

She leans in dangerously close. She remains across the table, but it seems like she will pounce on you if you dare utter one wrong word.

“Did you bed Damian?”

You breathe in deeply, having had enough of the intrusion. “Lady Talia, I feel as though my relations with your son –”

“This is a yes or no question, dear,” she seethes. “Did you or did not do your duty as the wife of Prince Damian?” She slowly stands as she asks you her question, her anger palpable.

“Does it matter?” you counter. “Why is that any of your business?”

“So, you did not bed him.”

You eye twitches in annoyance. “Lady Talia, I did not say that.”

“You don’t have to.” She slams her hands on the table, shaking it. You jump in surprise and grab hold onto the arms of the seat. The other women in the room hold their breath in frightened anticipation.

“What was the point then? What was it?” She places her hands on her waist and circles you. “There were so many others – richer, prettier, friendlier. Some of them he grew up with. Why you if he doesn’t even want to bed you?”

You remain glued to your seat. Talia looks down at you with rage in her eyes, while you look back with confusion. You don’t know how to answer her question, because ultimately, you’re unsure of the answers yourself. If she had asked you a month prior when you first arrived in Gotham, you probably could have answered that you and Damian shared a sweet encounter from many years past, and that encounter led to your marriage. However, with Damian’s aloofness, you also are uncertain as to why you were chosen to be his bride.

Talia groans in frustration at your muteness. She stomps towards the door, but not before a servant rushes over to open it for her. You watch as she disappears into the hallway, presumably to confront Damian.

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Take me back to my quarters,” you order your ladies-in-waiting. “And send for Lady Rachel.”

You pace back and forth in your room, practically burning a hole into the floor. A loud knock disrupts your fervent strides, and in comes your rescuer, Rachel.

“Rachel,” you whimper as your nearly run into her open arms.

Her arms wrap around you tightly, like how a snake suffocates its victims, except her hug was full of love instead.

You’re shaken up by your encounter with Talia, but the culmination of the previous 24 hours bears down upon you. You sink to the floor, Rachel helplessly attempting to lift you back to your feet, but the energy is no longer within you.

“Everything is wrong.”

“What is?” Rachel finally sinks to the floor next to you, holding your head to her bosom, holding you like a mother would do to console her child.

“Everything. This cursed family has brought me nothing but misery. I will be miserable until the end of my days, I fear.”

Rachel gently quiets you and strokes your hair. “No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen.”

“It will!” you exclaim. “Damian hates me!”

“He does not hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Embarrassment sinks into your bones when Rachel asks you to explain.

“Last night was a disaster,” you murmur into her chest.

Rachel stops stroking your head momentarily. “Hmm? How so?” She starts once more playing with your hair.

“I am…still a virgin.”

She pulls your head backwards so that her eyes meet yours. “Do you mean…he has not bedded you yet?”

You cringe in embarrassment. Her shock has only solidified your insecurity – something must be wrong with you. That’s the only explanation!

“No, no, darling,” Rachel clucks. “Do not hide your face from me. It is not your fault – hey – look at me. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“Then, what is wrong?” You swiftly get to your feet and resume your pacing. “If not me, then what? It’s silly to think that there is another issue at play here.”

Rachel grabs hold of your shoulders and firmly shakes you. “Listen to yourself! You sound mad.” She looks around the room as if it isn’t empty and leans in close to whisper. “Understand that there may be other factors at play. The emotions of man can certainly affect his…libido. Take it from me, I should know.”

She releases her grip, but remains planted in front of your face. “I have had…prior relations.”

You nod at her wide-eyed. This is the first you’ve heard of Rachel speaking about her romantic life.

“Certain emotions can make it hard for a man to perform his husbandly duties. I do not think it wise to push the issue, as to not cause any embarrassment for him.”

You nod your head emphatically, whole-heartedly internalizing her speech. “But – what if he doesn’t bed me tonight either? Lady Talia is already speaking about heirs.”

“Again, do not push the issue. You would rather not face Damian’s wrath.”

A singular, harsh knock interrupts your discussion. In stomps in the subject of the conversation, the man of the hour, your lifeline and your ruin – Damian.

Rachel immediately curtsies out of respect and lowers her head. He opens his mouth to speak, but is seemingly stunned by the presence of another human in your room. He looks back and forth between you and Rachel.

“Husband,” you greet.

The sound of your voice brings Damian back from his trance. He nods his head towards the door and several servants, including your ladies-in-waiting, pile into the room.

“Wife,” he starts. He strides over to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. His lips leave a burning sensation on you, as his sudden display of affection jars you. “Pack your essentials. We leave soon for my father’s.”

“Damian,” you whisper. His face reveals his agitation: his lips are stretched into a scowl and his forehead wrinkles deeply. “Is everything alright?”

His palm reaches to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. You want to believe he does it lovingly, but your heart can’t take that risk.

“You should have called upon me,” he murmurs. “As soon as my mother disrespected you, you should have come to me.”

You look down in shame. So, he’s heard of your interaction with Talia earlier that day. “I did not think that was an option. I did not even know where you were.”

He lifts your head up with his index finger on your chin. He bends as best as he could to meet you at eye-level. “Of course, that is an option. You are my wife.”

You swallow hard. The way he’s looking at you, and comforting you – it’s too much. It’s too sudden. You shimmy your way out of his grasp and look to Rachel for support, only to find her back facing towards you and Damian.

“Lady Rachel has been consoling me.”

Damian stiffens and his jaw tightens. “Thank you, Lady Rachel,” he starts. He looks over his shoulder her, and she does so too ever so slightly. Neither face each other completely, however. “You may now take your leave.”

Rachel nods her head and without turning to say goodbye to you, she starts heading towards the door.

“Wait, no!” you call out. You circle around Damian to reach Rachel’s arm. “Lady Rachel is to be my lady-in-waiting. She must remain by my side.”

Damian’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Your lady-in-waiting?” he repeats brashly.

You huff in irritation. You’re not sure why everyone seems to be so astonished that you want Rachel to be a part of your household staff. “Yes,” you reply.

Damian clicks his tongue in disapproval. The amorous façade he performed just moments prior is now gone. It’s been replaced with the real Damian – the stoic one.

“Fine.” He pushes back you to reach the exit before stopping by the door. He doesn’t even turn around. “Remember, just the essentials.

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