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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year

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Western history is full of the daring feats of explorers—Lewis and Clark in North America, John Cabot in Canada, Marco Polo along the Silk Road, and the list goes on.

But what about the explorers who set out with the same optimism as these navigational celebrities, only to face mysterious adversity?

Here are five explorers who had all the advantages of their more successful counterparts, only not to reach their goals and leave very little trace of their true fates.

Franklin’s failed Northwest Passage quest

British explorer Sir John Franklin left England in 1845 with 129 crew members and officers in search of the Northwest Passage, a shipping route from the Atlantic to the Pacific through Canada.

They were expertly equipped with iron-sheathed ships, three years of food and drink, even an early daguerreotype camera.

Instead of finding the passage, however, the ships became trapped in the Canadian Arctic’s most treacherous, ice-choked corner, north of King William Island.

Twenty-four men died by April 1848, including the captain.

The new captain, Francis Crozier, apparently abandoned the ships and set out with the remaining crew over the icy terrain in a desperate attempt to reach land.

Inuit hunters reported seeing bedraggled crewmen dragging sleds across the ice.

A few bodies have since been found, along with deserted campsites and bits and pieces, including silver dessert spoons and cotton shirt fragments.

In 2014, the wreck of Erebus was located, followed by the Terror in 2016.

While the wrecks themselves did not solve the mystery of what killed the men, the recovered bones of some men bore knife marks, suggesting the crew was fending off starvation by cannibalism.

Fawcett’s Lost City of Z

British explorer Col. Percy Harrison Fawcett already had undertaken several expeditions into the Amazon early in the 20th century when he came across an irresistible Portuguese document at the National Library of Brazil.

Detailing the discovery of a “large, hidden, and very ancient city, without inhabitants, discovered in the year 1753,” it told of grand ruins hidden in the Mato Grosso jungle.

Fawcett instantly decided to find the ruins, which he named the Lost City of Z.

After one failed attempt to find this awesome site, Fawcett, his son Jack, his son’s friend Raleigh Rimell, and two local laborers departed into the Brazilian wilderness in April 1925.

They wrote their last dispatch home on May 20.

Their Brazilian helpers had left them, Fawcett noted, but “You need have no fear of failure.”

No one ever heard from the party again.

Their disappearance became an obsession, with adventurers over the next decades trying to retrace their steps.

A reporter who went after Fawcett in 1930 also disappeared, as did a Swiss hunter and his search party.

Unconfirmed reports filtered out from the jungle of pale-skinned prisoners and their young children, but Fawcett and his party have never been found.

Mallory’s ill-fated Everest summit

The hopes of the world, or at least of the world’s mountain-climbing community, were pinned on George Leigh Mallory when he began his third attempt to reach the summit of Mount Everest in April 1924.

The handsome English climber had reached 27,235 feet, 1,800 feet below Everest’s peak, on a 1922 expedition.

This time, he intended to make it to the top.

On June 8, Mallory and his young companion, Sandy Irvine, set out on what they hoped would be the final sprint.

A fellow climber spotted them, two black spots, about 800 vertical feet below the summit. Then a snow squall closed in, and the climbers disappeared.

Mallory’s body was not recovered for 75 years.

In 1999, climber Conrad Anker discovered Mallory’s frozen corpse at 26,760 feet on the mountain’s north face. Irvine’s body has not been found.

Whether Mallory was on his way up to the summit or was coming down from a successful ascent is unknown.

If he did reach the peak, he would have beaten Edmund Hillary, the New Zealand mountaineer who has been lauded for being the first man to reach the summit since his successful ascent in 1953.

But the world may never know.

Amelia Earhart’s strange disappearance

Amelia Earhart was world famous. She was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic and the first person to fly from Hawaii to California.

Her round-the-world flight in 1937 was her final challenge.

Accompanying her when she took off from Miami on 1 June 1937 was an experienced navigator, Frederick Noonan.

The first legs of the 29,000-mile trip were arduous, but the 2,556-mile Pacific leg from New Guinea to tiny Howland Island was the toughest of all.

From the air, Earhart radioed she couldn’t see the island and was running low on fuel. Then silence.

Recent forensic analysis suggest that bones found in 1940 on the Pacific island of Nikumaroro were those of the aviator.

Dimensions of Earhart’s body according to photos and clothing matched measurements recorded of the bones.

Unfortunately, the bones themselves were lost—so DNA testing cannot be done.

Researchers are still following every lead, from a skull fragment found in a museum to underwater fragments possibly from her plane, but so far, her disappearance remains a mystery.

Ambrose Bierce’s baffling Mexican quest

Ambrose Bierce isn’t the typical explorer. A Civil War veteran, he was also a journalist and poet, known for his cynical and misanthropic writings.

One such entry in his Devil’s Dictionary, for example, reads, “Fidelity: A virtue peculiar to those who are about to be betrayed.”

In 1913, with his family dead and his career waning, the 71-year-old Bierce headed out to visit Civil War battlefields, including Missionary Ridge and Chickamauga, and onward to Mexico.

“I am going to Mexico with a pretty definite purpose, which is not at all presently disclosable,” he wrote to his secretary.

He may have joined up with Pancho Villa’s rebel army and traveled with it to Chihuahua.

Reports from one of Villa’s battles told of an “old gringo” killed in the fighting.

Could that have been Bierce? Or did he live on in Mexico, California, France, or Brazil, where reports have placed him over the years?

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skipperthekangaroo · 2 years

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i do think it’s funny how many people are shocked by how dark and evil bill hader can go in his acting, as if he didn’t star in the best piece of found footage horror known to man (Documentary Now! s01e01 “Sandy Passage)

#barry #documentary now #that's not a joke btw sandy passage is genuinely my favorite found footage horror

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totalshockwaves · 2 years

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The G. in G. Way today stands for Grey Gardens

#gerard way #mcr #my chemical romance #its giving italian grandma its giving Little Edie its giving Sophia Loren #now give us some Sandy Passage Little Vivvy realness I crave blood mama

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wajb · 1 year

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if you guys haven’t seen documentary now! it’s a very fun show that’s made with a lot of heart, and its probably ESPECIALLY fun if you’ve seen documentaries. anyway here are the best episodes:

1. juan likes rice and chicken

2. a town, a gangster, a festival

3. batshit valley

4. the eye doesn’t lie

5. parker gail’s location is everything

#also sandy passage. also blue jean commitee. also final transmission. also co-op

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nancy-laura-spungen · 2 years

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youtube

"A prescription never calls for a handful of pills!!"

#grey gardens #documentary now #bill hader #fred armisen #sandy passages #Youtube

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elia-the-bibliophile · 2 months

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Sad, Beautiful, Tragic (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst Word count: 3,5k

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself standing near the open window overlooking the rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of sand and seaweed. Seagulls soared gracefully overhead, their cries echoing in the distance as they rode the currents above the crashing waves. The sky above was painted in hues of orange and pink, the last remnants of daylight fading into the darkness of night.

In the distance, the silhouette of lighthouses stood sentinel against the twilight, their beams cutting through the gathering dusk to guide sailors safely home. Along the shoreline, traditional clapboard houses nestled among the dunes, their weathered exteriors a testament to the passage of time. And as the waves rhythmically kissed the sandy shore, a sense of tranquility settled over the landscape, wrapping it in a blanket of serenity that whispered of secrets waiting to be discovered.

Your gaze drifted to the locket hanging around your neck, the silver chain glinting in the fading light, holding a childhood image of Max close to your heart. Its familiar weight always been a source of comfort for you.

Allowing yourself to be sweep off to a daydream, memory of him lingered like a ghost. Every time you close your eyes, you imagine the two of you having warm conversations, the words flowing effortlessly between you, as if no time had passed at all.

Reality crashed down upon you, pulling you back to the harsh truth of your separate lives. In different cities, you both woke in lonely beds.

__________________________________________

[Flashback]

The tension in the air was palpable as you and Max stood facing each other, words hanging heavy between you like a storm waiting to break.

"I just don't understand why you're always moving around," you exclaimed, frustration seeping into your voice. "We barely spend any time together anymore."

Max's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he spoke. "This is my life, Y/N. Racing is what I do, what I live for. You knew that when we got together. Don’t you turn this on me.”

"I know, but it's like you're always off chasing something else," you shot back, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. "I thought we were supposed to be in this together."

His eyes flashed with anger, voice rising as he lashed out. "You'll never understand what it's like to be an F1 driver. The demands, the pressure—it's not something you can just turn on and off as you please."

Your heart sank at your lover’s words, the sting of his accusation cutting deep. "So what, I'm supposed to just drop everything and follow you around like some trophy girlfriend? Is that what you want?"

Max's expression softened, regret flickering in his eyes as he reached out to touch your arm. "I didn't mean it like that, schatje. But maybe if you were more like the other girlfriends—"

Your eyes narrowed, hurt turning to anger as you pulled away from his touch. "I shouldn't have to change who I am just to fit into your new life, Max. If you can't accept me for who I am, then maybe we shouldn't be together at all."

With those words hanging between you like a chasm too wide to bridge, you turned and walked away, leaving Max to grapple with the weight of his own expectations and the reality of what it meant to truly love someone.

__________________________________________

The days that followed were filled with a heavy silence, the distance between you and Max feeling impregnable even within the confines of your shared home. Each moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, filled with the weight of unresolved tensions.

Then, one evening, as you sat alone in the living room with the cats on your lap, Max entered, his footsteps hesitant as if unsure of his welcome.

Max began softly, “Why are we so out of sync these days, schat. Godverdomme, I hate fighting with you.”

You nodded, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. "I don’t know, Max… It's like we're trapped in this hellish cycle we can't break."

Max approached you, his expression pleading. "Have we truly lost our way?”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you met his gaze, the pain of misunderstanding tearing at your heart. "Can you just hold me right now?”

With a deep breath, Max closed the distance between you, his touch gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Come here, mijn liefje.”

As you melted into his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by the fragile hope of reconciliation. In the quiet sanctuary of your home, you dared to think that things are going to get better.

__________________________________________

You know what they say, the golden days never last for long. And yours turn dull in the blink of an eye.

A few months passed, you couldn't escape the constant reminders of Max's growing closeness with Kelly Piquet. Their pictures seemed to be everywhere, captured in different corners of the world, each one a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

Kelly's job as a model and influencer afforded her the flexibility to travel to every Grand Prix with ease, a stark contrast to your own demanding career as a business consultant in Monaco. As you scrolled through social media, the self-doubt gnawed at you. Had Max found your replacement in Kelly?

You tried to push aside the nagging thoughts, reminding yourself that trust was the foundation of any relationship. But as the whispers and rumors grew louder, fueled by the constant presence of Kelly in Max's life, your insecurities threatened to consume you. Whenever Max have his photo taken, Kelly is only a few steps behind.

You decided to click on a more recent video due to the attention it has garnered. Max’s face appeared, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"And what about Kelly Piquet?" the interviewer asked, a knowing glint in their eye. "You two seem to have become quite close recently. Can you tell us about your newfound friendship?"

Max let out a breathy laugh, "Kelly is really fun to be around," he began. "We share a lot of the same interests, especially when it comes to racing and traveling."

You feel your throat closing up with every word he spoke, but he continues on, "She's introduced me to so many new experiences, including meeting her father, Nelson Piquet. It was an honor to spend time with him and get some feedbacks on how to better improve myself."

As the interview continued to play, each word feeling like a dagger to your heart, you couldn't bear to hear any more.

The interviewer nodded, their interest piqued by Max's genuine enthusiasm. "It sounds like you two have—,”

With a flick of your wrist, you closed the video, the screen going dark as you threw your phone across the room. Jimmy and Sassy, startled by the sudden commotion, scurried away, their tails fluffed with alarm.

Alone in the silence of your apartment, the pain and frustration boiled over, and with a scream of anguish, you unleashed the pent-up emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

"Fuck you, Max Verstappen!" you shouted, the words echoing off the walls as tears streamed down your face. In that moment, the weight of betrayal felt almost too much.

As the echoes of your scream faded into the stillness of the night, you collapsed onto the floor, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. And in the darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own ragged breaths, you allowed yourself to grieve for the love you had lost.

__________________________________________

The darkness of your despair seemed to swallow you whole. The thought of even touching your phone filled you with dread, terrified of stumbling upon yet another headline or photo of Max and Kelly together.

You had moved to Monaco with hopes of being closer to Max, to build a life together. But now, it was clear that those hopes had been nothing but illusions.

With each passing moment, the love you once felt for Max began to chip away, replaced by a seething anger that burned hot. How dare he throw you away like yesterday's news, all because you no longer fit into the life of a World’s Champion?

In a moment of clarity, you made the decision to pack your bags, to leave behind the city that held nothing but painful memories and broken promises. There was no use in clinging to a love that had been so callously discarded, no future left for you in a place that only served to remind you of what you had lost and failed to keep.

As you moved through the apartment, gathering your belongings, Jimmy and Sassy followed close behind, their soft purrs and gentle nudges a silent comfort in the midst of your turmoil. It was as if they understood, as if they knew that you were leaving, and their presence offered a small solace.

Meanwhile on the other side of the globe, Max's anxiety grew with each unanswered call. Every attempt to reach out only led to the cold emptiness of voicemail, leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Scenes of your last encounter replayed in his mind, each one a painful reminder of the words left unsaid and the hurt he had caused. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that he had pushed you away when you needed him the most.

"Come on, schat, please pick up," he repeated, the desperation evident in his voice.

Growing desperate, Max even reached out to the security of his building, hoping for any sign of your whereabouts. But their responses only deepened his fear, confirming that you hadn't been seen in days.

With a heavy heart, Max realized the gravity of his actions. He had let his own ambitions blind him to the pain he had caused you, and now, he feared it might be too late to make things right.

His hands trembled as he dialed his manager's number. "Get the jet ready for me, I need to fly back to Monaco immediately," he demanded, the urgency in his voice brooking no argument.

"Max, we're in the middle of a Grand Prix," his manager protested, the disbelief evident in his tone. "You can't just leave."

Max's jaw clenched, frustration boiling over as he shouted into the phone, "Fuck that! My girlfriend needs me."

With a determined resolve, Max hung up the phone, his mind set on one thing and one thing only: finding you and making things right. For in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not even all his titles.

__________________________________________

As Max stepped into the apartment, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave. The emptiness of the space seemed to echo with the absence of your presence.

Frantically, he searched for any sign of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing moment. But the apartment yielded no clues, no trace of your belongings, not even a lingering scent to suggest that you had been there recently.

The reality of your absence hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and reeling. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating him with the weight of his own regret.

"Where are you?" Max's voice echoed through the empty apartment, filled with desperation. "Please, Y/N, don't leave me like this!"

His shouts reverberated off the walls, each one a plea for your return, a desperate cry for forgiveness. But the silence that greeted him was deafening, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breaths.

"Please, liefje, I can't bear to be without you," he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'll do anything to make things right, just please come back to me."

But his words hung unanswered in the air, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the apartment. And as Max sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face, he realized that he had let the love of his life slip away, and now, there was no guarantee that he would ever find his way back to her again.

Still he will try, dammit he promise he will.

Max dialed the numbers of your closest friends, his heart pounding with urgency. "Hello? It's Max," he began, his voice tight with emotion. "I am very sorry to bother you but… do you know where Y/N is? I screwed up I know but has she said anything?”

There was a hesitant pause on the other end of the line before your friend responded cautiously, "I'm sorry, Max. I can't help you with that."

Max's frustration boiled over as he pleaded, "Please… I need to know if she's okay. I need to find her."

But each conversation ended the same way, with her friends refusing to reveal anything about your whereabouts. It was as if you had disappeared without a trace, leaving Max with no leads.

As he hung up the phone for the umpteenth time, Max realized that he was truly alone in his search for you. And with each passing moment, the sense of desperation grew, driving him to the brink of madness as he searched for any clue that would lead him back to you.

Max reached a point of exhaustion so profound that his body finally succumbed, and he slipped into unconsciousness. A faint memory surfaced from the depths of his subconscious—a conversation with you, a moment frozen in time.

"If you could run away, where would you go?" he asked, the words hanging in the air between you as you lay together, your head resting against his chest.

You drew lazy circles on his skin as you pondered his question, your voice soft with contemplation. "I guess I would go to Rhode Island."

In his dreams, Max found himself transported to a tranquil beach on the shores of Rhode Island, the gentle waves lapping at his feet as the salty breeze kissed his skin. The sound of seagulls echoed in the distance, their cries a soothing melody that carried on the wind.

With a sudden jerk, Max's eyes snapped open, his heart racing with a newfound sense of clarity. Rhode Island. The words echoed in his mind.

Could it be possible? Could you have truly gone to Rhode Island?

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Jimmy and Sassy approaching, their usual playful demeanor replaced by a palpable sense of sadness.

Max's heart sank at the sight of his beloved cats looking so forlorn. With a heavy sigh, he reached out to them, offering a comforting touch as they nuzzled against his hand.

"I know," Max murmured. "I'm sorry I made mum leave, but I promise we'll get her back."

The cats gazed up at him with soulful eyes, as if understanding his words. In that moment, Max would do anything to bring you back home where you belonged.

__________________________________________

In the cozy living room of your temporary home in Rhode Island, you and your best friend, Lily Muni He who also happens to be the girlfriend of Alex Albon sat together, surrounded by boxes and scattered belongings as you worked to settle in. The soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm ambiance over the room.

As you unpacked, Lily's presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity, her easy smile and gentle demeanor easing the weight of your recent upheaval.

With a sigh, you set aside a box and turned to Lily. "Thank you for helping me with all of this," you said, gratitude lacing your words. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Lily smiled warmly, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course, love. You know I'll always be here for you," she replied, her voice soft with sincerity.

Taking a seat beside you, Lily reached out to grasp your hand in hers, a gesture of solidarity and support. "I know this hasn't been easy for you," she continued, her tone gentle. "But I want you to know that you're not alone. Me and Alex are here for you, every step of the way."

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the weight of Lily's words wash over you. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice catching with emotion.

Lily’s gaze lingers on you with sadness. "I'll miss seeing you around the paddock," she said. "It won't be the same without you there."

You smiled weakly. "I'll miss it too," you admitted. "But I think it's time for a fresh start, you know?"

She nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I get that," her tone gentle. "Just know that no matter where you go, you'll always have a home with us. Alex and I will come visit you any time we can.”

A wistful expression crossed your face. "I miss the cats," you confessed. "I know it's silly, but they were like family to me."

"It's not silly at all, Y/N” she reassured. "They were a big part of your life, and it's natural to miss them."

You offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Lil," you said, the weight of homesickness easing ever so slightly. "I just hope they're doing okay without me."

"I'm sure they miss you too," she replied. "But Jimmy and Sassy are resilient little creatures. They'll be just fine."

You let out a mirthless laugh. "If you meet him, you should ask Max to get one of those automatic food dispensers. He's away from home most of the time, and last I heard Kelly is allergic to cats."

Lily snorted at your remark, the irony of the situation not lost on either of you. Soon, giggles bubbled up between you, the tension of the moment dissipating in a shared moment of laughter.

"Solid idea," she replied. "I'll be sure to mention it to him if I get the chance."

__________________________________________

As the sun beat down on the bustling city of Doha, reporters from around the world gathered outside the Red Bull Racing garage, their cameras flashing and microphones poised. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation and concern, as whispers of Max Verstappen's mysterious disappearance spread like wildfire through the paddock.

In the heart of the chaos, a reporter with a steely gaze faced the camera, her voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. "Good evening from Doha, where the Formula 1 world is in a state of shock and confusion," she began, her words echoing across the airwaves.

Behind her, a throng of journalists clamored for attention, shouting questions and jostling for position. Camera crews darted back and forth, capturing every moment of the unfolding drama.

"Max Verstappen, the reigning world champion, has gone MIA," the reporter continued, her brow furrowed with concern. "His absence has sent shockwaves through the paddock, leaving fans and fellow drivers alike bewildered."

As she spoke, images of Verstappen flashed across the screen, capturing his triumphant moments on the track. The tension in the air was palpable, as the world waited with bated breath for any news of the missing champion.

Inside, tension hung thick in the air as Christian Horner paced back and forth, his frustration evident in every furrow of his brow. Beside him, members of the team exchanged worried glances, whispering amongst themselves as they tried to make sense of the situation.

"We need to do damage control, and fast," Horner declared, his voice tight with urgency. "This is not how a reigning world champion should behave."

Checo spoke up with a wry smile. "We all know exactly where he went to," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. "I'm just surprised it took him this long to grow balls."

Horner's frustration turned to bewilderment as he turned to face Checo, his expression a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "What do you mean, Checo?" he demanded, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Kelly Piquet's sudden entrance into the garage caused heads to turn, her expression mirroring Horner's earlier demeanor. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for answers as she approached the group.

"Where is Max? What was he thinking?" she demanded, her voice tinged with exasperation.

Checo, ever the straight shooter, couldn't help but roll his eyes at Kelly's questions. "As if you don't know," he retorted, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

Kelly's eyes narrowed as she locked gazes with him, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. "What's that supposed to mean?" she shot back, her voice edged with irritation.

But before Checo could respond again, Horner stepped forward, his expression grave as he addressed Kelly. "Kelly, we're all trying to figure out what happened," he interjected, his tone firm but measured. "But right now, our priority is to handle the fallout and ensure the team's reputation remains intact."

With Max Verstappen's whereabouts now a hot topic of speculation among the media, the Red Bull Racing team faced an uphill battle to contain the fallout from their champion's sudden departure.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 drabble #f1 fandom

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jiz-henry · 1 year

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#documentary now #sandy passage #grey gardens

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fandomtransmandom · 1 year

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Made a Little Vivvy shirt 🔎💖

Here's the design if anyone wants to make their own😊

#bill hader #little vivvy #sandy passage #doc now #documentary now!#documentary now #fan crafts #the shirt is pink. just weird lighting.#and I used an old one for my first test run so apologies for the stains #having fun playing around with digital art type stuff though #t-shirt #iron on #I have sooo many more ideas this is going to become a problem lol #my gif.#Vivvy my precious love🥰#vivienne van kimpton

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stareaterau · 9 months

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Chapter 1 episode 1

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Index

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Let's start with a familiar face, shall we!

CW: violence And the mention of blood and injury

Read below↓

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The heat is unbearable. Scar wakes, wheezing out a hot breath that circles in his sealed helmet, fogged by the last of his moisture. A building headache pulses behind his eyes. He reaches up to rub the soreness out, but his gloves clank uselessly against the visor. He blinks, squinting through the harsh light. His first instinct is to rip the helmet off for the relief of fresh air, but as his eyes adjust, he doubts it’ll make a difference.

He’s in a desert. The dusty and cracked ground stretches all the way to the horizon. Nothing about this place feels familiar, in fact, the bright orange gradients in the sand look alien. He has no way of telling if the air here is breathable, and though it’s tempting, testing it isn’t worth the risk. The sheer lack of life in the landscape certainly doesn’t bode well in that regard.

He tries to think back to how he got here, but there’s nothing. He doesn’t remember falling asleep outside. Definitely not here, and definitely not with his helmet still on.

Reflexively, he reaches for his communicator, but it’s not there. With rising anxiety, he pats down the rest of his person. His gun, enderchest and communicator are all gone. The only useful thing he still has left on him is the helmet on his head.

That’s concerning. He keeps those things on him at all times. It’s mandatory. As much as Scar would push the rules, he can’t deny the sense in keeping his gun, enderchest and communicator at all times. Even with his reputation, he wouldn’t just wander into the wilderness with none of his gear. He’s more competent than that at least, right?

There are no constructed landmarks nearby to use to figure out where he is, and he won’t be able to figure out the star system he’s in until the sun has set. At least whoever left him here had the decency to leave him with his helmet on. He can panic about being stranded, while puffing recycled air.

He thinks for a moment that maybe if he stays put the Vindicators will come looking for him, but that idea is quickly squashed by the realization that he’ll probably die of heatstroke before they realize he’s gone. His best bet is to walk until he finds some sign of intelligent life… or run out of oxygen in the process.

Not the most optimistic reality, but nevertheless Scar picks himself up, bushes the desert dust off his clothes, and scans the horizon for the most promising direction. Hoping, desperately, that he's not about to get himself even more lost than he already is.

With a sigh, he squints at the horizon with his hands on his hips. He finds cracks and grooves in the sand that open up beneath him to form long ravines. The gouges in front of him seem to open up into larger trenches that follow a relatively straight path, a much better scenario than splitting into maze-like passages. He nods approvingly. It’s his best bet to make his way down into the ravine. It’s depth is about double his height, which should still provide some shade from that glaring sun.

He spots a relatively safe way to get down— a sandy slope built up against the otherwise harsh stone. He walks tentatively towards it, but stops at the sound of a beep. Looking around for the cause of the noise, he sees a collection of rocks protruding from the sand, but no movement. He checks the soles of his boots too, in case he stepped on some kind of device hidden in the sand, or maybe a small creature, but he sees nothing there, either.

He’s probably just imagined it. Continuing on, he hurries down towards the slope, desperate to escape the heat. The sound of sand scrapes against his leg braces as he slides, and he keeps a hand pressed into the sand behind him to stay steady. He manages to avoid slipping as the sand shifts below his feet, but only barely.

The shade cuts the temperature in half, and Scar sags with relief. The ravine is just as lifeless and empty as the surface, albeit far more claustrophobic. The curving, orange walls hide the vastness of their expanse from view. Scar’s footfalls echo down the chasm. He’s not sure if he prefers the company of the extra sound or if it just makes him feel more exposed. Everything is so empty and open, and an almost perfect mirror to the clear sky. The entire atmosphere radiates with a yellow glow, as if the sun takes up the whole sky. Maybe it does. Out of the corner of his eye, Scar finally detects movement— a shadow across the dusty scenery, but he reacts too late, and looks up to see the shadow is gone, and the sun’s still bright.

He walks for at least five minutes before another beep is heard again, except this time it doesn’t stop there. Quickening, it takes about thirty seconds untill the next one, forcing Scar to accept he hadn’t imagined it.

He listens, face wrinkled with concentration. The beep isn’t coming from anywhere around him. It feels like it’s in the back of his head. Whatever it’s trying to tell him, he can’t figure it out.

He turns to his left, kicks a few stones, tests if the sound reacts. Maybe it’s something hidden in his jacket pocket. He rifles around in them, remembering they’re all empty, and goes back to struggling to understand the pattern of the beeps. It keeps slowing and quickening— even when Scar is walking in a straight direction, so it can’t possibly be leading him to a fixed place, and he tried waiting a few minutes after each beep, just for nothing to happen, so it can’t be warning him about anything.

Frustrated, Scar tunes it out eventually, and focuses instead on making his way through the desert. He'll be glad to find anything other than rocks, sand and the sourceless beeping at this point. At one point he sees movement again, another shadow darting across the ground. It looks almost like a bird, but Scar can’t be sure, the shape vanishing almost as soon as he notices it. It’s like it’s evading his view, like it’s trying to make him second guess himself.

Scar groans. It’s been a long trek through the winding canyon. The sweat drippin into his eyes taunts him— he wishes more than anything to be able to wipe it from his brow, but alas, Scar’s not quite desperate enough to risk removing the helmet.

Almost on autopilot, he trudges on, trying to think through the heat about what it could mean. He racks his melting brain for more things that might cause beeping in your head, or what it means. Scar’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses the beeps getting faster, faster than they had gotten before. When he finally notices, he stops in his tracks, snapping to attention as it continues to speed up.

He doesn’t notice the winged figure swoop down until the impact pushes him to the ground.

Scar screams, head ringing as his visor smacks into the earth. He struggles, trying to roll over to face his assailant, but he’s immediately pinned to the ground by long, dark talons. The figure stares at him through their own helmet, like his except for the visor, which is split into two deep, dark, void-like eyes. They make no sound as their wings spread out, blocking out the sun with their feathers. A glowing blue knife held above their head.

"No wait- wait!"

The figure ignores his pleas, bringing the weapon down. Scar barely manages to deflect the stranger's aim, the knife sinking into his shoulder instead of his heart. Choking back a yell and instinctively shutting his eyes to the pain, he didn’t feel the blade being pulled out, nor see the figure grabbing their own shoulder in confusion.

"What?“ Head swiveling wildly, they balk. “Where?"

Scar shifts on reflex under the weight of the stranger, but this only brings the attacker’s attention back to him, their grip tightening. Without anything to defend himself with, his gun missing and this stanger holding a clear advantage, Scar scrambles for leverage.

He wasn't given time to collect himself as the stranger brings down the hilt of their weapon into his visor, shattering the thick glass.

Scar flinches back as the glass slashes into his cheek, but by some miracle misses his eye.

He pants, unable to catch his breath,helplessly expecting another hit— but the stranger stops. Scar is finally given a moment to reign in his panicking senses, and focuses on the vacant eyes of the stranger’s helmet. Thoughts swim in his slightly concussed mind, and he fishes one up at random.

"...Are we done fighting now?" Scar asks with a nervous laugh, trying to keep eye contact despite one eye now being exposed to the desert sun.

The stranger doesn’t answer.

They’re no longer putting all their weight on him, and eventually slides backwards to a stand, gaze still locked on Scar.

Grateful for the temporary relief, but still cautious, he shuffles slightly to check how the stranger will react. Once he’s sure he isn’t about to be whacked again, he shakily folds his legs under himself to stand, only slightly wobbly, wincing from his injured shoulder.

"So…” Scar tries again, “I think it’s fair to say the air is breathable here."

Scar coughs as he pulls off his helmet, doing his best to avoid the broken glass. The stranger, eerily quiet, considers Scar for a moment, then reaches to take off their own helmet, revealing eyes as deep and dark as their visor, with the same soulless look.

The person in front of Scar is painfully familiar, but he doesn’t skip formalities.

"Well, hello there!" He puts his hand out, but the stranger does not shake it. Their eyes remain locked onto his own, like they’re studying them.

Scar meets the gaze for a while, then his eyes wander to the blood on their face.

"Oh, your cheek-" he gasps, pointing towards it.

They do not move to check their face, pointing to Scar instead.

"Well, same." the stranger mumbles, their voice strained.

"Oh!- " Scar reaches for where the visor had cut him. He'd almost forgotten.

He looks back up at the stranger, to find him pulling a very uncomfortable face. And it clicks.

"Wait- I recognise you."

#stareater au #life series au #gtwscar #grian #cw violence #desert duo #cw blood #trafficblr

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mykneeshurt · 10 months

Text

Absolution

Image from wallpaper flare

Priest! Simon Riley x F! reader AU

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, explicit smut, religious themes, if you're interested in going to heaven this ain't the fic for you, this is incredibly blasphemous so if your easily offended by religious themes being used DNI

100% inspired by @dotcie - you let all your love rot inside you

Thank you to @luminousbeings-crudematter for encouraging this and helping me with multiple ideas and beta reading it for me!

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The church was dark, the late evening sun shone through the stained-glass window above the altar. Hues of blue, red, green and purple descended into the empty church. Candles lined the walls, each mounted by a gold baroque style holder. The flames flickered as the warm summer air kissed them gently. Stone arches adorned the walls, each one intricately designed with faces of angels and demons. You walked along the aisle touching each of the pews with your fingertips, the wood was stained a deep walnut colour. Each seat perfectly imperfect, littered with the scars of the congregation who graced their presence.

Your eyes roamed along the paintings of different bible passages, all hung delicately along the sandstone walls. Each painting an abyss of pain and torment, each brush stroke a testament to the sheer emotion the artist must have felt.    As you reached the altar you once again questioned why you were here. You sunk to your knees seeking sanctuary, the maroon carpet offering some comfort to your aching joints. The weight of what you’d done pressed heavily on your heart. So much so silent tears fell, staining the carpet beneath you.    ‘Are you ok?’ A voice from behind you asked, it was gentle and calm. Gasping you spun around, stood before was a shadow of a man. He was tall, his broad physique clearly visible through the shadows. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry I didn’t know anyone else was here’ you stammered, your breath catching in your chest.    He stepped forward out of the shadows and into the light. As the sun rays illuminated him before you his divine beauty was slowly revealed. His jaw was sharp, his lips plump and soft with a small scar cutting through them. His hair was a sandy colour which was swept away from his face, bar a few strands which hung lazily on his forehead. He wore all black, his sleeves rolled up revealing a tattoo on his forearm.    You stayed kneeling, feeling unable to move, unable speak. He stood before you extending his hand to cup your chin, his touch was merciful, soft, all consuming. Slowly he caressed your cheek, his thumb wiping away the solitary tear that stained your skin. His gaze pierced through you, eyes dark and possessive, a foreboding presence lurking in the void.    ‘Tell me what’s bothering you?’ He asked, voice calm but thicker than molasses. You tried to find the words, tried to articulate the feelings deep within you, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘Use your words’ he cooed, still cupping your jaw. All moisture suddenly evaporated from your mouth as you opened your lips to speak. ‘I … I did something bad’ you stammered.    ‘Is it forgiveness you seek?’  ‘Yes Father’ your voice all but a whisper, yet still echoing in the empty church. He hummed to himself, dropping his gaze to your lips. ‘Stay’ he ordered as he removed his hand, a silent whimper falling from your lips as your cheek cooled from his touch.    He walked to the alter and despite his muscular stature he moved almost silently. Like a ghost. As he turned back to you, he held the Ciborium in his hands, the emerald colour contrasting perfectly against his porcelain skin. Towering over you he pulled the host from the cup ‘I have a passage I’d like you to read, but first, take the body of Christ.’    Holding out your hand you waited for him to place it in your hands, except he didn’t. ‘Open’ he said forcefully. Lowering your hand, you opened your mouth sticking out your tongue. A small smirk tugged at your lips as he placed the thin wafer onto it. The host slowly dissolved on the heat of your tongue, as did any remaining sanity. He pulled your lower lip with his thumb ‘good.’    He motioned for you to follow him to the lectern, a black bible with gold rimmed pages sat unassumingly on the shelf. Placing you in front of him he bent you over slightly, your body completely pliable in his hands. He gently skimmed the pages with his fingers, the tattoo now fully visible. Veins kissed the surface of his skin as the defined muscles danced with every movement.

Finally he stopped on the page he was looking for: Proverbs 28:13. His face was dangerously close to yours, so much so you could see the texture of his skin. A small amount of stubble littered his skin as his breath fanned over your neck. Lowering his lips to your ear he whispered ‘read, and no matter what don’t stop.’ His words vibrated down your spine straight to your aching pussy, taking a deep breath you began to read

‘Whoever conceals their sins …' his hand slipped to your lower back, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the text in front of you.

Gulping you tried to continue ‘... does not prosper …' his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, causing you to buck your hips slightly.

‘... but the one who confesses …' a whine exuded from the back of your throat, guttural and desperate. ‘Shhh, keep going’ he whispered in your ear. Swallowing hard you tried again.

‘… and renounces them …’ his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties, the sudden contact made you jump, you bit your lip trying to stifle a moan. ‘Good girl, keep going.’ ‘ … finds mercy.’ As the last word slipped past your lips, he sunk his finger into your wet cunt causing you to lurch forward onto the lectern, gripping the sides for balance. ‘Read it again’ he ordered. Taking a deep breath, you did as you were told, sounding out each word, each syllable laced with desire and pleasure. He slowly added another finger, stretching your pussy with his girth. Your whine rang out in the desolate church, ricocheting off the sandstone walls as he pumped his fingers. He pressed his thumb against your clit, once wet with your tears it was now wet with your arousal.

Soon enough you were tripping over your words, a stuttering mess under his touch. With his free hand he wrapped it around your throat pulling you close to him, his fingers still orchestrating a flurry of moans from you. You were completely lost in him, your jaw slack as whimpers and gasps seeped from your very soul. You were so lost in fact you didn’t even realise he’d manoeuvred you towards the altar, the cool granite kissed your skin as he pressed you against it.

Removing his fingers, he placed them on his tongue savouring your arousal, his gaze once again found yours ‘fuckin sinful’ he growled. Using his muscular arms, he trapped you against the altar the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a virus. Reaching behind you he grabbed the gold chalice and took a sip of the wine, never once breaking eye contact with you. Gripping your chin, he tilted it, so you were looking directly up at him, slowly he placed his lips against yours allowing the wine to trickle into your mouth. A single drop trickled down your neck, his tongue was soon pressed against your skin lapping it up.

You pulled him by his shirt collar into another kiss, it was velocious and messy. He gripped at your thighs pulling you up onto the altar, tilting you backwards the wine fell causing the once pristine white cotton to turn red with your sins. He nipped at your collar bone as he raked his nails along your skin, moaning into his mouth it was too much but not enough all the same time. He kissed along your torso and onto your abdomen, his lips teased the sliver of skin which poked out between your top and skirt. Goosebumps trickled along your skin as he bit the sensitive skin.

Pulling at his hair you silently begged him to continue, silently pleading with him to taste you. Keeping his eyes on yours he lifted your leg onto his shoulder, he ripped your panties at the seam and placed his lips onto your weeping cunt. The sudden intrusion caused you to arch your back and moan into oblivion. His eyes pierced yours as he moved his tongue in languid motions, each swipe pulling another whimper from your chest. You gripped his hair digging your nails into his scalp, God rays cascaded around you encapsulating you both in this moment of pure sin. As the priest looked up you could have sworn it was Lucifer himself staring right back at you.

‘Fuck … don’t stop’ you whined, finally finding words to use, finally finding your voice. Kissing his way back up your body he hovered over you for a moment, his stare intense and dominating. ‘Simon’ he muttered. You hummed, not quite catching what he said. ‘My name … Simon’ he repeated, edging closer to your lips once more. Pulling your lips open he allowed a dribble of saliva to drop into your mouth, instinctively you swallowed allowing the ribbon of spilt to glide down your throat.

‘Please fuck me Simon’ you said as you placed your lips on his once more. Pulling away he unbuckled his trousers allowing his cock to spring free. Still staring at you intently he began to pump his hard cock ‘allow me this and I shall absolve you of all your sins.’ You could hear how breathless he was behind his stoic demeanour, a man on the edge of losing control.

‘Yes Father, please.’

Slowly he pushed into you, once again stretching your cunt, the sting was delicious. You both gasped as he filled you to the brim, bottoming out in one swift motion. He placed his forearms next to your head as strands of hair fell forward framing his face perfectly. The sun had moved slightly causing the coloured glass to reflect onto your bodies as you became one. He kissed you again, except this time you bit his lip causing it to bleed, ‘hmm, the blood of Christ’ you said smirking. Lowering his head to your neck he smiled into your skin ‘Amen.’

He began to move his hips back and forth, caressing the sweet spot within you. The sound of skin on skin reverberated in the church, filling the once silent, once holy place with the sin of lust. Placing his hand around your throat he hissed through his teeth ‘beg me for forgiveness, for I will be your absolution.’ Tears stung the corners of your eyes as he fucked you on the altar, each thrust took you to a new level of pleasure. You ran your nails along his shirt, desperately trying to imagine what his skin felt like. ‘Please, forgive me’ you whined as you rolled your hips into him ‘please father … please.’

Upping his pace, he held onto your hips as he dug his fingertips into your flesh. Small grunts and breathless whimpers filled the space between you as he allowed himself to give into his primal desires. Rolling his hips, he dragged his cock against your cunt making you feel every movement, every thrust, every inch of him. Pulling your hand off his back he placed it on your clit ‘show me’ he murmured ‘show me how you like it.’ Feeling yourself instantly tighten you began to play with your clit, you watched as he dropped his eyes to watch the show you were putting on for him, his mouth opening slightly before biting his lip.

Your breath began to catch in your throat as you felt yourself on the brink of orgasm, as your eyes rolled you caught sight of Mary looking down on you, watching you getting fucked within an inch of your life on the once pure altar. Wrapping your legs around him you pulled him closer, not wanting to let him go. ‘Faster’ you begged, ‘harder Father please.’ He let out a slight chuckle of disbelief, once again placing his hand around your throat ‘you’re insatiable.’ Biting your lip you giggled, but that giggle was soon replaced with a broken guttural moan as he slammed his hips into yours. This was enough to push you into the blinding light of your orgasm, your back arched off the wine-stained cloth as you came around his cock. Shockwaves of pleasure shot through every fiber of your body as rode out your high.

As the white noise from your orgasm finally dissipated your eyes met with his, his gaze was piercing, all knowing and consuming. His pace became sloppy, knowing he was close you sat up and pushed him away. Turning him round so his back was now against the altar you dropped to your knees, staring up at him like you did mere moments ago. You placed his cock on your tongue as the sweet bitterness of your combined arousal seeped over your tongue, ready to receive him. He looked down on you blocking out the sun, the light giving the illusion of a halo around him, but you knew when you were looking the devil in the face.

Slowly you took his cock to the back of your throat, the change in sensation causing him to throw his head back and hiss. He cradled the back of your head as you bobbed back and forth, humming a hymn softly to yourself, praising the man before you. The humming caused vibrations to travel down his thick cock adding a whole new layer of pleasure to this already wicked act. He became breathless as you worked his cock in your mouth, you could feel the change in him as you dragged your tongue along his shaft. ‘Yes’, he whispered softly, repeating it like a prayer. Looking up at him you pleased with him to let go, to finish what he’d started.

And that he did. You kept looking up at him as he came in your mouth, doe like eyes eager to please the man in front of you. His mouth was parted slightly as ragged breaths fell from his lips; he caressed your jaw as you swallowed. His touch just as soft and possessive as before.

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LMAO see you in hell x

@cowyolks @strlingsav @ave661 @glitterypirateduck @soapyghost

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley #fan fic smut #simon riley au #simon riley smut #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #alternate universe #ghost cod smut

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hey-august · 3 months

Text

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 3

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, check out the story tag)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: This chapter is SFW (again). The story will eventually be NSFW. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader.

A/N: The plot building got out of hand with this entire story - sorry to those waiting for this to get hotter! I started writing the first spicy section, which should happen in Chapter 5. Thanks for your patience and I hope you're still enjoying this story!

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Buggy wasn’t sure if you would actually be interested in reading another book with him. He had a story in mind - a coming-of-age, but to Buggy, it was a mystery. The book was about two boys who became friends one humid summer.

The memory of where it came from disappeared long ago and all that remained were the reasons why Buggy kept the book through the different stages of his life. He wanted to know how the story ended. How that story ended. But ignorance was easier than reading, and fear was stronger than curiosity.

Your agreement to read with him was freeing. He felt lighter, as though his body would disconnect at each junction and his limbs would float apart without any effort. But there was a tether that kept him together - a string that had him connected to you, through the pages of a book. The outward pressure was what he needed to finally see that story to the end, whatever it may be.

The second book, titled “Rocks on the River,” was good. Really good. Buggy was pleased to read a note in the second chapter full of excitement and praise for how well-written the story was. He even circled your comment and added a checkmark, as if it was any other passage in the book that he approved of.

The author captured the carefree levity and gracelessness of childhood. The fictional duo - Harrison and Writt - would sneak out at night to swim in the watering hole, share stolen beer, and talk about a world bigger than they knew. During the day, they navigated the challenges of growing up in a small town full of strict expectations, unnecessary interpersonal conflicts, and demands to leave adolescence behind.

As the story unfolded, so did Buggy’s past. Memories unfurled slowly, aching as they stretched out the creases from being stored for so long. They woke up quietly, almost as though they were always awake and waiting to speak. The need to be shared pushed the once organized queue, jostling the order until the long forsaken memories were clamoring for control of the pen. A chance to escape arrived with one chapter detailing a frustrating fight between the boys. An argument began with two different versions of the same truth and ended with a scuffle where Writt broke Harrison’s nose.

“I had a friend like this growing up... He was a total shithead.”

That was all Buggy planned to share. It was more than enough.

One night, with river rocks at their backs and the stars overhead, Harrison asked Writt if they would be friends in another lifetime. The sandy haired boy tossed a rock towards the sky and caught the smooth stone with an outstretched hand. “No…I think we’d be brothers.”

Buggy had finished the chapter before going back to that section. The words stuck to him uncomfortably. They were irritating but nostalgic, like sand clinging to damp skin. As much as he tried to brush away the past, he couldn’t let it go. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to let it go. The pirate told himself that it wasn’t hope or remorse, but a reminder about the pain of betrayal. The same reasoning applied when he saw the question you penned after reading that chapter.

“Were you and your friend close like these two?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

You could see the lingering hurt in how the words were nearly carved into the paper. Even in the dim light, shadows settled into the deep grooves. Running a finger over the indents, a sense of guilt washed over you. This was the first time you asked questions unrelated to the story, but maybe you had crossed a line. The secrecy of sharing books made you feel closer to a stranger who might not reciprocate the fondness.

The answer also unlocked an adjacent fear - that you might also be a disappointment. Just as you hadn’t expected to move onto a second book, you also weren’t sure if you would ever have an opportunity to put a name and a face to the other reader. Storing the second thought away for another version of you that could withstand preemptive rejection, you thought about how to respond to the reader’s pain. With a few swipes of your pen, you left a short acknowledgement and appreciation that they shared this piece of themselves with you.

Unlike the first book, there weren’t as many moments that required in-depth commentary or questions to untangle intent because this was a cohesive and well-thought story. The space that remained was used to share anecdotes and moments where the highs and lows of friendship were captured too well. With each unprompted recollection, you realized there wasn’t a boundary that you cut apart with an invasive question.

Comforted that the connection was still intact, you also exchanged moments from growing up that stung decades later. One brutish story pushed you around and threatened a headache if you held onto it any long. Aware that the memory would force you to stay awake and stare at the ceiling of your small cabin while you scrutinized every mistake your past-self committed, you decided it would be less damaging to let it go free. Before you could change your mind, you began penning your own personal history.

Childhood friends had lied to you about meeting up in a nearby park. You waited by the east entrance where a crowd began to gather. Your friends weren’t present and the collection of people turned out to be participants in a footrace. For over an hour you waited and when faced with having to admit you were stood-up, you chose a different path. You pretended to be a racer. Even though you were dressed for an afternoon out, you huffed and puffed your way through the course and your strappy sandals carried you to the finish line.

“OBVIOUSLY they didn’t think you were there to race if you were wearing a goddamn sundress.” The loopy handwriting was loose and each curve struggled to stay on course due to the writer laughing with their whole body while transcribing the note.

“Yeah well where the hell were you that day? Logic and anxiety don’t always go hand in hand.” You added a frowny face, knowing it would only add to the humor of an otherwise humiliating moment.

Unfortunately, the joy captured in the pages of the book didn’t last. As the story came to an end, so did Harrison and Writt’s friendship.

Buggy was the first to read the final chapter. He finished long after the sun rose. Normally, a long night of reading would leave him with dry eyes, but not this time. The bright beams stung his eyes, which were already sore from crying and ached from reading without glasses. When the tears began falling, they came fast and spilled onto the lenses. Frustrated with having to frequently wipe his eyes and the glasses separately, Buggy tossed them aside and hunched over the tormenting book.

Years later, Writt thought back to a crisp morning, one only found at the edge of summer. One morning he spent waiting at the river for a friend who would never appear. For a friend who disappeared without a goodbye and without a trace. When school started that autumn, none of the teachers knew where Harrison was, just that his enrollment was pulled unexpectedly. After searching through the changing seasons, Writt eventually gave up on learning where Harrison and his family moved to. Sometimes, he felt the memories of the summer months slipping away. Whenever Writt felt lonely, he’d find himself laying in the shallow river water and tossing a stone to the sky. Coming back to the present, Writt was surprised to see a familiar face in another town. A face that was older, having grown a few wrinkles, and carrying the weight of life. Harrison nearly looked past Writt before recognition dawned on his face. A familiar smile grew, sitting crookedly under a nose that was broken long ago. Writt returned the smile. The boys - now men - were strangers. Time had passed, wearing them away, like rocks in a river.

---

You were just finishing breakfast when word came around that today was a “nothing” day. Every few months at sea, the captain would announce a day where nothing except necessary tasks were completed. If anything could be postponed or skipped, it was. The extra time became free for the crew to use as they desired. Most would use it to catch up on sleep, while others would take advantage of extra practice sessions, and others would corral their friends into playing games and drinking the day away.

You had one required duty for the day and would have almost an entire day free after restocking the infirmary. Before getting started, you stopped by the bench to see if you were lucky enough to have something to fill your day.

Struggling to carry the boxes and containers you stacked far too high, you kicked open the infirmary door and startled the sole occupant. The captain cussed loudly as he slammed a draw shut on his hand. The thick fabric of his glove and the slow moving, sticky drawer prevented any actual digit pinching, but adding to the superficial injury were a few boxes that slipped off your teetering pile and fell onto his feet. They weren’t heavy, but still unwelcome.

“Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here!” you cried out while shuffling through the obstacles on the floor until you reached the table and could release the rest of the inventory.

“It’s a pirate ship, of course people are going to be in the infirmary,” Buggy grumbled. A floating hand dropped off the boxes of bandages and gauze that fell to the floor before returning to its search of the drawers. “You got anything for headaches in that mess?”

“Mmm, I should. Give me a second, Captain.”

Buggy watched as you rummaged through the mess. After a moment, you sighed and started searching by organizing the different supplies. Tossing similar items into piles, you uncovered the book you used as a base for carrying the ungainly amount of items. A book that Buggy had slipped under a bench less than an hour ago. Barely using his throbbing brain, he turned towards the door. Before he could make a hasty exit, a hold on his coat sleeve stopped him.

“Wait, I found ‘em. You should take some extras, in case the first dose doesn’t take care of it all.” You pressed two packets into his hand. Looking up, you were greeted by a wash of red. Aside from his usual nose, the captain’s eyes were deeply bloodshot. The crimson color eclipsed the usual cool tones of his eyes and were a stark contrast against skin that was paler than usual. His mouth was tight and his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow.

“Is it just a headache, Captain? You don’t look good…” You reached up to see if he had a fever burning under the facepaint, but a hand on your wrist stopped your movement.

“I’m fine. It’s just a headache,” Buggy said with a clipped voice that indicated the end of that topic. “Looks like you have something to spend your ‘nothing’ day on.” He tilted his head towards the table with the book. “No need to worry about me, just take care of whatever you’re doing.” He turned and left, pursued by the guilt of knowledge. Guilt from taking away your anonymity and leaving you to deal with the sad ending alone.

But you weren’t alone. The still damp spots from tears that were poured into the book were company enough.

#eventual smut #buggy x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #hey-august a line from me to you

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