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beskarandblasters · 7 months

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Mothman Fever

Mothman!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Author’s note: Shout out to @nostalxgic for making this killer graphic for me!! Also the kick ass banners and !!Mothman!! dividers are by @saradika!! This was my first time writing any sort of monster fucking so let me know how I did!!

Summary: You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, no outbreak, drinking, semi public sex, use of pet names (luna lol), oral sex (F receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex pollen, dub con, monsterfucking, no use of y/n

“Don’t you think Mothman is kinda hot?”

You glance at your friend Tara in the rear view mirror and raise your eyebrow.

“How can a moth be hot?”

“Oh, come on! You know he’s not a normal moth… he’s got like… muscular legs,” Janelle, your other friend, chimes in from the passenger's seat.

“You don’t wanna fuck Mothman?” Tara asks.

“... No? And you do?”

“How can you be a Mothmanner and not wanna fuck him?” she continues.

“Mothmanner?” you snort.

“Mothman enthusiast, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Not really. I’m more interested in him for scientific purposes.”

“That just leaves more of him for us, Tara,” Janelle says.

“Yeah, after you examine him for research we’ll tag team him.”

“You guys are gross,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Janelle grabs your phone connected to your car through the aux and opens Spotify, searching for a song.

“Whatcha playin’?” you ask.

“Just a silly little diddy. Perfect driving song.”

The sound of a creaking door and a bubbling sound comes through your car speakers. You know exactly what she chose. As the drums kick in you ask, “Really? The Monster Mash?”

“It’s festive,” she shrugs.

“Oh yeah, turn that shit up,” Tara adds.

You roll your eyes and turn up the volume. You take the Point Pleasant exit off the highway and the anticipation brews in your stomach. You’re into all sorts of cryptids but there’s something different and intriguing about Mothman specifically that you can’t put your finger on. You’ve been picturing this moment for a long time but… not with Monster Mash playing in the background.

Janelle turns down the music and says, “Look what I found on Facebook! There’s a group Mothman stakeout tomorrow night at the McClintic Wildlife Area. We should go!”

She hands Tara her phone and lets her look at the event details.

“Sounds like fun. You down?” Tara asks, handing the phone back to Janelle.

“I mean, why not?” you say, entering the residential streets of Point Pleasant.

To say the city of Point Pleasant is enthusiastic about the Mothman Festival would be an understatement. The city is decked out in decorations and the streets are littered with people in costumes. As you get closer to 4th Street, where the Mothman Museum and the famed Mothman Statue are located, it gets even busier. A black banner hung between two telephone poles reads “Welcome to the 20th Annual Mothman Festival” in white block letters. You drive down the street slowly, careful not to hit any festival goers on your way to your hotel, passing the Mothman Statue before turning onto the street your hotel is on.

You park your car and hastily grab your bags before heading into the lobby to check in. A hotel like this in Point Pleasant, West Virginia wouldn’t normally cost a lot but it’s Mothman Festival weekend and hotels across the area have jacked up their prices.

You get your room keys from the desk and head to the room to change quickly before hitting the town. It’s still quite early in the day, only around two in the afternoon and there’s plenty of festivities to be had. You change into a black t-shirt that says “Mothman ate my entire ass at a Denny’s”, a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of converse before heading out with your friends.

You walk down the street and head to your first stop; the Mothman Statue who is unreasonably buff, complete with a six pack and a tight ass. Each of you take pictures slapping his ass before taking a “normal” group photo standing beside it.

The next stop is Village Pizza where they have a pizza with toppings arranged to look like Mothman. On the way there you stop and take pictures with other festival goers who are dressed as Mothman, just having a grand ole time.

You arrive at the pizzeria and get a booth, waiting for a server to come take your order. And that’s when you see him. No, not Mothman but an attractive human man sitting at another booth across the restaurant. You make contact and look away out of shyness. But something about you tells you to look at him again. And when you do you find he’s looking at you still, mouth curving into a smirk when you lock eyes again. This time you notice his features; graying hair, deep brown eyes, and a strong nose. He’s wearing a flannel and leaning forward on the table, resting his elbows on it. He gives you a small wave and you wave back without thinking, prompting Tara to ask, “Who are you waving at?”

“No one,” you say quickly, looking away from the man.

“Nah, you’re lying. I’m gonna look,” Tara says, starting to turn around.

“Don’t-” you start but it’s too late. She turns around and spots the man, who also shoots her a wave.

“Him?” she says, turning back to face you. Janelle turns around, too. And just like with Tara, the man waves to her.

“And what about it?” you ask.

“Oh, he’s hot. Go over there and talk to him,” Janelle says.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Tara asks.

“I’m… not that forward.”

“It’s the Mothman Festival, go fucking wild,” Janelle shrugs.

“Agreed,” Tara nods.

“Okay, fine. Fine! I’ll go,” you say, sliding out of the boot, legs already feeling like jelly.

You walk over to him and watch his smirk turn into a full smile. You stand by his table and feel stupid. What kind of person makes eye contact with someone in a restaurant and just decides to boldly introduce themself? What if he’s here with another girl?

“Hi, um, I’m here with my friends and I saw you across the restaurant and I, uh, thought I’d say hello,” you say nervously, feeling even stupider by the end of your pathetic introduction.

“Hey there. I’m Joel. Would you like to join me?”

“Are you here with anyone?”

“No, just me. My brother was supposed to come but he bailed on me to go to New Jersey.”

You sit down across from him, continuing the conversation.

“Ah so you’re not from around here?”

“No, just here for the festival, like I’m assuming you are,” he says, gesturing to your shirt.

And now you feel self conscious of what you’re wearing but stupid shirts like this are literally all you fucking packed.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s funny.”

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You doing anything tonight?”

“Nothing in particular tonight. But tomorrow night my friends and I are going to that group Mothman stakeout at the McClintic Wildlife Area.”

“Oh nice. I’m going to that, too.”

“It sounds like fun!”

“Well if you’re not doing anything tonight maybe I can take you out to the bars tonight. I think some alcohol would loosen you up and make you less shy, Luna.”

“S-sure that sounds like fun. What time?” you ask, heart fluttering at the nickname.

“Around eight. You staying in the area? I can meet you at your hotel.”

“Sounds good!”

You tell him the name of your hotel and get up to go back to your friends.

“And by the way,” he says, stopping you, “I’m Joel.”

You tell him your name but he still chooses to say, “See you tonight, Luna.”

You walk back to your friends and sit in the booth, finding that they already ordered the Mothman pizza and were waiting for you before they started eating. But they didn’t mind.

“So who is he? What’s his deal?” Tara asks.

“Uh, his name is Joel and he’s here for the festival.”

“Alone?” Janelle asks.

“His brother bailed on him to go to Jersey.”

“Who bails on the Mothman Festival to go to New Jersey of all places?” Janelle says.

“Not sure about that but he asked me to go out tonight.”

“You said yes, right?” Tara questions.

“I did… Was I not supposed to?”

“No! No, you need to go. Right, Janelle?”

“Agreed.”

“Thanks, guys… He’s also going to McClintic tomorrow night, too.”

“Oooh,” they both say in unison.

“It’ll be fun,” you say, “But let’s eat and get the other stuff on our list done. I feel bad I’m leaving you guys tonight.”

“Don’t feel bad. He’s hot,” Tara says, taking a bite of her slice of pizza.

“And older,” Janelle says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll see if it even works out.”

“You sell yourself short. You went over and made the first move. And then he asked you out. He’s gotta be interested,” Janelle continues.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I always am,” she laughs.

You finish your pizza and head to the next stop on your list; a local coffee shop called The Coffee Grinder, where they have Mothman shaped cookies complete with red eyes. You eat your cookies and finish up at the coffee shop before heading back to the hotel, weaving in and out of the festival crowds. You get to your room and go to change, looking to wear something less embarrassing but… that’s not possible with the clothes you packed. You decide to put on a shirt that’s a little bit better; one that reads “I kissed Mothman in the lamp section of Home Depot” and opting for a skirt with the same pair of converse.

Tara and Janelle wish you good luck on your date before you leave. You go down to the lobby a little bit before eight and wait for Joel, anxiously pacing back and forth. You feel a hand on your shoulder, startling you. You turn around to find Joel, greeting you with a smile.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“No worries. Where are we going?”

“Just one of the local spots downtown. There’s a band playing there tonight.”

“Sounds like fun!”

And with that you’re walking side by side to the bar. The streets are even more lively than they were earlier in the day. You try not to notice the way he puts a protective hand on the small of your back whenever you walk through a crowd.

He leads you off the crowded street and into a bar that’s also just as busy. Luckily, he spots some empty stools at the bar and leads you over there. It’s pretty loud so getting to know him here might not be in the cards for tonight but at least you’ll have the alcohol to loosen you up a bit like Joel said. Joel orders a beer and you order a special blood orange margarita, complete with a gummy butterfly on top– how festive.

“You must be pretty into Mothman, huh? I guess ya gotta be if you’re coming here,” he says, half shouting over the loud music.

“Haha, yeah! My friends think he’s hot.”

“Really?” he says, eyes widening as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, I don’t really get it! I just think he’s interesting but if he were real they’d probably try to fuck him or something.”

“You wouldn’t, Luna?” he asks, a playful grin spreading across his face. There it is, that nickname again.

“You would?” you counter.

“Maybe if he bought me dinner first,” he laughs.

After a few more laughs and another round of drinks, you feel yourself loosening up a bit and enjoying the night more. From what you can tell, Joel seems like a nice, southern guy who’s a fellow cryptid enthusiast, no red flags so far.

“I have to ask, Luna… Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks after the third round of drinks. He’s definitely a little tipsy by now.

“No, sir,” you say, immediately regretting the sir that slipped out.

He inches a little closer to you, eyes looking you up and down, and says, “What do ya say we get out of here?”

Is it a stupid idea to leave a bar and go somewhere with a man you just met earlier that day? Probably. But do you care? Not really, especially in your slightly inebriated state.

You nod and he flags down the bartender to pay the tab, before grabbing your hand and walking you out of the bar.

“Where are we going?” you ask when you step back out onto the street.

“Wherever,” he says nonchalantly, “But tell me Luna, are you a dirty girl?” his large hand grabbing your waist as you walk, pulling you closer into him.

You can’t deny you want him. And you’re feeling a bit more confident than usual.

“For you? Sure am.”

“Dirty enough to do it in an alley?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” you drunkenly say, excitement building up between your legs.

He turns a corner, leading you down a small, dimly lit alleyway. You ignore all of the red flags practically screaming at you. Between your undeniable attraction to Joel and the alcohol, your judgment is heavily impaired to say the least.

He walks you to the end of the alley, to a spot where you hopefully won’t get caught. With a brick wall pressed up against your back, he starts placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck, hands greedily pawing your breasts over your shirt. A small gasp escapes your lips when he nips at the soft skin on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark that your friends are definitely going to question later.

His hand slips under your skirt, toying with the fabric of your underwear; your damp underwear. He pulls it to the side, running his fingers along your entrance, collecting whatever wetness is there and bringing his hand in front of your face to show you.

“This,” he says, rubbing his thumb against his index and middle finger, pulling them apart and watching your wetness stretch with it, “is all the evidence I needed,” he finishes.

The deranged and devious look in his eyes as he looks at the physical evidence of how bad you want him makes your knees weak. He brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting your juices and sucking them clean, closing his eyes at the taste. He replaces fingers back on your cunt, stroking it lightly and nipping your neck again.

“You taste so fucking good, Luna. So sweet,” he says, coming out as a low growl.

Without warning, he pushes two fingers in, not letting you warm up with a single one first. He curls them against your walls and you’re so drunk you forget you’re in public, letting out a moan that’s just a bit too loud.

“Shh,” he whispers against your neck and you try your best to keep quiet…

Until you hear a stern “HEY!” causing you to gasp.

He pulls his fingers from you quickly and you both look to your right to see a police officer with a flashlight, pointed directly at you. The officer’s eyes trail down to your skirt and then back up to your neck; to the marks on your neck. He sighs.

“Really guys? Trying to fuck in an alley like a couple of teenagers?”

You stand up straight and smooth your skirt down, unsure of what to do next.

He sighs again and says, “Get outta here before I arrest you for public indecency! Damn festival goers…”

You blink a few times, in disbelief that he’s letting you go. But Joel grabs your hand and leads you out of the alley, with you holding your breath the whole time. The cop mutters something about how he thought he caught a drug deal as you walk past him. When you hit the sidewalk you exhale, letting the tension leave you. As for Joel he starts hysterically laughing, a stark contrast to the embarrassment you’re feeling.

He notices the look on your face and asks, “What? You didn’t think that was funny?” while trying to hold back more laughter.

“Not really!” you say, lightly slapping him on the arm.

“Aw come on, Luna. He just blamed it on the festival and let us off with a warning. It could’ve been a lot worse but it wasn’t!” he reassures you.

“I guess you’re right,” you sigh.

Your phone vibrates in your bag so you pull it out. Your friends are texting you, asking you when you’ll be back. The time on the screen says two in the morning but how is that even possible? Joel met you at eight and you only went to one bar, only had three rounds of drinks and you didn’t go all the way in the alley just now. Chalking it up to being drunk and losing track of time, you put your phone back in your bag and say to Joel, “I think I should get back to my friends.”

“Of course,” he says, “I’ll take you back now.”

The walk back to your hotel is somewhat quiet. The festival goers on the streets are mostly cleared up by now. You assume the quietness is due to the embarrassment from earlier and you wonder if Joel is mad at you for getting worked up. You shake your head and try to put that thought out of your mind, still trying to salvage what you have with him, if anything at all.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you start just as you turn onto the block your hotel is located on, “And I’m excited to see you tomorrow at the Mothman stakeout.”

“Me, too, Luna,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Trust me, we’ll have lots of fun tomorrow night.”

You stop at the entrance to your hotel and begin to part ways. He pulls you in for a kiss and wishes you goodnight. But before he leaves he exchanges phone numbers with you, just in case it’s hard to find each other at the stakeout tomorrow night. You type your name into his phone followed by a butterfly emoji. He chuckles when he sees it, saying, “See you tomorrow, Luna.” And with that, he turns and walks down the street, disappearing into the night.

Heading back up to the room, you replay the night’s events, trying to get a read on Joel and determine your feelings for him. You decide that you’re definitely interested in him… but you need to know more. Upon entering the door, Tara and Janelle are standing within just a few feet of the entrance, side by side and arms folded.

“What?” you ask, reading the expression on their faces.

“An update would’ve been nice,” Tara says.

“I lost track of time!” you reply.

“I get that but you were with some mystery man you just met today. You don’t know his intentions!” Janelle adds.

“You’re right,” you sigh, “Nothing crazy happened. I just forgot to look at my phone.”

“We’re just glad that you’re okay! …And that we can finally go to bed now,” Tara says, yawning and moving over to the bed.

“Sorry to keep you guys up! But thanks for being concerned for me. I’m just gonna be in the bathroom,” you say.

They nod and get into bed, while you go to the bathroom to inspect the marks on your neck under better lighting. And sure enough, there’s several marks and there they are but there’s also… a gold film? Perhaps sheen is the right word? Whatever is it there’s flecks of gold peppered along the hickeys. Maybe it’s something from the bar? That’s the most logical explanation you can think of. You complete your nighttime routine and head off to bed, head filled with dreams of Joel, filling in the gaps of information about him.

The next day is a blur, a myriad of events strewn together haphazardly. Your friends can tell you’re in a sort of daze; you can tell by the way they look at you, but they choose to say nothing. First, you went back to The Coffee Grinder because after your late night, you desperately need caffeine. After that, you hit up the Mothman Museum, taking advantage of some special exhibits and talks for the festival. And finally, it’s time to get ready for what you’re most excited for; the group Mothman stakeout at the McClintic Wildlife Area. But you haven’t heard from Joel at all throughout the day. And you’re starting to worry. Maybe he doesn’t actually like you, maybe he decided that after you guys got caught in the alley you weren’t worth his time. But he did say he was going tonight and you hope he keeps his word.

You head to the hotel to change, opting for another one of your stupid fucking t-shirts, leggings and a pair of sneakers. This time your t-shirt reads; “Mothman is real and he sells me weed in the Waffle House parking lot” because why wouldn’t it?

You pack up your camping supplies; a sleeping bag, a backpack, some snacks along with a bear canister to store them in, a canteen full of water, and a lighter.

The sun is just starting to set now and it’s about time to go. Before you leave the hotel you decide to text Joel:

Hey, will I see you tonight?

You wait with bated breath for a response. And to your surprise it comes rather quickly.

Of course, Luna. Wouldn’t miss it for the world🦋

You exhale, feeling a little bit better about things between you two and head out with your friends. You drive to the McClintic Wildlife Area and park your car in the parking lot, which is decently full. But that was to be expected. What’s the point of coming to the Mothman Festival if you’re not going to try and catch a glimpse of the real thing?

You grab your stuff from the trunk of your car and set off into the forest, following the other Mothman enthusiasts until you reach a clearing where others have already set out their sleeping bags. In the middle of the ring of sleeping bags there’s a fire going, surrounded by people already drinking and socializing. Tara and Janelle spot two guys sitting by the fire and decide to head over to them. You can’t blame them, you did leave them all night last night. So you set up your sleeping bag where there’s a free spot, sit down, and wait for Joel.

And… nothing. The sun sets and you haven’t heard from him. Tara and Janelle make eye contact with you periodically, shooting you looks that are supposed to ask, “Are you okay?” and you nod back to them, not wanting to ruin their fun. You lay down and look at the stars above you, just about to accept the fact that Joel stood you up when all of a sudden you feel your phone vibrate next to you.

You hold up your phone in front of your face and to your surprise it’s a text from Joel reading:

Hey, I just found the most convincing piece of Mothman evidence ever. Come look.

You sit up and look around, confusion on your face. He’s nowhere to be found.

You type out:

I don’t see you. Where are you?

He replies:

Look behind you.

You turn around and look at the line of trees behind you and yet again… nowhere to be found.

You go to type a response back but he beats you to it, saying:

I can see you. I don’t want to leave the evidence behind… Just come to the trees, Luna.

You sigh and get up, making sure to take your phone with you. Tara makes eye contact with you so you pretend you’re taking a phone call, pointing to your phone and putting it by your ear. She nods and you turn to walk towards the tree line, a nervous pit forming in your stomach. This is such a bad idea. It’s such a typical stupid girl in a horror movie trope and yet here you are, walking into a dark forest to meet a man you just met yesterday.

You reach the trees and take a deep breath before walking into the woods, turning on your phone’s flashlight. You call out Joel’s name and don’t hear anything. Rolling your eyes, you call him on your phone, getting a little fed up now. He doesn’t pick up but you hear a ringtone in the distance. You groan and follow the sound, because if you can hear Joel’s phone but not Joel… who’s to say that Mothman is actually real and he got Joel?

You find his phone resting on a fallen tree, the screen lit up with Incoming Call followed by your name. You pick up the phone and look around, shining the flashlight out in front of you.

You smell something in the air… something fruity… almost like apple cider… with a hint of citrus? A golden mist hangs in the air, permeating the area around you and filling your senses. Whatever’s around you smells good and inviting. Without thinking, you take a deep breath, letting the smell and the mist calm you down. A warmth brews between your legs and your skin feels hot, at first it’s comforting… But soon enough it becomes unbearable. Sweat beads up on your forehead and the warmth between your legs grows stronger. A presence behind you is apparent; it’s daunting. Something tells you to turn around and when you do, you can’t believe your eyes.

Towering above you is Mothman himself. You’re met with glowing red eyes, a muscular stature, large wings fanning out behind him, and threatening claws. He’s tall, anywhere from seven to eight feet tall, his monstrous eyes practically burning a hole into you. You should be terrified right now, running for your life back to your friends. Or at the very least taking some pictures. Instead you’re frozen, not in fear… but in desire. The warmth that was brewing between your legs is unignorable.

“Joel?” you call out in a small voice.

The creature takes a step towards you almost as if it can understand. Your skin feels like it’s burning, like if someone were to touch you the heat of your skin would also burn them. It’s like torture, one of the most agonizing sensations you’ve ever felt. Without even thinking you drop your phone and his, pulling off your shirt over your head, and instantly feeling some relief, but it’s not enough. You kick off your shoes, sliding your pants down your legs, followed by your underwear. The cool forest air hits your skin, perking up your nipples and providing you with seconds of relief, but it’s still not enough. The creature’s eyes scan your features, training up and down your naked form.

The air moves around you, and so does the gold mist. Right before your eyes the creature shapeshifts, losing its wings and claws, returning to a normal human height, turning… into Joel? And yet even still he keeps the unmistakable glowing red eyes. He looks at you with a devilish grin, stepping closer towards you. He’s completely naked, body shimmering under the pale moonlight and the flashlight on the forest floor beneath him.

“So once again, Luna, are you a dirty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, your body practically calling out for him.

He grabs you by the waist and pushes you down so you’re lying against a flat rock behind you. The coolness of the rock is a stark contrast against the heat radiating off of your body. Joel spreads your legs apart forcefully, marveling at your cunt and how it’s already dripping for him. His red eyes flash back up at you, taking note of the desperate look in your eye before feasting on your cunt. He licks your cunt in a way that can only be described as animalistic, flicking his tongue across your clit and lapping at your entrance. You writhe against the rock and Joel has to hook his arms around your thighs to keep you steady; to keep your cunt directly on his mouth. The tension in your core builds as he continues to eat you out, tongue swirling around your sex as he drinks in your juices. With one last flick of his tongue you cum against him, one of the wettest and longest orgasms you’ve ever had. The movement of your hips slows down as you come down from your high but alas… barely any relief.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you let out a soft whimper. His glowing eyes meet yours and he asks, “Still not enough, huh Luna?”

“No. No, it’s not. Please, Joel, I need more.”

He lets out a dark chuckle, bringing his fingers to your cunt and stroking it lightly, gathering your wetness on his large hand and rubbing it between his fingers. He pushes two fingers inside you, knowing you’re well past needing to warm up with one first. He curls them against your walls, letting his fingers get absolutely soaked. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small, fast circles around it while his fingers inside you push against your g-spot. In no time you’re coming again, your cunt fluttering around his fingers rhythmically. Your release soaks his hand all the way down to his wrist and he leaves his fingers inside you, just feeling your cunt clench and relax around him. Your body feels euphoric, tingling sensations coursing through your limbs but still… it’s not enough.

“How you feelin’, Luna?”

“I still… I still need more,” you whine.

“Beg,” he says, hovering over you, red eyes staring directly into yours.

“Joel, please. I need it,” you beg.

“How bad?”

“So fucking bad,” you whine, sounding completely delirious.

“I suppose,” he teases, spreading your wetness onto his already hard cock, whose size is intimidating…

He pushes into you in one swift motion, hooking his muscular arms around your thighs and leaning forward, folding you in half. You’re face to face with him now, his non-human eyes locked onto yours. His cock stretches your walls, hitting the deepest angles inside you as he fucks you relentlessly; completely feral. You look up at him with the tree covered moon above him, completely in awe of what’s happening to you. You swear his face flashes from his human form to his Mothman form, but only for a split second. He brings his mouth to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin even harder than the night before, surely enough to leave darker marks and more gold film. With one last slam of his hips you’re coming on his cock, your cunt convulsing erratically. He fucks you through it, making it last even longer. Your own release pulls his own from him, and it’s powerful. You feel his warm cum spilling inside you, strong and like it’s never ending. You’re silently grateful you’re on birth control even though you don’t know what the effects Mothman cum will have on you. Eventually your orgasm ebbs and flows as it winds down and Joel slowly comes to a halt. He stays inside you for a moment, keeping his eyes locked on you.

“I bet now you’re good. Completely spent, ain’t that right, Luna?”

“Mhm,” you say, still a little breathless.

Eventually he goes soft and his eyes shift back into their usual warm brown shade. He pulls out and lies down next to you. You roll over and rest against him, his own body burning up just like yours. You’re too exhausted to even question what just happened, letting sleep quickly overtake you.

You wake up the next morning alone, the sunlight peeking through the tree cover. You sit up and rub your eyes, looking around you for any sign of Joel. But he’s gone.

You try to remember last night but it’s all foggy, like it’s a distant memory already. You vaguely remember the fruity scent and the gold mist in the air. You look down at your skin and there’s still traces of it there but not much. You pull on your clothes and grab your phone, looking at the time before rushing to get back to Tara and Janelle. They must be worried sick about you. You power walk back to the group, just trying to get there quickly but also not so panicked that they’ll think something is wrong. From what you can tell, you’re fine. Just a little dazed with a soreness in your core and a stickiness running down your legs.

You’re back in the clearing and coming up on the collection of sleeping bags. Tara and Janelle spot you and wave, completely cheery with wide smiles. Not the response you were expecting.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be gone that long,” you say, stopping in front of their sleeping bags.

“Don’t be! Looks like you got lucky, too,” Tara says with a wink, looking at your disheveled state.

“Did you guys-”

“Mhm,” Janelle says, “With those guys you saw us talking with. Did you end up finding Joel?”

“You bet I did. But didn’t spot any signs of Mothman?” you ask.

They both shake their heads no and you sigh.

“Guess there’s always next year,” you say, bending down to pack up your stuff; stuff that you didn’t even end up using.

You walk back to your car after you’re all packed, feeling your phone vibrate in your bag.

You pull it out to find a text from Joel reading:

Until next time, Luna🦋

Looks like the Mothman Festival will be an annual tradition.

Part two

End note: Hope y'all liked that!!

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scribbling-dragon · 4 months

Text

the very lonely giraffe

summary:

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands. So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains.

(ao3 link)

(3,750 words)

uh! yeah! that finale sure was something, and here's something that i decided to write after seeing this post by @stiffyck (hope you like it hdjsshjk <3)

(also hint hint nudge nudge reblogs are pretty funky <;3)

The grass swishes beneath his feet, the susurrus of his legs against the grass as he moves through it becoming familiar to his ears. He cuts through the tall grass easily, long legs eating up ground with each stride he makes. Legs that feel oddly shaky right now, trembling with each pulsing beat of his heart.

He can’t tell if it’s reluctance – some kind of fear that’s only just beginning to rear its head as his heart continues to thump louder and louder, beating in his ears as a mockery of war drums; something warning that every step brings him closer to the inevitability of winning, or dying trying.

So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains. He’s drawn forwards, pulled into the orbit of this roaring flame, like a moth that can’t quite resist the alluring light promising warmth and safety. But in this case, he is the moth and the flame is an assurance of violence.

He stumbles, drawing to an unsteady halt; slowing from a gallop to a gentle jog as Pearl pulls up beside him.

“Scar,” she huffs out, sounding far more strained than he expected her too. He looks over as she groans, doubling over and leaning against her knees. He’s worried, for a moment, that she’s been mortally wounded, somehow and he’s about to lose her to bleeding out, of all things. “Just- remember that your legs are longer than mine. Please.”

And oh. That makes so much more sense. He lets out a relieved breath that almost turns into a laugh, but he manages to staunch it at just a giggle. Of course she was struggling to keep up with him, he’s so much faster than her!

“I also have double the number of legs that you do,” he adds. He’s forced to lean over to the side, a little awkwardly, in order to close the distance between them. Being forced to shout up at him is probably not helping Pearl’s efforts to catch her breath. He still feels awkward, despite being forced to lean over like this the whole time in order to put himself a little more on their level – an awkwardness that he’s managed, so far, to blame most of his allyship (or lack of) issues on.

He still feels awkwardly far away from his friend – is friend even the right word for someone that could end up dying at his hands later? Is it the right word for someone that is his friend, but only outside of this game? Is it the right word for someone that is only friends with him right now because they are all the other has left? – widening the space between his legs in order to lower himself that tiny bit more.

He would consider sitting down at any other time, folding the four gangly legs beneath himself in order to better speak with Pearl. But that is not a weakness he’s looking to invite; standing up again would take far too long, leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack before he manages to regain both his feet and his balance.

Gem and Scott are long gone by now, escaping like the slippery snakes that they are. Slithering away into the tall grass to lick their wounds and prepare their next attack.

“They're long gone,” he echoes his thoughts aloud, watching as Pearl straightens back up, apparently having managed to regain her breath. Or at least enough of it that she no longer feels the need to hunch over and just breathe. “We should regather ourselves, get whatever else we need.”

He turns around, hooves clopping against the baked earth, ready to do just that. Maybe slightly anxious to get moving, to do something. He only has a few supplies, but he’s sure that they can be spread between the two of them, albeit a little thinly…

“Scar,” he feels Pearl’s hand on his flank, the sensation almost making him jolt at its unfamiliarity. He manages to reign the reaction in and pauses his steps instead, thoughts halting too as he looks back down at her. Pearl’s hand rests lightly over one of the larger blotches on his side. The brown of the fur is too dark to actually be brown, closer to black than the typical markings you would find on a giraffe.

He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat when she doesn’t continue, but doesn’t pull her hand away either. She seems lost in thought, eyes searching his face, as though in consideration. Then, as though she’s been shocked, her eyes dart away, fastening onto a patch of bare ground just in front of her feet. “Look,” she breathes out slowly, raising her head to meet his eyes as he hunches down again, worried at her uncharacteristic solemnity, “Scar. At the end of the day, when we’ve finished off Scott, when all is said and done, I want you to kill me.”

He rears back, mouth moving before his brain can catch up- can even begin to comprehend what it is that Pearl is suggesting to him. For him to do. Her hand, a warm presence on his side, falls away as he backs up, leaving him feeling cold all over. Like someone’s just dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

“I'm not gonna kill you Pearl!” His voice may come out a bit more panicky than he intended, but he doesn’t care much – can’t find it in himself to care when his brain is struggling to process what it is that Pearl is wanting him to do – the decision she’s making on his behalf. His legs feel shakier than before, and he’s momentarily worried they won’t support him at all. “I’ve wronged you too many times recently,” he follows up with, a little quieter than before. A little sadder.

“I- Scar,” Pearl emphasises his name, as though that’s meant to mean something to him. Like it’s going to sway him to agree with her. He shakes his head stubbornly, gritting his jaw and preparing himself to argue further. She must realise this, as she stares up at him a moment longer before sighing, shoulders drooping. “Whatever you say.”

“You can’t just say something like that to me,” he laughs, even though it feels strained, as though it might crack his chest apart from the sorrow behind it, barely contained within his ribcage. “My poor heart just can’t cope!” he sings, aware that he’s being over the top, that he’s overdoing it all. Pearl still cracks a grin, though.

Maybe she can sense what he’s doing with his words, with the way he gestures too widely and smiles even wider, steering her back towards the remnants of his base, to root through the half-exploded chests and hope that the items inside aren’t burnt to a crisp.

They don’t even make it past the Secret Keeper.

Pearl’s the one that stops him, throwing an arm out in front of him. He doesn’t notice it, only registering the blockade when his front legs bump up against her arm, halting and looking down at her. Maybe he should work on being more aware of his surroundings, maybe he should have been paying a little more attention in order to keep an eye out for the people actively hunting them down.

Gem’s eyes gleam as she stares over at them, stood on higher ground than Scott. His head is bowed before her. Gem’s lips move quickly, but they're too far away to hear what they're talking about. Gem doesn’t look at them for longer than a few seconds, but it’s enough to pin him in place, keep him rooted to the spot despite how easy it would be line up a shot and take Scott’s life right that moment.

There’s a flash of blue – a sword drawn, are they turning on each other? – and then the unmistakable sound of flesh being parted forcefully. He feels a little sick as he watches the sword poke out Scott’s back, a little to the left of his spine.

His jacket quickly soaks through with blood, darkening as it continues to pour. Scott, brave man, doesn’t make a single sound, simple collapses where he stands. It leaves Gem scrambling to pull him into her arms, dragging the sword back out of his chest.

He feels like he’s intruding on a quiet, private moment – both of them are, really.

Gem doesn’t look at them once. He feels his fingers twitch over the string of his both, an arrow balanced loosely against it. He could line it up, take Gem out while she grieves over her friend, her ally, the one she’s put to death herself.

He doesn’t, finger continuing to twitch as he goes back and forth between drawing his bow at all.

An explosion echoes overhead, reaching every corner of the server. As though there is anyone left beside the three of them, gathered in this small corner of the world. The explosion echoes far and wide, as though there are more people to hear it than just them.

“Oh,” Pearl says beside him, the sound of the explosion still ringing in his ears, the blood on Gem’s front not fading. “He…gave her the kill. Gave her that small reprieve.”

He feels his mouth go dry at the discovery, watching as Gem looks up at them, away from where Scott had lain previously, face splattered with gore that might belong to her enemies, but could also belong to her allies – to Scott. He can’t see her expression properly from this distance, as she disappears too quickly for him to try and see it any better.

He doesn’t look at Pearl, ignores the way he can feel her looking up at him, imploring him to take that kill too. To go into that final fight with his wounds stinging a little less, his energy slightly replenished.

His legs continue to shake, and he can’t lie to himself – he’s long past lying to himself, except about the little things, not big things like this – and say that the idea isn’t tempting. Cannot say the thought wouldn’t sway him slightly if he were anywhere else. If it were anyone other than a friend beside him; if it were an ally of convenience rather than someone he cares for.

Call him selfish, maybe, but he wants someone beside him in these last moments. Doesn’t want to be the one to cut down his one friend – one remaining friend, he had a few in the hours before this, only had friends as everything went to hell around them – when they could charge against Gem together. She’s scraped and beaten, the same as both of them despite the small boon Scott granted her. But there is two of them and only one of them. Two of them, when she is used to having two others at her back, ready to support her when she needs to fall back.

He steps forward, attempting to appear confident. He can only hope Pearl doesn’t notice his shaking, the way his legs tremble like leaves in a breeze and the discomforted swish of his tail.

He gives a small laugh, hoping that it might bolster his confidence. Make him feel a little less sick to his stomach. The feeling only worsens, bile rising in the back of his throat as he speaks, “Let’s go put her out of her misery, yeah? Maybe she wants to join her friends!”

Pearl makes a small noise, one that could either be an agreement or a hesitance. Scar ignores it, continuing to step forward, before he's lightly jogging, covering the distance quickly. He’s worried his legs will get tangled up amongst themselves, feeling as shaky and ungainly as a newborn calf.

He barely notices Pearl beside him, feeling so tall, so far away from the ground and the rest of the world that goes on around him. Oddly separate, even as Gem perks up, readying herself and her sword when they approach, when they corner her beside the Secret Keeper.

He draws his bow first, dancing out the way carefully as Gem goes for the legs first. Smart move, one he’d probably use in her place – take out his legs and he won’t be able to run anymore, won’t be able to go anywhere.

Pearl crashes against her with a scraping of steel and apologies, the two of them apologising for each clash of blades they have with each other. Apologising for every scrape of steel and every nick of skin. Pearl shoves Gem back, away from the tangling twist of limbs and swords, enough for Scar to line up his shot and take it.

Gem hisses, staggering back as the arrow pierces her shoulder, going straight to the bone.

She turns her eyes back to him, something furious flashing in the depths of her red eyes. Something born of desperation and fear, something that only rolls about once someone believes they are cornered. A frightened animal lashing out despite being on its last legs.

She may be going down, her eyes seem to promise, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take at least one of them with her.

He has to properly leap back when Gem lunges at him, batting Pearl aside easily as she chases him. His hooves make deep grooves in the dirt as he attempts to escape the blow, taking it on his side rather than straight through him.

He still winces at the sting, kicking at her and shoving her further backwards. He can’t draw his sword – there’s no point in drawing that weapon when he won’t even be able to reach her. He shoots off another arrow, one easily dodged at such close range.

He startles as Pearl barrels into Gem with a shout, the two tumbling over the ground, more like a pair of wildcats fighting as they claw at each other. He watches Pearl rip through half of Gem’s face, fingers curled into claws.

It makes Gem cry out furiously, throwing her head upwards and goring Pearl across the face with her antlers. Pearl falls back, grasping at her face as something – Scar doesn’t even know what, stood on the sidelines like a fool – begins to bleed profusely.

Gem spins on him, and charges with a cry.

He doesn’t expect the arrow to be what does her in. Doesn’t expect her to die to his hands at all. He’d been stood there, aware that he was probably about to watch two of his friends rip each other apart in the name of a game.

He shoots it with shaking hands, a last-ditch effort to not die at this moment, at this crucial point in time. Still grasping for that final win, despite how firmly out of reach it really is.

It sinks into Gem’s chest with an awful, solid sounding thunk.

The sound alone makes him sick, tears already beginning to bead in his eyes, shaking his head as he backs up, raising his hands in defence. He doesn’t even notice the bow slipping from his fingers, doesn’t notice the way his hoof crushes it beneath him, grinds it into the ground.

Gem glances down, as though surprised at the arrow sticking out of her chest too, looking back up as the explosion sounds and she’s struck down. The lightning wipes her away, as though she was never there in the first place.

“Pearl!” he calls, turning in a circle as he looks for her. She’s nowhere nearby, explosion continuing to ring longer in his ears than it probably should – still echoing through the air around him, crackling with electricity.

Maybe she’s down in the ravine nearby, he tells himself. He leans over the edge exaggeratedly, looking for her. She’s not there, he knows that. She’s probably somewhere behind him, lining up a shot at the back of his head.

He’ll let her take it – she deserves it far more than he does. She’s done far more in this than he has, been far nicer to him than he really deserves.

He lowers himself to the ground properly when the shot fails to come, settling himself at the edge. He won’t be moving anywhere quickly now, and Pearl will know that. Will shoot him now, now that her arrows will find their target; there’s no risk of her missing and startling him anymore.

And yet, the arrow fails to come, still.

The air seems to sigh around him, breeze stirring the grass he sits in. It brushes over his face gently, like the cradling, careful touch of a loved one.

“Pearl, I'm coming for you!” He heaves himself to his feet, wobbling precariously on the edge of that ravine. And, oh, Gem cut him a little deeper than he realised, blood sluicing off his fur and down to the ground. It patters like a morbid rainfall over the grass there. He turns, a little unsteadily, and prays he doesn’t topple into the ravine like a fool. “Where’d you go?” he calls out again, “I'm gonna getcha!”

She’s dead, Scar, the heavens sigh. You’ve won.

The heavens seem to have a suspiciously Grian-like voice, echoing down at him as though the man is speaking a thousand times over, each repetition layering itself over the previous until it reaches the echoing crescendo that has him cringing slightly.

“What?” he laughs. “C’mon, don't mess with me like that!” No response comes, even when he looks around, waiting for Pearl to emerge from whatever hiding spot she’s found herself and to declare the final showdown between the two of them.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else. Maybe it’s a last, desperate plea for Pearl to jump out at him. Maybe it’s a struggle to accept what’s being shoved in his face. Pearl doesn’t hesitate, not even over hard decisions. “How’d that happen, huh? How’d the guy with no friends win?”

The air kicks up around him a little, pushing him in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

“I don't even have my book anymore,” he calls out to no-one. The silence responds as silence often does: not at all. He sighs, and begins the short yet long trek towards the Secret Keeper. “How am I even meant to hand in a task without a book,” he grumbles.

He can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, can feel the way they threaten to spill over as the silence presses in around him.

His hooves echo awkwardly against the stone as he walks up to the Secret Keeper, looming over him ominously. “Uh, hey there,” he greets, as though the stone might respond if he tries hard enough. “I don't actually have my book!” He laughs again, shaking with both residual adrenaline and the knowledge of what’s to come. He’s watched all the previous winners, bar one, be struck down by the powers that be. He’s sure his own death will be no different. “Never really thought I’d get this far,” he adds, a small, quiet afterthought.

He leans down, the distance between him and the button nigh insurmountable. It clicks beneath his fingers gently, bouncing back up as he pulls his hand away.

He takes a step back, watching as the Secret Keeper draws power towards itself, coalescing into a bright white symbol over the hooded face. He glances back as the tension builds, half expecting to see all his friends gathered there, watching with anticipation to see what rewards he’ll gain.

There’s nothing there.

Empty space where someone once stood. Empty air where laughter once echoed. He’d even rather a chant of fail fail fail to the silence, pressing in around him.

There’s a small thump, and he turns back around. A book lies at his feet, even further from him than the button. It looks tiny, that far below him. The leather-bound book stares up at him, insignificant in the face of the last few hours.

He picks it up anyway, blood smearing over its front cover.

Curiosity drives him to flick it open, blood staining the white paper a deep crimson, blooming across the pages. Like he’s pressed for too long with a quill and the ink has begun to bleed.

Win Secret Life

It stares back at him. Mocking in its simplicity.

“Thank you!” He responds, “I didn’t have a book to complete it with, did I? Well, I have one now!”

He presses the button, book in hand, feeling the weight evaporate alongside it. He turns his face upwards, ready and waiting for the lightning to strike him down too, to claim its last victim. He closes his eyes, not exactly willing to see his death plummeting towards him.

There’s a small thump as something small lands on the ground, just in front of his hooves.

No, he thinks, and looks back down anyway.

This, it seems, is what does his shaking legs in. they give beneath him, folding as he crumples like wet paper. The book continues to sit there, taunting in its smugness. It has no face to grin with, but Scar can feel the disgustingly pleased aura radiating off of it anyway.

“So this is my reward,” he tells the book. “Thanks, I guess.”

His words are empty, devoid of any humour of actual thankfulness. As dead as the server around him.

Only bloodstained grass and the dried blood clumping beneath his nails remains of his friends. And yet he stays, he remains.

The air remains still, not even that gentle touch returning to promise him everything will be alright. They would be empty words, empty promises, but he’d prefer them to this.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asks.

The Secret Keeper stares down at him, silent.

He’s not sure why he expected a response from it, really. It’s lifeless stone, as dead as the server around him.

#juno.writes #goodtimeswithscar #secret life smp #secret life spoilers #slsmp #secret life #secret life scar #gtws #gtwscar #slsmp fic #secret life fic #slsmp spoilers #trafficfic

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beejunos · 12 days

Text

SINNERMAN | Alastor x f.reader | part 1.

Summary: After Sir Pentious's failed attempt at spying on the hotel, the Vees approach you to make a new deal—a deal that you can't refuse. Help them take down Alastor, and you will get to kill him again.

After all, the great butcher of New Orleans had killed your brother, so it was only fair that you had killed him in return. And you would love to do it again.

Tags: Alastor x f!reader, slow burn, obsessive behaviour, enemies to lovers, spying, murder

PART 1. | AO3 | PART 2.

Chapter 1. The Deal

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Hell was not just a place where souls who had done horrific things with pleasure went, but also with people who had done appalling things out of necessity. Murderers, thieves, abusers and, growing more in numbers every year, politicians - hell was not a place for the weak-minded, but sometimes a human could be pushed into such acts, not because they themselves were more inclined to such behaviour, but because circumstance could turn anyone into a bloodthirsty killer.

You were one of those people.

Condemned to Hell for an eternity for a crime that you still believed to be justifiable. After all, the great butcher of New Orleans killed your brother, so it was only fair that you killed him in return.

"I told you it was a bad idea to pick that idiot to spy on the hotel. Did you honestly think it would work?" said Velvet without looking up from her phone. She was typing something with rapid-fire as she blew a bubble with her pink gum. It made a big popping sound that seemed to echo in the living room, making Vox clench his fist so as not to destroy the desk again. They had just replaced the last desk after he had dug his claws into it and left deep and long marks in the wood, and he did not feel like getting yelled at again for ruining the decor.

Vox counted to ten slowly backwards before he turned around from the monitors to look at the short woman. She was sitting curled up on the sofa before him, dressed in luxurious loungewear with hearts all over it. Valentino was sitting stretched out right beside her, his arm casually on the backrest. He was on his phone as well and did not look up when Vox came closer, but Vox could see that he was also irritated by Velvet's comment from the slight twitching of his right eye.

"Well, Velvet, my dear," Vox said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don't remember you having a better idea, but please, if you do, share it with the group."

Vox stopped walking as he reached the sofa, hands behind his back, and leaned down in front of the female sinner to force her to look at him. He had never been good with others ignoring him, and Velvet was taking her sweet time finishing her text before she even looked up from her phone. When she met his eyes, electricity was firing between his antennas, filling the air with static noise.

She just sighed before she picked up her phone again and started typing.

"You picked an idiot; that's why your plan didn't work. Little Miss Sunshine will believe anyone; just pick a smarter spy next time," said Velvet in her heavy British accent, popping another bubble with her gum. Vox's irritation grew with every word she uttered, and for a moment, he entertained the thought of grabbing her phone and throwing it out the window.

"And who do you suggest we'll ask?"

It took Velvet a few more seconds of searching before she found a decent photo, and then she turned her phone and showed Vox who she had in mind. The photo was old and blurry, with its subject in the distance, but it was still possible to distinguish who was in the picture. Vox turned his piercing gaze from Velvet down to her phone and quickly stepped back.

"You can't be serious!"

"Who?" said Valentino, now interested, as Vox started to pace the room. Velvet turned her phone towards the moth demon, and he reared back in alarm. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you even know how expensive she is?"

"So what? If you want the job done well, then pay a fucking professional," stated Velvet as if it was apparent.

"Professional? She runs a PR firm! Glorified party whores. Why the fuck should she be the spy?" cried Valentino, throwing his arms in the air. The gesture would have made anyone in his studio flinch, waiting for an impact, but Velvet sat rooted in her seat. She was used to the man's physical displays of anger by now but never feared them since he would never dare lay a hand on her. She lifted one of her eyebrows and continued with her argument:

"Didn't you see the fucking joke of an interview the princess did on the news? The hotel has a serious marketing problem. Everyone thinks it's a joke! What if the princess had someone to help her with the marketing and networking? Someone she would trust wholeheartedly, and that person worked secretly for us? It would be the best fucking spy! Not a guest but a staff member who could manipulate everything from the inside. We would know everything. A staff member would also be with the princess all the time and could keep an eye out for Alastor to make sure that no deal is made!"

Valentino groaned loudly before throwing his phone on the coffee table. He knew that Velvet's argument was good; he just did not like how expensive it would become if they went with it. There was a reason only the top of the elite of hell hired this PR firm, and it wasn't just for the public relations part. Rumours were travelling around the underground networks that you also dealt with some shady businesses, but who weren’t in this town?

"Can't we just kill them ourselves? I still want to shoot someone," mumbled Valentino, knowing none of his partners would accept the idea.

"And what? Piss of Lucifer for attacking his daughter? We could just piss on our own graves instead! If we pay her, we know she will get the job done; after all, you've heard the rumours, right?"

"What rumours?" snarled Valentino, sinking deeper into the sofa. His night was now officially ruined.

"No one hates Alastor more than she does."

"Well, that's not new! Half the city hates the old-timey prick." Vox, who had been pacing back and forth deep in his thoughts, abruptly stopped and turned around to look at Velvet. He also highly doubted anyone could hate the radio demon more than he did, but that was beside the point.

"So, let's use that to our advantage," said Velvet, growing more frustrated by the minute, "She is bound to at least be interested in the job if we can convince her to take down Alastor with us."

It wasn't a dumb idea, which annoyed Vox the most. However, his desire to take down Alastor outweighed any concerns for costs. He was prepared to cut his own leg off with a rusty saw if it meant he could take down the demon that plagued his very existence.

Vox sighed and crossed his arms in front of him, effectively giving up on arguing against Velvet.

"Okay, how do we contact her?"

On the opposite side of the entertainment district, where the Vees residence was located, was a small part of the pride ring where the older architecture still stood. The sinners who lived there were usually the ones who had stayed in hell the longest, many of whom had lived during the 18th and 19th centuries. There were fewer flashing lights and billboards in this part of town, but that did not mean that the sinners who lived there were anti-technology—for the most part.

That was why you liked living in this part of Pride, being from the early 20th century yourself. There were no loud noises, and during the night, you would, on more occasions than not, get a good night's sleep. Compared to the entertainment district, where no one seemed to sleep ever.

Your PR firm was located on the top floor of an old Gothic Revival building in the centre of this district. With its intricate stone details and towering spires, the building could feel almost cluttered and overwhelming on the outside. However, the rooms were spacious and elegant, with large stained-glass windows that cast colourful lights throughout the building.

You loved your office building and its moody exterior and interior. It made you feel like a character in one of the gothic novels that you had only learned to appreciate after your death. You could also argue that the whole thing had been influenced by the fact that when you had died and woken up in hell, your soul had taken the form of a bat. Reminding you of the book Dracula that your mother had loved so much, but that was irrelevant.

Walking around dusty old stone buildings, surrounding yourself with heavy wooden furniture and thick dark fabrics worked much better with the wings, big pointy ears, claws, and razor-sharp teeth you had now.

You had tried in the beginning to surround yourself with things that reminded you of the time you had been alive, but as time ticked on and the years went by, you could not help but leave most of the 20s and 30s behind and welcome the new ages, and all their inventions and quirks, with somewhat open arms. Your youngest assistant, a young sinner named Claudine, who died at the age of 25 in 2015, talked a lot about how similar social media in hell was to when she was alive, but considering the things she liked to show you, social media was one of the inventions you did not have any interests in. Your people could handle it for you instead, and if the three overlords that had strolled into your office like they owned the building were running the biggest tech and social media company in pride, you would happily leave that responsibility to Claudine.

Vox, Velvet, and Valentino were indeed a sight to behold. A poor sight for you. Their fashion and colourful clothing clashed horribly with your moss-green couch.

It was always a satisfying experience to observe new customers arrive at your office. However, this time, you could not help but wish they would just leave.

You put down the silver tray you held, with all the teacups and the teapot, on your mahogany coffee table and sat in the armchair on the opposite side of the sofa. Slowly, you started to pour the tea from the pot into the small and thin teacups before handing the first to Velvet.

"Suger?" you asked, opening the lid to the sugar bowl.

"Yes, please," she said, putting two sugar cubes in her tea. The smaller sinner grabbed one of the tiny spoons before she started to stir her tea, making the spoon hit the side of the teacup. The clinking sound seemed to bounce around the room endlessly. She may not have the most refined manners, according to you, but you suspected that she was the one who had wanted to see you in the first place since she was the one who was behaving the best.

"I must say, I was quite surprised when my assistant said that the Vees were waiting in my office." You took one sip of your tea that had one sugar cube and a dash of milk in it. "It is not often that I get these types of unplanned visits unless someone is in dire need of their reputation being saved, and last time I checked, you three had your own PR team."

"We are here because we are interested in your more niche skill sets."

Now, that was far more interesting. You had a sense that the Vees were not here for what your company offered on the outside but more for what you could provide that was strictly off the records.

You looked over at Vox, who had spoken. Waiting for him to continue.

It did not take the sinner long to tell you their plan and why they had decided to contact you specifically. Hell was filled with sinners and demons who said they specialised in espionage or assassinations, and although they could get the job done, more often than not, these "professionals" would leave long traces of evidence behind, which didn't matter in the end since hell did not have any justice system to speak of, but if you wanted to be undetected, it wasn't the best solution. However, you took your job seriously and worked with the utmost discretion, which led to you now holding almost the same amount of power as any overlord in pride. The big difference between you and the other overlords was that your capabilities were mostly unknown, and that's how you wanted it. It made it easier for you to work in the shadows. To hunt and kill without anyone knowing they were being hunted.

Only two overlords, Carmilla Carmine and Zestial, knew of your strengths and often hired you to deal with others they did not have time for or wanted to make time for. Yet, if the Vees knew about this side of your work, that meant the information about your skill sets was being spread around a bit more frequently than you wanted it. But that didn't worry you too much since you could always have Claudine and Earl fix it in just a few days.

"That is not a small task you have asked of me. To take down another demon is one thing, but to take down an overlord? Who also works for the princess? Now, why would I ever do that?"

"We're not asking you to take down the princess. Only Alastor," said Velvet, putting a hand on Vox's arm. The man had started leaning forward unconsciously, his fists closing up with every second.

Alastor. There was no man on earth or in hell that you hated more, and you would gladly watch him bleed to death, forgotten and alone in the forest again. After all, he had killed your brother, so it was only fair that you had killed him in return. But things had changed. He now possessed a form of power that you had never seen in another sinner in all your years in hell, and it made you pause. You knew that as soon as he found out what you had done, he would avenge his death, and you were not sure that you would survive that. So you stayed in the shadows, bidding your time.

"Either way, we are not asking you to take him down alone. We want you to ensure no deal is struck between that radio freak and the princess. Find his weaknesses and help us take him down." Vox had the sort of manic look about him that you only saw in souls who were consumed by their obsessions, making him unreliable and reckless. But a deal like this did not come to you often, the type of deal that made you believe that you could kill Alastor again, and you never looked a gift horse in the mouth.

"Very well, I will help you, but it will cost you. Five hundred souls."

"Dea-"

You did not let Vox finish before saying, "Each."

"Each? Bitch, are you out of your mind?" roared Valentino, who had been quiet up till now. Even if the other Vees did not start shouting like the moth daemon, they were equally shocked and angered by your demand.

"My prices have always been high. Take it or leave it." You looked over at Vox, staring him down. You knew he would be the first to crack and agree to your demands. Velvet may have been the driving force that had led the Vees to your office, but she was still too rational and would start to bargain with you. Vox would sooner or later let his obsession win, making him agree to your deal.

"Do we have a deal?" You reached out your hand to Vox, trying to corner him and push him into a contract with you.

Before Velvet or Valentino had the chance to stop him, Vox shot forward and took your hand, and as he uttered the words that would sign their contract, an eerie green light filled the room. Cracks travelled up the walls all around you as the howling of hunting dogs travelled with the wind that started to blow in the office. Large shadows of the hunting dogs began to grow on the walls, their red eyes fixing the Vees in their places and right as the dogs would pause and devour the sinners on your sofa, the green light dissolved, and all that was left was the four of you in your office.

"Always a pleasure doing business with new customers," you chuckled, letting your sinister smile dance on your lips.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #sinnerman alastor fic

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wheredafandomat · 1 year

Text

Carnal desires

Loki x female reader

18+| contains smut, a lot of smut and like barely any plot. My smut feels so repetitive 🙄 or is it just meeee?? Anyways I thought let’s change it up a bit with diff scenarios - these will be very random 😂

Scenario: imagine you and Loki being at some kind of party together maybe with friends etc and the drunker you both get the more you’re giving each other the eye, the I wanna tear your clothes off and bang you right here eyes but you know you can’t so you occasionally smile knowing that as soon as you get home it’s game over.

“I think we’re going to head home now.” You announce, refusing the shot being offered to you by Natasha.

“Home? The nights just beginning.” She insists, looking around at your peers for support.

“Me and Loki need to be up early tomorrow” you lie “besides, I’ve already had too much to drink.”

“Yes, me too.” Loki agreed, wondering why you both had to be up tomorrow.

“Yep, so we better be going.” You smile politely at everyone, grabbing Loki’s hand before dragging him out of the club and slamming your lips onto his in a kiss that leaves you both dizzy.

“Why do we have to be up early tomorrow?” He asks breathlessly.

“We don’t.” You answer, kissing him again before breaking the kiss to order an Uber.

The whole journey you and Loki barely pull apart, either kissing each other or subtly touching hoping that the driver is none the wiser. The more your lips moved against one another’s, the slower the kiss was as if you were savoring the flavour of whisky on his tongue. His lips moved to your neck as your head fell back against the headrest behind you, granting him further access as your eyes fell closed before feeling the car come to a stop.

“Loki, baby, we’re home.” You spoke, making him look up at you as the driver cut his eye at you in the rear view mirror.

“Home.” He repeated, pausing his administrations before getting out of the car and almost falling as he sped to your side of the car, opening the door. You stepped out, Loki offering his arm for support as you walked back towards the apartment.

The elevator ride up was passed with giggling and quick pecks before you finally reached home. You struggled putting the key in the door as Loki kissed your neck from behind you. Once you were finally inside, you almost tripped in before Loki caught you, spinning you around to face him before pulling you into a passionate kiss. He pressed you against the wall, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, kicking the door closed in the process.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night.” He spoke between kisses, unbuttoning his shirt, the both of you sobering up a little at the prospect of finally being able to give into your carnal desires. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off of you.” He continued, leaving open mouth kisses across your collar bones. You pushed his shirt off of him before running your hand down his bare chest, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to touch his skin. Your hand ventured lower before you moved it against his growing length still covered by his trousers.

“Oh I think I have an idea.” You grinned as Loki lifted your dress. You helped free his cock knowing that this was going to be a quick, hard fuck. There wasn’t going to be any pleasantries exchanged, this was going to be two people chasing their orgasms like a moth to a flame. Your head fell back against the wall behind you as he lifted one of your legs, securing it against his waist as he used his free hand to venture between your thighs.

“You didn’t wear any panties” he almost cooed “good girl.”

You bit your lip at the praise, hearing the sound of his fingers gliding through your slick folds. You continued palming him before he retracted his fingers, spreading your arousal along his length before pressing it against your entrance. Your lips met as he entered you. He set a fast pace, fucking you against the wall as your moans filled the space. His hand crashed against the wall next to your head as he steadied himself, feeling your walls gripping him. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he continued moving against you. You were both so close, Loki panting in your ear as you dug your nails into his back, moaning his name.

“I’m gonna cum.” He spoke in your ear, licking the shell of it as you spoke incoherently, saying a variation of the same. He thrust a few more times before stilling his movements, shooting his load deep inside of you spurring on your own orgasm. You stayed like that for a few moments, unmoving, basking in your joint high before you felt a mixture of you both leaking out of you as Loki began to pull out. You smiled to yourself knowing that sex like this was always followed by a shower together.

Scenario: imagine inviting Loki over for dinner at your parents house before they suggest you both stay the night considering it’s late now and home is a long drive away.

“Loki we can’t” you insisted, deciding to give him a hand job instead of the full throttle which is what you both truly desired “my parents are right next door.”

“Then we’re just going to have to be very quiet aren’t we.” He winked, turning his head towards you and kissing you.

“We can’t.” You said again, breaking the kiss as you tried to stroke him to completion knowing that feeling his erection against you all night was going to make you give in and ride him to the high heavens so it was better this way.

“Say you don’t want to and we won’t.” He assured, looking into your eyes lovingly as you narrowed your gaze at the annoyingly handsome man. Of course you wanted to. Wordlessly, you stopped the movement of your hand around his cock and kissed him. Loki made his way on top of you, pressing you against the bed as you widened your legs, welcoming him between them. Reaching between you both, Loki pulled your panties to the side as his cock rested against your hipbone.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, looking down at you.

“Gosh, yes.” You stressed before Loki smiled, mostly to himself and entered you slowly. You instantly regretted this, the feeling euphoric as he bottomed out. It was going to be torture to keep silent.

“You feel so good.” He grunted, thrusting into you.

“Shh.” You answered, eyes tightly shut as you tried to focus on not making a sound. He moved slowly, not wanting the headboard to bang against the wall but it made the feeling even more overwhelming. He filled you completely, barely pulling out before filling you again. You felt him everywhere, shrouding you as you bit into his shoulder trying to stifle your moans. He moved his hips differently, grinding into you as your eyes flew open.

“Fuckk Lokii.” You panted.

“Shh.” He warned cheekily, continuing his movements as you clenched your walls around him causing his eyes to roll backwards. Before long he was whispering in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how good you felt as you quietly moaned, your climax threatening to consume you. One of your hands played with his hair as he increased his pace, his words turning into breathy moans as you both lost control. Needless to say, Loki was never invited to stay over again.

Scenario: now imagine being an Avenger and avenger Loki takes a bullet for you during a mission. Despite being on the same team, you didn’t get along very well so this was shocking to say the least and definitely definitely erotic.

Once you got back from the mission, Loki was carried away to the infirmary whilst you followed along, wanting to ensure he was alright considering he had lost a lot of blood. Despite being shot, he asked you if you were alright after shoving you out of the way of the bullet which left you falling to the floor. You quickly nodded before his leg gave way, sending him to the ground as you called for backup. Since then, you had been comforting him on the journey home despite not being on the best of terms with Loki most of the time.

“Y/n, we’ll take it from here.” Banner stopped you, gesturing to himself and the nurse accompanying him.

“No, I want to go in too, I promised.” You insisted, strangely protective of Loki.

“You can visit him once he’s stable.” He stated, Steve pulling you backwards before you gave up, knowing he was in safe hands. Ignoring whatever pep talk Steve was giving you, you made your way to your room, slamming the door behind you before making your way into the shower.

The water streamed through your hair and down your body as you replayed the mission. If you weren’t so careless with your danger perception, Loki would be fine right now. This was all your fault.

You changed into some comfortable clothes before making your way back to the medwing where Thor was leaving Loki’s room. You felt nauseous, expecting Thor to reprimand you for allowing his brother to be harmed but instead he hugged you.

“I’m so glad you’re alright.” He spoke into the crook of your neck as you hugged him back.

“How’s Loki?” You asked, confused as to why Thor wasn’t angry.

“He’s fine, just asleep, however Banner said that if the bullet had hit you, it probably would have been fatal.” He continued as you paled.

“Fatal.” You uttered, shocked at the prospect of having potentially died today.

“It was vibranium, it would have severed your artery and gone straight through you. You humans are very fragile, too mortal.”

“Oh” you answered, still shocked “yes.”

“But don’t fret” he beamed, breaking the hug “you’re healthy and Loki is fine, he’s already healing.”

“Good.” You smiled.

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat, he’ll be awake later on and you’ve probably not eaten since breakfast.” Thor suggested. You went with him, thinking about how Loki had saved your life.

Once you had eaten, you went back down to the infirmary hoping that Loki was awake now. Through the blinds you could already see that he was. You knocked the door before pushing it open, eyes meeting Loki’s.

“You know you really are stupid.” You spoke.

“Oh no, I know” he dismissed, waving one of his hands “I take a bullet for the girl and she berates me.” He huffed, causing you to smile, him mirroring it.

“How are you?” You asked, making your way to him.

“Well my thigh is killing me and now I’ve got to call the nurse to change the dressing.” He answered.

“Oh don’t bother calling the nurse, I’ll do it.” You offered knowing it was the least you could do.

“You can change a dressing?” He asked incredulously.

“You can change a dressing” you mocked, mimicking him “yes I can change a dressing, I can also stitch together a wound and roundhouse kick you to the floor.” You warned.

“Oo, scary.” He grinned.

“Come on, let me see.” You prompted, sitting at the edge of the bed as he uncovered his thigh. You were intrigued by how much it had healed already and couldn’t help but run your hand around the area. Loki watched you as you stared down at the cut intensely before feeling your hand just a little too high causing him to flinch.

“Stop!”

“Sorry.” You quickly apologised leaving him regretting his outburst.

“I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just—” he began before pausing.

“Yes?”

“I’m-I’m a little—sensitive.” He rushed out.

“oh OH oh, sorry, yes of course.” You answered, ignoring how flushed you felt at the realisation before you exchanged an awkward smile with Loki and began setting out the things you needed from his bedside table.

Loki bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to focus on remaining as flaccid as he could despite how tenderly you were touching him. It felt impossible, like pushing a huge boulder up a mountain although, he was sure he could muster up enough seidir to do even that unlike this. Sweat began beading on his forehead, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he wondered how long this was going to take. He tried to remove his focus from you and your dainty little hands and how they’d look caressing him and focus on something more morbid instead. Asgard burning, No, NO, he scolded himself thinking about how much he’d like that. Right, think of something else, he began internally until you interrupted.

“Um” you uttered, just above a whisper noticing that Loki was now sporting a semi. Hearing you, Loki was aghast as he realised.

“Oh norns, y/n, I’m so sorry.” He apologised.

“No it’s fine, it’s nice—NATURAL, it’s natural” you quickly corrected yourself before dropping the gauze which fell under the bed. Huffing, you made your way onto the floor to pick them back up before lifting your head and realising that you were now kneeling between Loki’s legs, eye level with his erection. You glanced up at him as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression as you began talking, unable to stop yourself. “Well considering this is all my fault” you began, running your hand up his uninjured thigh “maybe I should take care of your little problem.”

“Little?” Loki scoffed before apologising as you rolled your eyes.

Licking your lips, you freed his cock, moving your hand up and down it soothingly as Loki released a breath. Moving closer, you lowered your head before licking the tip of his cock, reveling in the taste of him. You took him in your mouth, flicking the tip with your tongue as Loki began to pant. One of his hands bunched up into she sheet below him as you sucked his cock, picking up his free hand and placing it against the back of your head to guide your movements.

“Oh y/n, who knew you were so naughty” he sniggered, hips thrusting up a little as you deepthroated him “naughty naughty girl.”

You wrapped your hand around the base of his length, looking up at him as you sucked just the tip, a smirk painting his face. You continued until you felt his body tensing, hips stuttering as he came into your mouth, you swallowing.

“Good girl.” He praised, wiping the corner of your mouth as you released him, standing back up. “Well that’s one way of thanking me” he smiled “I should take bullets more often.”

“Don’t breathe a word of this to anybody.” You warned.

“Of course.” He assured before you spun on your heels to leave and relieve the tension growing in your abdomen at the sight of Loki’s erect cock let alone the taste.

“Y/n wait” he called after you, “the wound.” But you were already gone.

Now I want more 😂 hope you enjoyed! The last one was my favourite

Tags:

@lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley @strangelockd @xorpsbane @lovingchoices14 @donaweasley @sailorholly

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #tom hiddelston loki #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x fem!reader #avenger loki #loki x avenger reader #loki x female reader smut #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki au fic #loki au #Loki

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cranetreegang · 1 year

Text

Ominis Gaunt 5th Year Masterlist

===========================

Archive of Our Own Link

===========================

🦄Let Me Show You Something🦄

Ominis finds himself following the Fifth year due to his burning curiosity about her. He ends up finding more than he expected.

🦅An Unexpected Flight🦅

Ominis gets an unexpected owl to meet up with the Fifth year. He wonders what's in store for him and her 'surprise'.

😓Cruel Words😓

After a heated argument with Sebastian, the Fifth Year is left with doubts about her ability to salvage their friendship. Ominis comes in to comfort.

👀And Eyes as Cold as the Deepest Lakes👀

Curiosity gets the better of Ominis, and Natty must do what Sebastian failed to.

🎇Under the Rainfall, I See You🎇

As the two head back from a trip to Hogsmeade, a sudden rainstorm may dampen the mood, or show them more of each other than they thought possible.

🧹The Call of Adventure🧹 - Part One

Hoping to show Ominis the joys of broom flight, things take a drastic turn.

🧹And Adventure Answers🧹 - Part Two

With the two cornered by Ashwinders, Ominis and the Fifth Year must find a way to make it out alive.

🔥 Like Moths to a Flame, and a Lamb to Slaughter 🔥

As Ominis and Sebastian study, Sebastian wonders why Ominis is in such high spirits. And as he uncovers the truth, the pain of the Scriptorium rears its head.

❄The Winter Ball ❄

Thanks to the outcry of Quidditch being canceled, Black decides to throw a Winter Ball. Ominis stresses over the night, and things keep not going his way.

💚 Like an Unquenchable Flame, I See You 💚

A letter comes for the Fifth year, bearing a long awaited first date.

🤯Lessons into the Mind🤯 - Part One

Ominis' Legilimency keeps the Fifth Year's thoughts occupied and she wants to find out more.

🏏The Midnight Quidditch Club🏏

The Fifth Year gets invited to a secret Quidditch Match. Sebastian and Ominis are eager to see how it all plays out.

🤯Delving into the Mind🤯 - Part Two

In an attempt to strengthen his Legilimency, things take a turn for the worst and she's left wondering if it was worth it at all.

😭Save Her🤯 - Part Three

Ominis and the Fifth Year are no longer speaking to one another. A rift Sebastian takes note of, and tries to bridge for them. Things take a turn, and she may be lost to them... forever

🔗Unbreakable 🔗

After the events in the catacombs, Ominis knows there's only one way to ensure Sebastian can never repeat his mistake.

🧙‍♀️ A Niffler, A Blind Boy, and A Clever Witch 🧙‍♀️

Ominis is dragged into a treasure hunt and rescue mission. While he enjoys feeling her excitement, he wonders if the guilt she feels about Sebastian is coming to a head.

😫 Close Call 😫

Ominis is on the way to meet his love as she returns from Hogsmeade, but things don't go according to plan.

🤗The Return 😭- Part One

She returns from her harrowing battle with Ranrok and is quick to get to the only place she wants to be. But, she fears her actions will have consequences. And how long before those she loves have to feel her choices.

🤗Waking Dreams 😭 - Part Two

A lesson in looking into your 'true self' reveals more to the 'Hero of Hogwarts' than she would like. She's not ready to face what troubles her, but Ominis and her friends are beginning to lose their patience.

😭The Boggart😭 - Part Three

Everything comes to a breaking point, and Ominis is left with an impossible decision to make. But, the fear of losing his love is something he cannot risk.

😭Tell me, What do You See Now?🤗 - Part Four

Forgiveness is hard to find, but with the help of their friends, the two lovers may once again find their way to each other. Perhaps, emerging stronger than before.

👋Goodbye, For Now 👋

With the school year coming to a close, she has a hard time parting from her beloved Ominis.

💌 Summer Letters 💌 - Part 1

Letters exchanged between Ominis and his lover

🏠 Home at Last 🏠

Ominis finally returns to the Gaunt Estate. It's all that he remembers, except he's the one who's changed. He navigates his parents in search of any clues about Ancient Magic and his ancestors.

💌 Summer Letters 💌 - Part 2

EVEN MORE Letters exchanged between Ominis and his lover

===========================

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

===========================

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #masterlist #fanfic #fanfiction

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kxxkiecxre · 2 years

Text

ʚ✟⃛ɞ Like a Moth to a Flame || J.J.K ʚ✟⃛ɞ

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader/x jimin.

SUMMARY: Your best friends older brother meant more to you than just a friend, unfortunately it’s a little too late now.

WARNINGS: smut implied on multiple occasions.

GENRE: best friends brother au.

WC: 5.4K

//unedited, y’all should get the gist by now :’)\

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

PERHAPS **the most **important part of being someone’s best friend is being honest, truthful and sharing everything you can. And if you can’t share a secret with your best friend, then it most be something she can never find out. Right?

Exactly.

Which is why you’re currently biting your nails, sitting like a duck on your own egg shells. Hoping to god that your reddened cheeks can be blamed for the spicy jalapeño pizza you just shared between each other as well as the many soju bottles. However you cannot be 100% sure everyone is buying your little gimmick, seeing as he’s staring at you with an amused smirk, pretending he’s all too interested in making himself a cup of tea.

Why does he have to be like that? Besides he wasn’t even suppose to be in the house in the first place, Yeji explicitly told him to leave the house since she’s going to throw a small birthday party for her 20th. Doesn’t seem like he got the memo from what you can see.

“Anyway,” yeji, cuts herself short, “what’s the dirtiest place you have had sex in y/n”.

Cheeks reddening to a beetroot red, you clear your throat slightly, looking around the table before choosing your words carefully, “back of his car”.

“Just back of his car?”

“At the rear parking lot of 7/11, at midnight”, you finish.

“Risky, wouldn’t of said such an innocent little Angel like you would actually commit such a heinous crime huh” he voiced his opinion without missing a beat, watching as the death glare formed on your face.

“Don’t act like you’d even know what having a bit of fun means,” you scoff, Yeji oblivious to your little game.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself y/n,” he warns with a slight smirk, sipping his tea.

“Don’t project your insecurities on me cause you can’t get bitches Jungkook” you roll your eyes, clearly not amused by his obvious teasing.

“I’m sure you’d know” he chuckles, exiting the kitchen and leaving your almost growling at the kitchen table, where everyone’s eyes are on you.

“What… was that?” Sujin asks.

“What was what!” You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but with Jungkook’s teasing and shit eating grin engraved in your mind you felt like popping.

“That roast battle?” Yeji asks, “by the way you ate him up”.

“He had it coming” you slumped back into your chair, sipping your sweet old whiskey mix.

Yeji brings her hands up in surrender, letting the subject drop faster than a needle to the ground. It’s not that there was much she could ask. You never made it super clear that her brother angers you so much that you wish he’d rearrange your guts on more than one occasion. But like mentioned, not everything can be shared, somethings are just better left unsaid.

After a few more hours of drinking past your limit and eating way too many spicy foods, you felt like you’ve had your fun. Ready to leave the party right after everyone has gone and dusted. But Yeji was too good of a friend, too sweet and protective. And who were you to give up an immediate soft place to crash on?

“Yeah but where would I stay, it’s not like,” you hiccuped past your slurred sentences, Jungkook right behind you and Yeji, chuckling to himself as he watched both of your try to speak in your slurred states like two toddlers trying to learn to speak for the first time, “we could fit on the same bed, because let’s me be honest ji, I’ve got a fat ass and your single bed will not handle me”

She pondered for a second, lips formed in a cute pout and eyes wide despite the droop from the alcohol in her system. She was the spitting image of her brother, except in female form and a lot more daintier, “take Jungkook’s bed, he’s been an asshole anyway”

You snort unattractively, hand covering your mouth as you and Yeji fall into a fit of drunken giggles, almost falling over while leaning on each other for support, “okay, I’ll leave a bunch of cockroaches behind too”

“No I’m serious,” she whines slightly, “it’s not safe to go home now, and Uber drivers are perverts.”

“I’ll just walk I’ll be fine Ji,” you grabbed her shoulders, confident in your remark but before you could even take the slightest step to the door, Yeji has other plans.

In the process of trying to grab your shoulder, she accidentally grabs your boob, rather harshly at that, and because of the slight pain that you still have in your freshly pierced nipple, you almost fall over in pain, “ow my boob!”

“Oh shit sorry!” She chuckles, “hey, at least the piercing feels nice!”

You smirk at her, keeping eye contact as you stumble closer to her, “it looks even better in real life”.

“I know,” she giggles, “because I’m the one that put it there”

Once again falling into a pit of giggles with a traumatised Jungkook behind you, you finally reach your end stage of being drunk, a small sob leaving your lips, “can I actually sleep in his stinky room?, what if I get kidnapped on the way home”

“Of course you can,” Yejis lower lip trembles, finally reaching that stage with you, “can’t she Jungkook”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief, not quiet sure how you guys got to this stage since he left with his tea and what’s worse is he hasn’t realised that to your drunken eyes it looks like he just said no, so now you’re not sobbing, you’re practically wailing together, grabbing each other’s hands like it’s the end of the world.

“He really is an asshole” she wipes her eyes, “all the times Y/N, bought you banana milk and you won’t let her sleep in your room!”

“I-“ the poor man tries to defend himself.

“And all the times I’ve got you gimbap!”

He sighs in defeat, muttering incoherent words to himself as he finally leans off of the wall and stalks over to both of you very gently and slowly, “first off, I did not shake my head-NO- and second of all, please stop staring at me like that I feel threatened-“

“As you should” his younger sister practically growls.

“Anyway, y/n, why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable in my roo-“

“I’m sorry if I obliterate your bathroom with vomit, I really don’t mean to” you sniffle, right nostril blocked from crying.

He blinks, mentally counting down from 10 and begging god for patience because not only is there a possibility he’ll have to clean your vomit up and be there for you because his sister will be sleeping like she’s dead, but she’s currently pss’pssing as if there was a cat in the house… which there isn’t.

“It’s okay, just please, go to sleep”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Maybe the smarter idea would of been to stay at home after literally burning your entire digestive system with alcohol not even a four days ago, but despite that, and the lack of a boyfriend, somehow, you have found yourself immersed by yet another tequila drink and music booming around your entire aura. Hips swaying side to side and hair absolutely going wild after you have successfully lost your hair tie around two hours ago.

Yeji was no better, screaming down the phone to her annoying and hot brother, who apparently is very pissed and worried because he’s had a tough training with his coach today, and now his night is going to be filled with yet again taking care of two drunk messes. She keeps yelling at him, telling him she’s absolutely not giving him the name of the bar you’re currently trashed in. You vaguely hear her scream a bunch of curses at him before your attention is diverted to a pair of hands on your hips.

Turning around to meet this gaze you find probably one of the hottest creatures of man kind. With hooded dark eyes, and pink floppy hair and luscious plump lips he looks like a sinning Angel. His pearl white teeth sink into his plump bottom lip, the cross necklace on his dark shirt stealing your attention as you start dancing with this handsome stranger, absolutely perfect.

Without much thought to your current situation, you signal to Yeji that you are leaving with, Jimin, as you learned his name is. Right the second Jungkook enters, expression clearly not amused by your little escapade with his sister. You giggled to yourself as Jimin chuckled, helping you into the taxi.

And by the time you could really think about what you’re doing, his cross is swinging by your face as he hovers above you, kissing his way down your body right after giving you the best orgasm you’ve experienced, eyes sultry and lips coated in your essence. You were on cloud nine as he left marks on your neck and chest, rubbing his thick cock along your folds, before sliding in with ease, gasping as you clench around him, watching as his expression twists into ecstasy, he was gorgeous. Railing you like there was no tomorrow, and you know for fact you will not regret this night, not even in a million years.

Waking up the next morning was a daze, finding yourself nausea but not throwing up, and laying down next to a extraterrestrial being, you got out of bed in a rush, realising you promised Yeji to grab hungover brunch together. The man beside you groans, stirring awake, “sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up”.

“You don’t have to do the walk of shame babe,” he chuckled, voice incredibly arousing, stirring something deep inside your stomach.

“No-“ maybe that was too quick of a reaction, “it’s- I meant to be meeting my friend in ten minutes for brunch, and I don’t want to be late.”

He gets out of his bed, watching you as you put your clothes on deciding to do the same, “maybe I could drop you?..”.

Your lips part in thought, “Uhm are you sure? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you don’t owe me anything actually yesterday night was amazing-“.

“Do you really not remember me?” He asks with a soft chuckle.

Your brain stirs, realising the familiar gaze, voice and eyes. He definitely changed, but good god did he even get hotter, and maybe you were to drunk to realise yesterday that his name was literally the same as your ex friends with benefits partner.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim, to which he laughs gently, now dressed in grey sweats and a black shirt.

“I see time did you good y/n”

“Fuck me did it do you good” you laughed, slipping your red dress back on, cringing a little.

“Do you want to borrow some clothes?” He asks, already going to his drawer full of hoodies and sweats.

“I mean if you’re okay with it-“

“Come on don’t act like we didn’t use to do all the time” he hands you a brown hoodie and black sweats.

Smiling a little, you slipped the clothes on he gave you, watching as his eyes gleamed with a certain twinkle, “so? You disappeared for five years Park, where have you been?”

“Studying in Canada, I came back because I got a good job offer here” he mutters as you head out of his apartment, and straight down into the underground parking lot.

“Oh, damn. That’s nice, I’ve still another year of studying to do unfortunately” you chuckle a little, buckling your seat belt as he starts his car.

Within small talk you get to the small cafe by Jungkook’s place, being met with the man himself and his younger sister. Jungkook does not look pleased at all, a prominent scowl on his face while he glares at his whining sister, but in all fairness, he looked absolutely ravishing. In blue ripped jeans, and a white polo shirt. Hair slightly messy but never the less he looks gorgeous, just like always. With your stare on him and voice more clear he whips his head up, noticing you with a man is quite the strange sight for him, and he’s not really sure why he all of a sudden feels even angrier than he was during training.

Sitting down next to Jungkook and Jimin next to Yeji, you sigh, the crispy breeze of autumn absolutely devouring your lungs, “remind me to never drink again hm?”.

Jimin chuckles before you realise you never actually introduced him, “oh right, guys this is Jimin my friend, Jimin Jungkook and Yeji my best friend”.

“Ah the famous Yeji”

“Famous?” Your best friend managed even though her voice was ragged just like a cat being dragged through her vocal chords.

jimin chuckles a little, rearranging the cap ingulfing his hair, “yeah, Y/N wouldn’t shut up about you yesterday night, kept complaining saying you’ll be concerned, but to be honest you didn’t seem all too worried yesterday night’’

Yeji hums, squinting while the sun shines in her eyes. you on the other hand whine, hand covering your stomach while you pout a little, clearly very hungry with your hungover. Jimin picks up on that, smiling a little before ordering you a smoothie and an acai bowl. how sweet. seemingly, though, Jungkook doesn’t quite like the picture in front of his eyes, muttering something incoherent under his breath, and while you notice you choose to blame his sour mood on his training.

‘‘so kook, how was training’‘, you ask, nibbling on your paper straw.

‘‘good’‘ is all he answers, clearly not excited to overindulge you.

‘‘when’s the upcoming fight’‘, you say, trying to make it clear you’re devoting your entire attention on him.

he sits up in his chair, still slacking but not as bad as before, one hand under his chin as he looks into the small cafe, “friday week” he answers.

“are you excited”

he scoffs a little, “you could say that”

Confused and slightly baffled at why he’s giving you the cold shoulder you sigh, closing the menu you were scanning for no apparent reason and stand up of your chair, “kook, would you mind going in with me for some water?”

He looks at you with minimal hesitation, “for.. water?”

“Yeah,” you mutter softly tilting your head trying to make it obvious to him that you are trying to to talk to him in private, “water”.

He licks his lips swiftly, clearing his throat and following your lead, watching your back with intent, wondering why the hell you’re dressed in oversized mens clothing, when suddenly, like a lighting strike just hit him, he realises.

Once at a small corner at the cafe away from others he looks you dead in the eyes, clearly some type of emotion swarming his head as he suddenly looks slightly pissed off, body tense and brows stern, “you slept with him”.

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Like he was there last night and saw all the things Jimin did to you. Shocked and maybe a little shy, you gulp, “well… it’s my life. I can choose who I sleep with..”.

He scoffs with a slight smirk, no, not the type of smirk where you want to kiss it right of his lips or the type you want to smack away because he’s cocky, no, the type were he’s clearly pissed.. beyond pissed, “why him?”

Now you were getting agitated, foxy gaze hardening and cheeks warming to a serene pink, “why not him!”

“Because!” He controls his voice, looking around to Make sure he hasn’t captured any unwanted attention.

“Because?” You questioned, clearly baffled now at where this man has gotten his audacity.

“Goddamnit y/n” he sighs rubbing his face with his hands.

“What’s so wrong with him that I can’t sleep with-“

“He is my fucking opponent this Friday.”

“Oh”

He stares at you, tight lipped and fuming, and all though you know better than to continue egging him on. You still open your big mouth, “well I don’t know how that affects the fight since it’s my vagina and not yours he fucked”.

Blinking about a hundred times in one second he literally just stands there for a solid minute trying to decipher what you had just said to him, “I don’t have a vagina”.

“Sucks for you I guess” you shrug your shoulders with a straight face.

He bites into his lower lip, clearly not amused by your little shenanigans, inching closer to you, he has a certain glimmer in his usually brown eyes, with just a little sheen of cloudy darkness, “I promise when I win that fight, I will prove to you that no other man will *ever *compare to me… physically…mentally” he moves in closer, just an inch away from your ear, “stamina wise,” his hot breath on your delicate skin was exciting, hairs rising on your neck and goosebumps forming, “and bed wise”

With his final words he moved away from you slowly, before tucking your hair behind your ear all while you’re sure someone has electrocuted your insides. Maybe this man is trying to kill you, maybes he trying to tease you or perhaps, he means what he says.

But two can always play the same game, “well,” you give him your best innocent look, “I hope you’re a man of your words, good luck.. Kookie” swiftly moving around him, you shoot straight for the door, heart racing and insides melting. what . the . actual . fuck.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Fuming… that’s what you are right now. Angrily stomping your way to the familiar building you dig your nails further into the palm of your hand, cheeks blushed with the anger coursing through your blood and face stern. Not quite concerned with the people, most of them already know you.. and who you are coming to see, it’s pretty obvious.

Coming up straight to the punching bag the tall man is apparently taking his frustration out on, you bit into your lip. Calming your breathes and trying your best to not pop, “I will personally take a rope, put it round your neck and choke you. Who the fuck do you think you are”.

Not really paying attention to you, or more so being bothered by your outrage because he’s expected this, he throws a mere glance your way before speaking up again, “do you have anyone else to bother but me?”.

Rolling your eyes so far back into your skull that it physically hurts, you give him a sarcastic laugh, “you’re so funny don’t you think? Stay out of my business Jungkook. I’m serious”.

He stops punching the bag, holding it in place with his gloved hands, “you, got into, my, business, first.”

At this stage you will need all mighty gods strength to stop yourself from absolutely obliterating his face right this second, “fuck you Jungkook, you’re so fucking annoying. YOU are not my brother, YOU are not my father or my boyfriend. YOU do not dictate who I can fuck and who I can’t. Stay in your own lane”.

Suddenly angry, deep frustration taking over his eyes, darkening his orbs to a colour almost unrecognisable, “do you know what he says about you?” He stalks towards you, almost like a prey to its victim, “do you know how he tells everyone of his friends he fucks your everyday? That you’re desperate? Choking on his fucking dick? My entire friend group has been bombarding me, telling me my sisters best friend is getting railed by my opponent, never mind that actually, it’s the fact he has so little respect for you. I promise you, when I’ll be in the ring, he won’t come out of my hands alive”.

Throwing the gloves off his hands to the floor, he walks to the locker room with one last look at you, but you’re stupid, and not at all listening to your rational brain telling you to let him cool down, “well I just think it’s stupid you’re so willing to risk disqualification over me”

He chuckles emptily, “so I’m stupid because I care?”

“No, you’re stupid because you’re risking the biggest fight of your career.”

“So help me god Y/N,” he stands up off the bench, sweaty figure close to your body to the point you can feel his heat radiating warmth onto your skin, “I’ll do it all again and again and again, if it means you get the respect you deserve.”

Because you absolutely have no self control and curiosity always gets the best of you, you look into his eyes and ask, “why do you care so much?”

His expression turns soft, eyes melting every worry, anxiety and pain away, “because you’re my friend too, and my friends mean a lot to me.”

Understandable, but despite the feeling that there’s more to this words than he lets on, you nod in slight agreement, “fine, I’ll stop seeing him”.

He says nothing, simply turns around and begins to take his shirt off, “you might wanna wait outside unless you want coach to explode with anger”.

The hardest part about being alone is… being alone. Simply put. There is only so much a person can do by themselves, and sure it’s relaxing to be alone sometimes, but not all the time. It gets lonely, dark… soulless. Not only in the caged four walls of your home, but generally speaking. A human needs another human, it’s instinctual, it’s inevitable. Just like any other creature, a soul needs a partner. Surely, by now you’d have found someone if you were interesting enough, but in all fairness, you seem to be probably the most general, imperfect and boring person alive.

Staring at the ceiling for what feels like a decade, which in reality was an hour, your mind sinks deeper into your feelings, into the depth of your heart. It almost feelings like your brain is rummaging around, throwing things randomly while accidentally continuously hitting that one spot, that one spot that hurts. And since it’s busy, it doesn’t help you find out why exactly it hurts. It makes no sense. Being in pain, without a source. Without a reason, without pain.

Most people like to believe that their one and true love will come by, wether that be in five minutes or twenty odd years, you choose to not be foolish. You don’t believe in falling in love instantly, you don’t believe in love at first sight. Call it depressing, but you like to believe you’re quite the optimist. Just not in this scenario.

Any sane person would probably avoid walking in lashing rain to ease said -pain without pain- situation, but that’s exactly it. You’re not sane enough right now. You’re not exactly functioning properly, is it because of the lack of humanly touch? Or because the last time you saw another human being was when Jungkook almost killed Jimin in the boxing ring? Sighing you shrug your coat on and leave your apartment. Forgoing your umbrella.

What happened that day? What got into him? That despite the fact you begged him hours before to not hurt him too much, he went further of your plea and obliterated Jimin. The screaming and roaring in his apartment didn’t help his busted lip, but during that heated fight were Yeji stood in the hallway door silently crying as both you and him swore to never even look each other’s way again, you left a tiny yet crucial part of your being with them.

What the fuck happened that day.

To put it short, Jungkook wasn’t handling everything well, and when you pushed through into his place, he scoffed, asking you to leave. Maybe you should have, but you weren’t just pissed that he hurt Jimin, no, you were pissed that despite everything you begged him for, you especially begged for him to not get this disqualified. And sure it’s not the end of his career, but it was not needed. It was not necessary. Yet he’d gone and did it, which is why you started yelling, and from one word to another, both of you started cussing each other out, the entire argument was pathetic but it thought you many things, and it’s only been a month since that said fight, yet all of you is slowly dying and you don’t know why.

Maybe ignoring Yeji was not necessary, but if you talked to her, you knew it would blow up in your face. It’s too soon, too soon to be even near him.

*“Are you crazy” he yelled, anger at a boiling point. *

“*Maybe I am, but fuck Jungkook you got yourself disqualified!” *

*“So what?” He scoffed bitterly, “stop pretending like you give a shit about me” *

“*Oh that’s just pathetic” you sighed rubbing your forehead. *

“*So now I’m pathetic too?” *

“Yeah as a matter of fact you are! You’re pathetic, pathetic for throwing away your chance like that” you yelled, sure you face was getting red.

“*And you’re just a naive little girl, grow up Y/N, open your fucking eyes, stop trying to find good in everyone, stop believing everyone, stop trusting everyone! Stop sleeping around with everyone!” He yelled back, equally as pissed. *

Your face dropped, a needle to your heart, that’s what his words felt like, “oh that’s just low Jungkook, that’s just low even for you. Fuck. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to call me a whore or whatever else because what I do with my body is none of your business. You’re so low for that Jungkook, that was a douche bag move”.

“*It’s the truth!” He countered, not looking in your eyes. *

“*Yeah,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting the tears back from your eyes, “you’re right, I’ll stop being naive, I’ll stop trusting people, as a matter of fact Jungkook, I swear I will never look your way again, I promise you’ll never hear from me again and I’ll make sure that the last you’ll see of me is if I were to die. I swear on everything that is dear to me in this world”. *

“*So do I” he shrugs, taking another sip of his beer. *

*Without looking back, you stormed out of his apartment. Desperately trying to stop the tears flowing from your eyes, but your efforts were just that, efforts. *

Crazy is what it was, it was a spurt of dumb non meaningful words. It was like spinning in a tunnel of webs, with absolutely no way out. Like sitting in four walls painted black with no escape. Like sitting ducks waiting to be eaten by their prey. It was in the heat of the moment. Yet it hurts like hell, maybe because you’re crazy in love with him, or maybe because it’s just that. Love.

*Not sure when he’s arrived at your house or how he got in, but he stumbled in regardless, holding a bag of snacks, drinks and a bottle of red wine with a small smile on his pouty lips, “horror marathon?” *

*Giggling you nod, watching him slip of his shoes and coat, neatly placing them beside yours. He practically skips his way to your small living room, cozying himself up beside you and nuzzling his nose into your arm like a dog would to get head rubs. *

*within half an hour into the movie you find yourself running your fingers through his silky hair as his head laid on your stomach, sleeping peacefully. He was beautiful, serene and too cute for his own good as he breathed in softly. He was as lovely as he could be, kind yet teasing but he always took care of you, even when you wouldn’t realise it, and you’re not exactly sure why, but it didn’t matter. *

It was hard to look back at the memories, it’s like knowing a stranger who knew all your secrets, a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be. How incredulous. How generic, the girl who doesn’t believe in true love, falling so hard and so quick, it’s honestly laughable. A joke. Maybe even a whole circus.

*“Okay, but under the condition that I get to braid your hair?” He bargains. *

*What was there to bargain? Well you wanted to put mascara on his lashes since they’re so curly and long, but of course he has to bargain, “wait really?” *

*You couldn’t careless that he’d braid your hair if you’re honest but rather you couldn’t believe he actually agreed at all, “mmm only because I love you so much” he said, holding your waist as you sat on his lap on your bed. *

“That’s literally unbelievable!” You gasped after generously applying the mascara to his lashes, “can I please take a picture?” You begged.

*“what- no absolutely no” he shook his head *

*“oh but please kook!” You whined, pouting a little to make sure your charm was working, *

*he squirmed a little before mumbling, “fine but you have to put it as your screen lock for three months and you have to pinky promise it!” *

Staring at your lock screen, you feel your heart break just a little more, you can feel it get squeezed and beg to be let go off, but despite its efforts the band tightens a little more when you remember where you are, and where you’re sitting.

*sitting beside you on the dirty old bench He looked absolutely adorable as he sipped softly on your pumpkin spice latte, face lighting up as his taste buds responded well, and you could swear his eyes had little stars splattered around his pupils. He was incredible, in every sense of the word. *

“It’s amazing wow” he says after awhile, the snow beneath your feet melting at the sight of his adorable pink cheeks.

*“it is isn’t it?” You hummed, smiling softly. *

“*No like it’s literally beautiful Y/N” *

*you giggled at that, taking the sip he offers you so kindly, his upper half covered in the mustard color puffered coat you bought him for his birthday. *

You hated reminiscing, because it’s not snowing right now, and he’s not sitting beside you melting you down with his soft gaze and what became his pumpkin spiced latte, instead it’s pouring rain, with thunder rumbling the skies and your soaked and absolutely freezing.

*Giggling you begged him to stop, but instead he continued tickling your sides demanding an apology and a kiss to his cheek, “I promise I won’t slap your butt again!” *

*His attacks stopped, “now the kiss” and as obedient as ever you did as he asked. *

You were sort of thankful for the rain as it disguised the stream of tears running down your face, hiding the entire pain your body was engulfed in as you watched the deserted streets.

“Yeji would absolutely kill you for being here right now”

Which was your bed, doing something he absolutely hated, cuddling. “Yeah well she can suck it because it’s her fault, she threw a goddamn party”.

“*I know, I was suppose to be there” *

“awww sucks for you I guess, besides I am the party”.

In dire need of warmth you finally got up from the bench, heading back towards your apartment like you should have done a long time ago. What you thought would of been a source of stress relief was instead the opposite. Barely feeling your hands you stuff them in the pockets of your coat, that did absolutely nothing to keep you warm.

And as you stare ahead, you see him. You see him strolling ahead under dressed for this weather just like you, he noticed you too, and for a second you thought everything that happened within that month, was just a fever dream, but you realise it’s just wishful thinking.

And just as promised,

You walked by each other, without looking each other’s way.

**A/N: I’m sorry if it’s rushed I’ve literally wrote this in under an hour while at the ER lol. I hope you enjoyed this! Leave a comment or request if you have any! **

MASTERLIST

NO REPOSTING, EDITING, TRANSLATION OR COPYING OF ANY OF MY WORKS!

#bts drabble #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook #bts #fiction #kpop #boxer jungkook #boxing au #bts jeon jungkook #jeon junkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook drabble

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agent-cupcake · 1 month

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 9 Part 2 - Honey I'm Home

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

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

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

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

Word Count: 20.9k

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

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

23 Days Earlier

“What are you doing out here?”

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

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

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

“He left you here alone?” Crina asked.

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

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

“Making fun of him?”

“Because he can’t go in the water.”

“Why not?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… don’t, um… understand.”

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

“What did he do?”

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

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

“What about next time you upset him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way,” Buggy said. “Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wrong one,” he said. “On your left.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, real mature,” Buggy called.

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

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

“You started it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Dad asked.

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

But instead there was another long silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I owe you?”

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

“A kiss,” he finally declared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you said softly.

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

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

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

“Why?” you asked.

“That’s how you kiss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where were you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you remembered.

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

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

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

And then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really, really did.

14 Days Earlier

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

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

Maybe you had gotten off track somewhere.

Maybe you were hopelessly lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wants us to rape her?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groaned weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was over.

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

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

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

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

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

Desperate to avoid that, you spit out a mouthful of thick, bloody saliva, coughing out as much of it as you could. You could breathe through your nose, luckily. The punch had landed more on your left cheek than dead center.

“You’re not gonna pass out or throw up or something, right?” Buggy asked, nonplussed.

“No, sir,” you said, the words scraping unpleasantly against your raw throat.

“Okay, good,” Buggy said. “Well, now that the show’s over, let’s chop chop get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Probably realizing you weren’t going to move on your own, Buggy grabbed your elbow, tugging you out of the alley and onto the street. Rather than going back the way you came, he pulled you across to cut through to the next road over. This one ran parallel to the seawall. As soon as you stumbled into the open night, a heavy wave of humid air slammed against you. The scent of trash wasn’t as intense, replaced by the stench of rotting seaweed and sulfur and acrid oil.

“What did they do, offer you candy?” Buggy asked as you tried to keep up with him, huffing and puffing and wracked with strange little half-sobs that came as much from the adrenaline pounding in your system as it did from leftover fear and pain. “I guess pops never taught you about stranger danger.”

There were more people here, although not many. This part of the island was mostly filled with those unfortunate enough to call such a place home. Nobody paid you any mind as Buggy pulled you across the road, towards one of the sets of crumbling concrete steps going down to the beach. Well, ‘beach’ was a kind word. That would imply sand and an enticing, lapping tide and a hint of romance. The beach on this part of the island was a strip of silty grit, a thick band of seaweed clogging the tide like hair ratting up a drain, and the greasy churn of foul brown water. It was to its benefit that the night was too dark to see anything other than the gleaming sliver of a moon draping silver over the top of the water, nothing but deep shadow stretched out in between. Once the two of you reached the bottom of the steps, you were lost in the endless dark.

“Captain Buggy,” you said, your breathing harsh and fast, your heart pounding mean and hot where you had been hit in the stomach. “Ss-stop.”

“Really?” Buggy asked, annoyed.

Under any other circumstance, his irritation would have been reason enough for you to push yourself, but you couldn’t. “You can… go on without me,” you said, your voice distant and ragged. “I’ll catch up, I just need…”

“Don’t be stupid, dipshit. I didn’t go through the hassle of saving your sorry ass just to abandon you here. You’d probably walk right into the ocean and drown.”

You drooped back against the grungy wall, unable to think of a response.

“Why were you wandering on your own anyway? I gave you one rule, and you broke it. You know, I’m starting to understand how daddy dearest must have felt. If you weren’t already busted up, I think I’d go after you with a belt too.”

You whimpered, your head rolling back.

“This isn’t a bad look for you, babydoll,” Buggy said after a moment of nothing other than the ocean’s distant roar, tilting your chin up towards the moonlight. “Not at all. How about a little sugar for your savior?”

You couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, he was just a shadow. Numbness permeated your body, even though you were aware of everything. Everything, everything. The soreness of your feet. The pain pounding furiously against your face, the smell of blood mixing with the briney scent of the ocean. All of it, and nothing.

“Okay,” you said softly.

Buggy grabbed you, pulling you up and against him. Kissing hurt bad, as if it wasn’t hard enough to kiss him standing up. He had to lean down and you had to tilt your head up, holding onto his shoulders. Buggy didn’t seem to care that it hurt, or that you probably tasted like blood. He kissed you like he always did, like he was hungry, groaning into it when you whimpered helplessly.

You didn’t fight him when he grabbed your hand to press against the front of his pants, grinding your palm against his hardening erection and moaning into your mouth at the feeling. Entranced, you mimicked the motion, getting an even rougher noise out of him. Buggy bit your lip before pulling your head away with a fistful of your hair.

“I know last time didn’t go so great,” he said, “but whaddya say to giving the blowjob thing another try?”

“I… um…”

“You… what?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on,” he said, irritated. “I just saved your sorry ass from two guys. I deserve more than a little peck on the lips, don’tcha think?”

Your ears were ringing. Or maybe that was the ocean. “Okay,” you said.

“Try that again, but with a little more gratitude,” Buggy told you. “Actually, you know what, I don’t care right now. On your knees, honey buns.”

Since your knees were already skinned, you crouched down on your haunches rather than kneel, bracing yourself against the slimy seawall to keep from topping over. Buggy got his cock out so quickly it was almost surprising. Based on what you felt before, he was already halfway hard. With your eye slowly adjusting to the faint moonlight, you could somewhat make out its shape.

“Say ‘aahhhhh’,” Buggy told you, swirling his cock around in front of your face like a mother with a spoonful of baby food trying to feed a difficult child. Some part of you, way deep down inside, was rightfully disgusted by that approach. But it was like trying to make out the words of somebody trapped at the bottom of a depthless well. All that you could hear was the echo.

Unable to think of any other way to handle the situation, you did what you were told. Let it happen. Don’t think. With a palm scratched up and bloody, you reached up to guide his cock, opening your mouth. In a way, it was better like this. Nothing else in the whole world made sense, why should this? You were already free falling and helpless and confused, at least this was direction.

Buggy groaned when you closed your lips around the head, sucking lightly like you would on his fingers. Shamefully, the scent of cock wasn’t all that unfamiliar by now, and the taste was just an extension, almost overpowered by the tangy flavor of your own blood.

Your mouth was already overproducing saliva, slicking up his dick as you bobbed your head forward. It was easiest to brace yourself with your left hand on his thigh and one of your heels propped against the wall. Buggy released his cock so he could replace it with your hand, closing your fingers around him. He guided your fist down to pick up some of the excess saliva, easing the friction as he pulled your hand back up the shaft. Like Pippa said, a handjob.

Thinking of that seemed so surreal, doubt of reality infecting your mind now that the numbness really set in. Everything that led you to this point in your life was some weird dream, or maybe more of a joke. A disturbing, horrible joke. Now things were quiet, and that was better.

Buggy groaned, his hips impatiently pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You choked a little, slurping around him. Saliva dripped from the seam of your lips. Confused, your tongue raised to slide against the underside and you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth so you did that again.

“Good girl,” Buggy told you in a heavy, hoarse voice, continuing to guide your hand up and down the base of his dick.

When he let go of your hand to let you take care of it, you didn’t stop. This ended in Buggy coming, that was the way it was. Even you knew that.

At least until something—or somethings—got beneath the band of your panties, worming against your pubic bone and down. Your yelp of disgusted surprise was stifled by his cock. Panicked, you pulled off, and Buggy didn’t stop you. A flood of saliva followed, splashing onto the sand.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” Buggy said, laughing and holding up his ungloved hand. Or, what was left of it. A curve cut around the squishy part of his palm and to his pinky. Everything else, you assumed, was between your legs, working under the confines of your panties, he wasn’t even using his whole hand. “You didn’t think I was just gonna leave you out to dry, did you?” His disembodied fingers dug a little deeper, curling into your pussy without any warning. You shuddered, clenching hard around them. “I guess not dry. You’re soaked. Is this from earlier?”

You shook your head, completely lost. “I don’t…”

“I bet you get off on being saved. That'd explain why you're so damn pathetic.”

The ocean roared. Sweat gathered in a sour line down your spine, beneath your bra, along your hairline. You should have worn it up, strands that had gotten in the way of your mouth were now coated with spit, sticking uncomfortably to your cheeks. “What?”

“One more time, babydoll,” Buggy said theatrically. “With feeling.”

That was, as he often said, a laugh. You had no idea what to feel. The well only got deeper, the quiet spreading. Even the pain seemed so inconsequential, the agonizing ache from where you’d been punched in the face a mere background drone as you opened your mouth wide to take his cock. This time, you had a feel for it. He didn’t need to guide your hand along the base, which was for the best because his hand was busy in your panties.

It kind of seemed like you should have been disgusted by the idea of Buggy using his cursed powers for your sexual pleasure, but you were cursed anyway, and sin didn’t compound, it was a flat rate to be paid in full at the Devil’s convenience.

For now, you could just accept that it was good.

Everything was too disconnected and disjointed for there to be any coherence to the scattered sensations in your body, but the friction of his fingers drove the far away part of your living self wild. Unobstructed, they could easily curl against your g-spot, his thumb on your swollen clit. It was kind of like a choice. If you wanted yours, you would have to take it. And of course you did. If it was from Buggy, you always did.

So you slurped and sucked and bobbed your head, striving desperately for some release from the straitjacket hold of the quiet and the pain and the sickness and the fear and the dark. If you could just feel that fast fizzle and let it consume you for a moment, that was enough. That was all there was.

“Fuck, babydoll,” Buggy swore. “I knew you’d catch on quick.”

The muscles of his thigh tensed and trembled against your hand, his hips thrusting restlessly against the pace you set. It was messy and unsteady and disgusting and his fingers kept hitting your g-spot in a way that had your pussy weeping around them, your hips trying to roll into a body that wasn’t there, to get more solid friction. More and more. His thumb ground down against your clit, the calloused pad catching against a spot of raw nerves that had you seeing stars.

Time didn’t really exist, so you weren’t sure how long you were held in that hellish limbo of almost. Pleasure curled and tightened around his fingers inside of you, and you held onto it with a death grip, knowing that it was the only way you could make any of this okay. Or maybe you were just selfish.

Now it was like you were the one at the bottom of the well, feeling your body finally give in to the tension stoked to a steady burst beneath Buggy’s fingers. Your body took over automatically, squeezing him so tight it hurt, your clit pulsing under his thumb, your hips rocking back and forth in a way that threatened to topple you over.

He had to pull your head back and forth by your hair to keep you moving on his cock, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except for that exquisite flash, that sparkling sizzle of warmth, that moment of invulnerability.

Too soon, it was over. You sobbed hard around his cock, feeling like the sensations had been cut short, like it wasn’t enough in the first place. Ruined. You were still falling, still quiet, still trapped at the bottom of a pit in the dark.

“That was it, wasn't it,” he said, pleased with himself. “It totally was!” He laughed hoarsely, and then groaned. “You know, it—ah, fuck it. Get up.”

Buggy pulled you off his cock, scooping you onto your feet. He shoved your panties down your thighs to release his fingers, reattaching them at the same time he was picking you up and scraping you up against the seawall, scrubbing you into the grime. Your panties dropped down past your knees, falling to one ankle before he grabbed your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist.

His cock was coated in your bloody saliva, and your pussy was soaking, he slid in easy and smooth. Buggy groaned low in his throat, but you just gasped, and then whimpered. The way his cock filled you now that you were already sensitive and needy was almost more than you could bear, too much and yet unattainably distant. You writhed helplessly, your inner walls tightening around him to pull him deeper, to keep him with you in the only way that mattered.

“You’re so lucky,” Buggy told you harshly, his voice like a growl. “I mean, with a pussy like this, who needs talent? My little mattress actress.” He punctuated those words with especially hard, wet thrusts. Whining, your fingers dug hard into his shoulders, grateful for the stability of his body against yours.

Your head fell back against the wall, light as air. Buggy clearly wasn’t trying to savor the moment. This was hard and fast and sweaty and filthy and nothing but sickly need and animalistic gluttony. He pressed his nose against the side of your jaw, breathing hard into the hollow between your neck and shoulder as he fucked you. Each thrust pushed you up and down the wall, knocking your empty head against the hard surface, punching whimpers and moans out of your sore body.

Your eye rolled up over his shoulder to the little silver curl of the moon. It blurred into a pale smear in an endless sky. You closed your eye, your mouth falling open as you moaned helplessly, holding onto Buggy as he fucked you hard and fast.

With an open mouthed groan, he seized up, pushing his cock as deep as he could, grinding his hips against you as he came.

Rather than pull out and release you right away like you expected, Buggy kissed your jaw with an open mouth, licking your feverish skin. Then your neck, sucking as he pulled away as if to relish in the obscene noise. Your pussy unintentionally spasmed around his cock and Buggy inhaled sharply through his teeth, pulling out and letting you drop.

“Good lord, you're a horny little shit,” he said, fixing his pants.

You opened your mouth to say something, but there were no words.

He stepped back, leaving you to lean against the seawall. “Aren’t you gonna… Fine, I’ll do it.” Muttering about how he had to do everything himself, Buggy crouched down to get your ankle back into your panties, pulling them all the way up and giving your pussy a little tap. “There ya go, kiddo. Now c’mon.”

You weren’t exactly aware when Buggy finally half-led and half-dragged you into a bar. The walk along the beach, a shortcut to get to the docks, had been a dizzy stumble in the dark. You let it happen numbly because that was easier than trying to argue.

The light of civilization shocked and blinded you, like an unwelcome alarm pulling you from a feverish dream. The sleep wasn’t especially comfortable, but it was better than being awake. The bouncer tried to stop the two of you as soon as Buggy pulled you past the door.

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow…” He looked you up and down, concerned. “Is she alright?”

Buggy threw an arm around your shoulders, smiling widely.

“She’s clumsy. I’m just looking for my—Oh, hey, Crina!” he called. “Get over here.”

You watched dully, trapped beneath the weight of Buggy’s warm body, as Crina came over. She looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “What did you do to her?” she asked Buggy.

“Whaddya mean?” Buggy asked defensively. “I rescued her from two idiots with a death wish. Can you just give her a quick little look-see to make sure nothing's broken? I’m fine with the eye thing, but any other disfigurements would be overkill.”

Crina sighed, giving you another look. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” she told you gently.

“Great, I’m gonna go get us a drink,” Buggy said, releasing you and walking towards the bar. You watched him go, feeling very, very cold. Actually, you felt like you were going to pass out. Or throw up. Throw up, and pass out, and probably die.

Crina cursed under her breath, turning to the bouncer. “Get me some rags, ice, water, and… The bar should have something like simple syrup, she needs sugar.”

“That’s not my job,” the man said.

Crina cursed even louder, not under her breath, and pulled out a wad of money. “Now it is.”

The man pursed his lips, but accepted the money. “Rags, ice, water, and simple syrup. Are you gonna pay for that?”

“Yeah, put it on Captain Buggy’s tab.”

He nodded, turning towards the bar. Crina had to support most of your weight as she took you to the bathroom. Your head spun, your body wilting and drooping. It was hard to stay upright, and you felt sour and cold. The world trembled.

“My… my dad's a doctor,” you told her. “If you get him then… he's a doctor, he can…”

“Hey, focus on me,” Crina said. “What’s my name?”

“Crina,” you mumbled.

“Okay, good. You’re gonna have to get onto the counter, can you do that?” It took an impossible amount of effort, but you managed to scramble onto the counter with her help. You fell against the wall, your body impossibly heavy. She tilted your head towards the light, but you kept your eye closed. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, you just wanted to sleep.

“You have to stay awake,” Crina said, tapping your uninjured right cheek. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I dunno,” you muttered softly. The world swayed. That’s right, you were on a ship. “I wanna… can we go home? We’re almost there…”

“No. Hey, open your eye.”

Through a tin can, you heard the door open. “Don’t mind me, ladies,” Buggy said brashly. “I got all the shit you asked for and one of those Dirty Sunrises you like.” You heard him set the supplies on the counter by you, but you were too tired to look. “Oh, oof. She looks rough. You hangin’ in there, babydoll?”

“She’s in shock, she can’t have alcohol,” Crina said irritably, wetting one of the rags in the sink. “This might hurt a little,” she warned you before starting to dab at your face. It hurt, but you didn’t care. You would be home soon, and Dad would help you, and then you could go to bed, and everything would be okay. “This blood is dried, what were you doing that took you so long to get her here?”

“Oh, you know how she is, I could barely get her to walk ten feet before she was whining about being tired.”

Crina scoffed. “And you helped her with that, Captain?”

“What?” Buggy asked, his tone thin like ice and unnervingly flat. “Is there something you wanna say, Crina?” You opened your eye to look, anxiety spiking you alert. He was smiling, but his eyes were dead.

“Captain Buggy?” you asked weakly.

His glare broke when his eyes flicked to you, that hard smile replaced with a smug smirk. “See? She likes it.”

Crina shook her head, grabbing the bottle of syrup and squirting a healthy amount into the cup of water. “This is gonna taste weird, but you need to drink all of it,” she told you.

“Don’t worry, she’s getting pretty good at the whole not choking thing,” Buggy said dryly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

You opened your mouth obediently when Crina raised the cup, drinking all of it without complaint. The cold water and the sugar were more of a wake up than anything else, and it cleared the sour taste of blood and cock from your mouth. You cleared your throat, coughing again, spitting more blood and saliva into the sink.

“Okay,” Crina grabbed your jaw, wiping at the dried blood again. It hurt enough to make your eye water, but you accepted the pain. “It looks like he caught her left cheek. Her…” She paused before saying the word, stopping herself by clearing her throat. “Everything else is fine. It’ll bruise some, but the tissue around her eye is already so damaged, you probably won’t see the worst of it.” She raised your chin more, wincing at the shallow cut along your neck.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy,” Buggy joked through a mouthful of food. He was slicing off pieces of an apple, eating it right off the blade. “You’ll know it's him when you see the guy walkin’ around with his guts hanging out.”

“Is there anything else?” Crina asked you, ignoring Buggy.

“I dunno,” you said, frowning. You felt a little more alert, but that wasn’t better.

“She’s fine,” Buggy said. “A little pain is good for her, maybe it’ll teach her to listen to me.”

Crina’s lips pressed into a line, but she nodded. “Maybe. I’ll get her cleaned up and then you can take her back to the ship.”

“Great,” Buggy said, tossing the apple and putting his knife away. “I don’t know about you, babydoll, but I’m beat.”

You remembered that, after the funeral, Dad fully retired. At first it was to help you recuperate, and then it was for your safety. You were hurt because of him, because of who he was. That’s what he said when he was sober. You were hurt because of Mom, because she cursed you. That’s what he said when he was really drunk. Due payment. The price was her life, and your eye. The truth, you thought, laid in between. You were hurt because you deserved it, it was a consequence of who you were and what you had done.

Losing an eye worsened your health significantly. Not only the headaches, and the unsteadiness, and your ability to read and write for any length of time, but it also intensified the exhaustion that plagued you. You always felt cold and weak, so much that simple tasks took all of your energy.

Even something as simple as going shopping had become a laborious and tiring undertaking. People looked at you sideways, avoiding your left eye. They whispered about you. People who had once been friendly now smiled tight, polite smiles and excused themselves from conversation. And yet, somehow, the worst part of going out was coming up the hill and seeing your house, knowing you would have to go inside. No matter how warm the weather, or how merrily the sun shined, the house had an iciness to it. The walls absorbed the cold and held it there, bleeding out any warmth or noise that entered. Dad would say that was fanciful thinking. Dangerous thinking. And yet he so readily staved off the chill with liquor.

You walked through the silent hall and put away the groceries, setting aside ingredients for supper, before taking a moment to compose yourself. The world, and everything in it, was so, so tiring. You were tired. Worn out all the way to the marrow of your bones, your flesh itself becoming as heavy as a thick winter coat. And your head ached. Always, it ached. You began to scratch at the scar beneath your eye before stopping yourself, pulling the bandana down instead.

No matter how tired you felt, the day was not yet over. You stood up and smoothed your hair, taking the stairs with dragging feet. Dad spent most afternoons sequestered in his office. It was the coldest place of all. The hall leading to the heavy door stretched for miles and miles.

You walked its length and knocked lightly, opening the door at his barked invitation.

“Can I get anything for you, daddy?” you asked, peering into his dark office. He sat in the large, imposing leather chair, a mess of documents on his desk as well as an open bottle. He didn’t bother with a glass anymore. But his eyes were sharp enough, fixing on you in a way that made you want to shrink back.

“Come in and sit down,” he instructed. You did so slowly, thinking quickly to figure out what he was going to say so you could get ahead of it, apologize or explain or whatever he wanted from you. When you were sitting, he looked at you, folding his hands beneath his chin. He stared and stared and you squirmed, pulling your bandana down.

“You’ve gone and grown up on me, haven’t you?” he asked.

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I’ve been too preoccupied, I suppose, and now you’re becoming a woman.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his face. “I saw the blood in the laundry,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Your heart sank, your thighs pressing tightly together as if you were trying to hide evidence of your shame. “Yes, but I’m not hurt,” you tried to explain. “It’s… the blood, it’s not… it-”

“I know what it is,” he said irritably. You closed your mouth, folding your hands in your lap. “How long?”

You struggled for the right answer, your confusion worsened by the embarrassing topic. “I… I don’t understand what you mean, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“How long have you been menstruating?” he clarified. The more he talked, the more you could hear the intoxicated slur in his voice. “I assume it began before your mother died.”

“It did,” you said, wincing at the reminder. He was so casual about the event, like it was merely something that happened. “I guess it was just… a few months before.”

“How often do you bleed?”

“Not often,” you said. “Every few months. It’s okay, mom told me how to take care of it.”

“It’s not healthy for a girl like you to bleed,” he said, “it’s not healthy at all. It’s a filthy thing.”

“But mom,” you began, having to clear your throat to speak properly. “Mom said it’s normal.”

“Your mother was wrong, and she should have told me,” dad snapped. “She never appreciated how frail you are, the sensitivity you must be shown. Your body can’t handle the stress of that muck. My sweet little girl…” He looked at you mournfully, dragging his eyes over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I just don’t know anymore. Your body is changing, you’re changing.”

“I’m not changing, daddy,” you said. “I’m the same as always.”

“I saw you talking to a boy out there,” he said.

“The butcher’s son?” you asked, confused again. And scared. The interaction had been polite and short, but you never knew how dad would interpret things. “That wasn’t anything, daddy. I forgot something and he was kind enough to take it to me, that’s all.”

“No, that’s not it. You know it’s not, that’s why you look so guilty.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. You were confused, and your head hurt, and this conversation was making you feel sick.

“You’re old enough now that men notice you as a woman. They can’t help it,” dad said. “It’s your responsibility to shield their attention, otherwise you’ll give the wrong impression. Purity is the most vital trait in a young woman. Without it, you have no value.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I understand,” you said quickly, bowing your head, wishing very badly to climb out of your skin.

“I only want to protect you, sweet girl,” he said. “Your mother… There was nothing I could do for her, but I will keep you clean and healthy. I’ll keep you pure, so you never go through what she did. The hysteria, the madness… No, not you. I’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded. “Thank you, daddy.”

For a minute, a long, long minute, he merely looked at you, and you couldn’t look at him, preferring to stare at the floor. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Come here.”

You braced yourself and stood up to circle his desk, knowing what he wanted. He tilted his head and you pressed your lips to his cheek.

“I love you, daddy,” you told him, just like always.

He caught your hand, squeezing it to the point of pain. His eyes were bloodshot but sharp, and he stank miserably of alcohol. “And you know that I love you. Everything I do, I do because of how much I love you. That’s why I worry so much. You’re my sweet little girl. My precious girl.”

Your medical treatment changed after that. Things you could and couldn’t eat and in small portions, the medicines you had to take, the examinations to make sure you were healthy. He said it was for your health, but you only got sicker. Weaker. And dad drank more and more, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation because of the stress.

After the funeral, you hadn’t seen Randall almost at all. Whatever fling you had was long dead. He hadn’t become a Marine after all, instead taking up his father’s business. Dad was the one who broke the news to you.

That’s how you ended up in one of Mom’s ill-fitting dresses sitting at a corner table with other guests invited only out of familial obligation.

Even nearing fifty years old, and looking older yet because of his affair with the bottle, the Major cut a fine figure in his Marine uniform standing at the front of the room. People began to hush, anticipating that he was going to speak. Dad had that effect on people, a shroud of command. Just by seeing him, a person got the impression that what he said was important, that there was extra value in the words of a man like him.

“It would be remiss of me if I didn’t start by pointing out the obvious. I am not the man who should be standing up here,” he said. “This honor has been granted to me in the stead of my dear friend Harmon, as today it is the marriage of his son that we celebrate. He is not able to be here, that is true, but I can speak with authority on how proud he would be of his son. I know this because, although Randall is not my son by blood, he is a treasured member of my family. The pride I feel seeing him on such a joyous day as he takes this step forward in his life is immense.”

He paused, giving that sentiment an appropriate amount of respectful silence. Randall’s mother—Harmon’s widow—dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Dad gestured to the newlyweds, wearing a rare smile.

“Melody, you are one of the finest young ladies I have ever met,” he continued. “When Randall first told me of your breathtaking beauty, I could hardly believe him—and I was right not to. You are even more beautiful than his descriptions led me to believe. There are few women deserving of Randall’s love, but I suspect there are even fewer men deserving of yours. Melody and Randall, congratulations to you both.”

Everybody raised their glasses, applauding Melody and Randall. The beautiful couple.

Dad went to Melody and offered his hand for the first dance, as he had practiced. She went gladly, taking his leathery old hand and standing as the first notes of the song began to play. There was a stiffness to dad’s movements from the life he had lived, an unsteadiness from drinking too much, but she made up for it with her fluid grace. When she moved, it was as if she were floating. You stared at Randall, wishing that he would look at you for just a single second, but he didn’t. It was silly to expect him to, considering the vision that was twirling around the dance floor with Dad.

You turned towards the table, unable to keep watching. Other people were joining in to dance, but not you. Even if you had the inclination to do such a thing, you wouldn’t know how, and dad said it would be too tiring for you to try.

It had been a bad week. He said it was the stress that was making you sick. Excitement and change, he said, were not good for your system. Only you knew the truth. It wasn’t stress of the mind or body, it was your broken heart. That was your most precious, and most painful secret. Dad knew nothing of your brief relationship with Randall, and you hoped he never would. It likely wouldn’t affect his opinion of Randall, but you knew what he would think of you.

Slut. Even after years and years, you remembered the way that Harper said that word. Dad called mom a slut a lot, and had even accused you of being one, but it was the dismissively casual voice of a child speaking about things she didn’t quite understand that remained in your mind.

A month or so later, you remembered getting a note, and you also remembered the one you sent in response.

Northside hadn’t changed much, although it had been years since you sat on the old metal fire escape of the Slaughter. It was the only one of the buildings you dared to climb, since it was the easiest.

‘Easy’ was a relative term though. You remembered how to navigate your way up safely, sure, but it exhausted you in a way it never had when you were young. Even just a few years ago, you had been able to get up here without a problem.

Sometimes you could almost forget about your eye and frailty, sometimes you got to thinking about other things so intently that it faded into the background. But then you remembered that you were weak. That you could not do things that you used to do, or things that other people could do. That hurt. It hurt really, really bad.

So you tried not to think about it.

From your vantage point, you spotted a familiar figure round the corner, looking around for you.

“Hello there, stranger,” you called to him, waving. Randall looked up, squinting past the low-hanging sun.

“I don’t s’pose you’ll come down to me?” he shouted.

“Nope.”

His shoulders slumped in exasperation before he approached the building, taking the first set of rusty stairs up to the second floor. From there was a ladder, and then more stairs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you said as he reached the top of the second set of stairs, unable to stop from smiling. Randall didn’t match it, too busy frowning, a line forming between his eyebrows.

“I saw your message and got worried. Are you sure it’s okay for you to be out here climbing around?”

“I’m fine,” you said defensively. “I’ve been feeling better lately. Dad says it’s okay for me to be outside.”

“Not here, though. He’d have a heart attack if you knew you were out here,” Randall said, frowning. “There’s been rumors that strange people have been hanging around.”

“Dad said that’s not true,” you told him. “And I haven’t seen anybody, either. Have you?”

“Okay, fine,” Randall allowed. “But what would happen if you lost your footing and fell? You could seriously hurt yourself and nobody would know. What would your dad do then?”

“You won’t tell him, will you? Please promise you won’t, Randall,” you begged. You couldn’t imagine what Dad would do if he knew you were going northside again, but you knew it would be bad.

Maybe you could imagine, you just didn’t want to.

“I won’t,” Randall told you, “but you have to promise me you won’t come out here anymore. I mean it.”

“I promise I won’t. I just thought, when you said you wanted to talk to me, that it would be nice to come here. Like we used to.”

Randall sighed, finally relaxing enough to sit down next to you, his feet dangling over the edge.

“I’ve missed you,” you told him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been so busy with the business and settling in with the new house and Mellie.” He hesitated, shooting you a concerned look. As much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t exactly blame him. You hadn’t taken the news of his engagement very well. But that was a while ago, and you were fine now. It was fine.

“How is she?” you asked, forcing yourself to sound pleasant. “Is she adjusting to life in Barley?”

“She is, I think,” Randall said, clearly relieved by your mild reaction. “She’s a lovely woman. You and your dad should come over for dinner some time, I think the two of you would get along very well.”

“I’m sure Dad would love that,” you said. Realizing the bitterness in your tone, you quickly added, “I would too, of course. I just mean… You’ll probably have to ask him. You know how he is.”

“I will,” Randall said, nodding.

You couldn’t think of anything to say after that, so you didn’t. It was strange, you had spent the better part of the last month imagining this conversation, but now that it was happening it was completely lackluster. There must have been something he wanted to talk to you about, but you couldn’t tell from his expression.

“How are you?” Randall finally asked.

The question took you by surprise. It shouldn’t have. It was the only thing people ever asked anymore. You dragged your bandana down, making sure it was covering the scar. “I’m fine.”

“The Major seems like he’s doing much better.”

“Yeah, I think he is,” you said, glad for the easier topic. “Dad picked up a new project he’s working on with, um, with the trade routes and everything.”

“He mentioned it when he came by earlier. He asked for my help.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I would like it if we could be friends, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when I’m around.”

“It’s not… discomfort,” you said softly.

“Whatever it may be, I want to settle it. Not only for my sake, but for yours.”

“I love you,” you told him, unable to meet his eye, looking down at the ground instead.

Randall stiffened up, you could feel it. “You can’t say things like that. I’m married.”

“I know,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know that. Just… May I ask you something?” You looked up at him, seeing his uncertain frown, his awkward posture.

“If you feel like you need to.”

“Did any of it mean anything to you?” you asked softly. “If what happened with my mom and my-my eye, if that hadn’t happened, would you love me still? Would we—would you and me be together now?”

“No,” Randall said.

Even though it was the answer you expected, and maybe even the kindest answer given the circumstances, the single word was a knife into your heart. The pain of it struck you so profoundly that it took the air right out of your lungs. You nodded, your throat too swollen to even attempt speaking.

“I would like to make it clear that nothing that happened has anything to do with my feelings towards you,” Randall quickly explained. “I do love you, just not in the way you wish I would. You and the Major have been like family to me. I would do anything to protect you, and to see that you live a happy life.”

“You don’t have to explain anything. It’s okay,” you whispered, talking softly so your voice didn’t crack, forcing an agonizing smile to try and smooth things over. You didn’t know if it was worse to see his pity or his guilt. “It was a stupid question.”

“There’s somebody out there for you,” Randall said. “Somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, who can give you so much more than I ever could.”

You nodded, looking down at the ground so far below. “Yeah, maybe.” You cleared your throat, pulling your coat closer around you like an empty hug. “I’m not… I don’t want to make anything difficult with my dad or Mellie. I’m sorry you thought I might.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, always so concerned.

“Of course,” you said, forcing another painful smile. You’d rather be chewing glass, but you hated to think that you were making things more difficult for him than they needed to be.

Randall nodded. “We should head back. I need to get home to help Mellie with dinner, and the Major will get nervous if you’re out too late.”

“Not yet,” you said. “I’m still a little worn out from the climb up. You can leave, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“I just need a minute. I’m sorry,” you said, focusing on steadying your breathing. “When I was little, I could climb these buildings and run around like it was nothing.”

“I remember that.”

“It’s strange to think about. I can’t imagine what it was like to have that much energy. Even on my best days I’m so—so tired. Everything is exhausting, no matter how much I rest, or what medicine he gives me. And sometimes it’s… it’s more than I can take.”

“Have you told the Major about this?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head and smiling. “He worries enough already, I don’t want him to think that I’m…” Insane. Sick. Weak. “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for saying anything. It will all be okay.” You sniffled, wiping your nose and fixing your bandana. Your body was still weary from the climb, but you didn’t want to be here with Randall anymore, so you stood up and brushed off your butt. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

13 Days Earlier

Your body hurt, covered in bruises and scrapes, and if you thought about the attack too hard you felt fuzzy and vague inside, but when Buggy let you lay your head on his warm chest, you didn’t feel as bad.

He saved you. Every time you started to feel too bad, you thought about that.

“Why were you out there yourself anyway?” Buggy asked, absently tracing patterns on your back.

“I was asking where you were so I could meet up with you, like you said,” you told him. “And they said you were at the Cove and then I asked for directions and… The guy said it was easy to find, that there was no way I could get lost.”

“Who said that?” Buggy asked.

“I don’t know his name, he heard where I was going and gave me directions and…” You frowned, realizing your mistake.

“I swear, the jokes write themselves with you,” Buggy said. “I wanna say I can’t believe you fell for that, but it’s not surprising. The only thing that’s surprising here is how you managed to live as long as you have.”

You sat up so you could look at him. “How did you find me?”

“I got pissed that you were taking so long so I went out looking for my missing midget. Then I heard a scream and I knew. There’s only one girl in Lafitte who could make such a god awful sound.”

You frowned at him.

“Seriously, I’m shocked that their ears weren’t bleeding when I got there.”

“You’re mean,” you said, dropping your head back onto his chest as it shook with laughter.

“I saved you, didn’t I?” he asked testily.

You sighed. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, raising your head enough to kiss his chest before laying your cheek back down. That seemed to placate him, his fingers returning to tracing aimless patterns on your back.

“I’m surprised pops was ballsy enough to send thugs like that,” Buggy said.

“I don’t think it was him,” you said. “Those guys… I really think they were going to kill me. They mentioned somebody else, but Dad… Dad wouldn’t want somebody else to kill me.”

“Clearly, they were trying to bait me out so he could collect my bounty.”

“Maybe,” you allowed, “It’s just that, they really seemed surprised that you were there.”

“Why would anybody want to hurt you if not to get to me?”

There seemed to be several answers to that, none of them that you much liked, but his tone of voice made you think that it was better not to argue with Buggy.

“You’re right, Captain Buggy,” you told him, holding onto him a little tighter, affection and gratitude and relief swelling in your chest.

“Of course I am. Trust me, babydoll,” Buggy said. “I know exactly how he thinks.”

You remembered the dress you wore. It was heavy and black and unappealing. You wore it because being a shapeless lump was better than risking Dad’s disgust, or inviting any amount of attention. And yet he still looked at you with scorn curling his lip, commenting on how unfeminine it was. You told him that nothing else fit you anymore, which only made him unhappier.

You remembered the door opening, and the woman who stood behind it. Melody was a tall woman. Not tall comparatively—everybody was tall compared to you—but tall. Rather than seeming bulky, her height accentuated the elegance of her lithe limbs and slender build. And she was beautiful. On her wedding day, she had been radiant. Now she merely glowed, but even that was entrancing.

She invited you inside warmly, giving Dad a hug and kiss and accepting the pan of rolls you made for dinner to take to the kitchen. Randall came out to greet you both, inviting you into the sitting room for drinks. Dad had a bottle of whiskey for the occasion, and you poured them all a glass. You weren’t allowed to drink on account of your health.

“You have a lovely home,” Dad told Melody. “Do you think your husband will lend you out for an afternoon so you can help fix up mine? It’s been sorely lacking a feminine touch.”

Melody had the grace to laugh off the comment while giving you an apologetic look, shrugging off the praise. “I can't take all the credit, Randy’s mother has been a great help.”

“Yes, she has,” Randall agreed. “You know, I heard all these horror stories about the wives and mother-in-law’s not getting along, but the two of them are practically inseparable.”

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Melody said. “Somehow, I found the perfect husband and another mother.”

“Do you think you could spare one?” you asked, wanting to make a joke to establish your existence. But the comment came out off-beat and awkward, too sharp to be funny. Everybody looked at you.

Dad was the first to think of a response to break the awkward tension, forcing out a laugh. “You’ll have to forgive her manners, we don’t go out very often.”

The couple also forced laughs and Dad gave you a look. A very stern, very uncomfortable look.

You didn’t say anything after that, only faintly listening as they spoke and joked and enjoyed the company. You were enthralled by the ring on Melody’s beautiful, manicured finger. It sparkled and flashed and winked with every gesture. Her lipstick left a pretty pink imprint on the rim of the glass. Everything about her was so softly and viscerally womanly.

Eventually, she declared that dinner was ready and you were ushered into the dining room.

“Oh my, this is wonderful,” Dad said as he sat down. “Are you sure you're not intending to host a king?”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Melody said.

“Mellie is too humble to brag,” Randall said, “so I'll do it for her. She went to a fancy finishing school in the city before we met. You won't find a finer hostess in all of the East Blue.

“Randall, how in the world did you manage to find this woman?” Dad asked. “You’ll have to invest in a good beating stick to keep the men away from her. Hell, I'm half tempted myself. Perhaps she could teach this daughter of mine some proper manners.”

“Come now, Major. You’ve done a remarkable job. She's a far cry from that scrawny little scamp who was always scurrying around northside.”

Did he mean that to be funny? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a barbed insult, and you weren’t sure which intention hurt worse. Dad laughed at it, but you felt something inside of you wither away.

“I’ll get our supper,” Melody said.

“Would you like help?” you asked, desperate to escape the room.

“If you would be so kind.”

You followed her into the kitchen, which was as warm and inviting as the rest of the house. Perfect. Everything was perfect.

“I just need to prepare the plates,” Melody said, bringing a tray of steaming food to the counter. “Randy said that the Major likes fish, so I made a seafood casserole. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“I won’t be eating,” you told her. “I’m… Because of my health, I can only eat some things.” Her smile froze in place, awkwardly stuck there as she tried to think of something to say to that. “It smells delicious,” you said, hoping to smooth things over.

“Thank you, do you mind preparing the plates while I get the peas?”

“Not at all,” you said, picking up the spatula. The casserole steamed enticingly as you began cutting into it, the scent of creamy seafood washing the kitchen. “What’s a finishing school?” you asked to distract yourself, setting evenly shaped squares on each plate.

“A school that teaches etiquette and manners and such,” Melody told you, setting the bowl of peas on the counter. She frowned. “It seems like a bit of a waste now that I live in a tiny little town like this.” There was a distinct hint of disdain in her voice, a sharp turn from the cheery tone of before.

“Do you want to live somewhere else?” you asked, setting a roll on each plate and then finishing it with a hearty scoop of peas.

“Hopefully. Randall might be convinced to move after his mom passes,” she said casually, oddly cold about a woman she called a second mother. “I don’t want to raise children here.”

“Oh,” you said. As painful as it was to see him around, the idea of Randall completely leaving Barley hurt worse.

“I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older,” Melody said, picking up two of the plates.

“I’m sure I will,” you agreed passively, taking the third. You wondered if she knew you were the same age, or if she even suspected that you had once been so close with her Randy.

“It smells divine,” Randall said as the two of you reentered the dining room. She set her plate and Randall’s and you set Dad’s.

“I hope you like it,” Melody said as you took your chairs. “I tried a new recipe and I may have misread the numbers. I swear, I'm half blind sometimes.” She froze, looking at your covered left eye. “Ah, I didn't mean-”

“It's alright, my dear,” Dad said. “She doesn't mind.”

You smiled, nodding in polite agreement, and then you stared at the table while they ate, thinking about the purpose of going to a dinner where you couldn’t eat and nobody wanted you to talk. You understood why Dad limited your diet to keep you healthy, but not why he was so eager to involve Melody in the conversation. It wasn’t adult conversation, it was fluff. Nothing stories and overly jovial laughter.

So what was it? Why wasn’t he offended by the way her dress hugged her curves, or the way she flirted with Randall, or her drinking liquor or eating. She even swore once, covering her mouth and apologizing demurely after the fact, and he didn’t look even slightly displeased. He called her charming and beautiful.

Why?

When they were done eating, you were eager to get out of the room. Nobody wanted you there anyway.

“I'll take the dishes,” you said, standing up.

“Let me help,” Melody told you.

“Nonsense,” Dad said. You could hear the slur of intoxication in his voice, making it louder, brassy. “She's glad to repay you for this fine meal. Besides, surely you wouldn't deprive an old man of such enchanting company. Genuine ladies are hard to find these days.”

You took the plates to the kitchen and stood there, listening to them talk and laugh. Nobody minded that you weren’t there, you doubted they noticed. Choices were rarely ever made as a result of one event or feeling, you often felt as if you didn’t make choices at all, but the cold, hollow way loneliness gnawed at your heart as you stood alone in that kitchen was undoubtedly one of the many chained dominoes that led to finding yourself tied up in the dark in Captain Buggy’s cabin, swimming in a drugged stupor of sentimentality and self pity.

The next domino of significance fell while you were at the docks. There were two reactions you usually got. Either people were hyper aware of your presence and avoided you at all costs, or you were utterly invisible. On the docks of Barley, you were invisible. Since dad was there so often, you became a familiar fixture, and over time you blended into the scenery. The Major’s poor little daughter. Or, less charitably, his one-eyed freak of a girl.

You were not spying on the sailors, or eavesdropping. You were nearby, and you happened to hear their conversation. Sometimes you did that. You liked hearing about the world outside of Barley.

“It was a weird Jolly Roger though,” one of the men was saying.

“All pirates are weird,” the other countered, obviously bored with the conversation.

“No, this one was really… Here, let me show you.”

You peeked over your shoulder to see what he meant. He was sketching it out on a napkin.

“Yeah, wow, a skull,” his companion said sarcastically.

“No, look, it had a big red nose. Like this.”

“What is that, like a clown?”

“Guess so, I didn’t get a real good look at it in the mist. But it was close. I’ve heard all sortsa weird stories about pirates in this area, and I’ve seen quite a few ships that shouldn’t be there, but you never hear about raids or nothing.”

“Ah, that’s all bunk. They’ve been saying we got pirates hanging northside for years and I’ve never seen any of ‘em.”

Feeling something very hot and anxious bubble up in your chest, you stood up to leave. And, just by happenstance, you glanced at the picture of the ‘weird Jolly Roger’ as you passed by.

And then you went out into the blinding daylight with some giddy feeling that you knew something they didn’t. It wasn’t just that the Jolly Roger was weird, but that the captain who flew that flag was a freak. That’s what Dad called Buggy. The Clown. A freak.

The risk of breaking into Dad’s safe was very, very high. He didn’t know that you knew how to do it, and you hoped that he never would. He kept lots of boring things in there, but it was also the only place you could look at pictures of Mom. Maybe they were too painful to be left out otherwise. He kept something else in there though, which was files of pirates. Retired or not, Dad hated pirates.

You found the wanted poster with a relative amount of ease, stealing it and folding it into the waistband of your leggings, relocking the safe and setting the security so he wouldn’t know you got into it.

That night, you looked at the wanted poster underneath your blanket and you made a list. A mental list, you didn’t really like to write anymore. Pros and cons.

Pros:

The pirate Buggy’s wanted poster. Dad said he was a clown—Buggy the freak. That’s what dad called him. A freak. His didn’t look as scary as other pirate wanted posters you had seen, he looked younger too. Maybe a little scary. You had to fold the paper to avoid looking him in the eye.

People didn’t mess with pirates. Marines did, but that was different. Regular people, the people who lived in Barley, would never treat a pirate like they treated you. Pirates got to talk in all conversations, even if they weren’t wanted. Who was going to stop them?

It was your best chance at getting out of Barley, at getting away from dad and Randall and the cold, awful house. If Randall was leaving soon anyway, what was the point of staying? And you had no delusions about being able to run away by yourself. You wouldn’t know how, you didn’t even know how to book passage on a ship out. And then where would you go? Where would you live? What would you do to get money?

Cons:

The chances of the Buggy Pirates actually being nearby was incredibly low. You could go northside after dad left and check, but, really, what were the odds? Even entertaining the possibility was dangerous, fanciful thinking.

You were too weak to be a pirate, too frail. Too sickly. You refused to think you were crazy, you couldn’t believe that, but dad said you were, and maybe you wouldn’t know if you were crazy.

Captain Buggy probably wouldn’t take on a crew member who had no skills to speak of, no talent or experience other than maintaining a household. Not unless you could think of some really good reasons.

Dad would be alone. Nobody would take care of him when he came home drunk, or make his food, or clean up the house. Nobody would fix his clothes or shave his beard or love him when he missed Mom.

Oddly, out of all the problems you thought of that night, you didn’t think that one of them would be the simple truth that Dad would never, ever let you go. You didn’t think about the time and effort he put into your medical treatments, or the way he kept you cosseted up in the house. You didn’t think about how protective he was, how combative he got whenever you tried to be independent. Now, with a bit of space from the situation, you could recognize those things as odd. But, that night, you were only worried for him.

1 Day Earlier

There had been a fight. A mercenary sniffing around looking for a one-eyed hostage. Although you had your doubts about Dad sending the attackers from the other night, that man definitely was someone Dad sent. Ivo said it was your fault, that you were bringing all of this misfortune on them, that you were cursed from the beginning.

Buggy said you shouldn’t worry about it. He laughed it off.

But you couldn’t.

So you snuck away during dinner. It was a plan you had come up with laying wide awake while Buggy slept soundly next to you. You worried. You really, really worried. There wasn’t much you could do for him, no way to repay the debt you owed him, but maybe you could help. Maybe you could do something useful, something only you could do. Lafitte was as shady as they came, but it still had law enforcement, and you knew they had a Den Den Mushi that could contact Marine lines. After you slipped them a little bribe, of course.

The guy seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. People in Lafitte weren’t really the types that called Marines. He left his office for you, but the door hung open. You wouldn’t have expected privacy anyway. It didn’t matter.

Taking a deep breath, you dialed the number and waited. As soon as you heard it connect, your posture straightened out with a zip of electricity, your heart thundering hard in your chest.

“Daddy?” you asked. “It’s me.” He didn’t say anything at first, and you wondered if the line was dead somehow, or maybe the number was different and it wasn’t him. “Hello?” you asked, confused and nervous that this had all been for nothing.

“Is it really you?” he asked. His voice, even like this, was enough to make your heart ache. The feeling ran counter to your nerves, something painful and mushy and filled with longing. You missed him.

“Yes, daddy. It’s me.”

“Is he there? The pirate—that clown. Is he with you?”

“No, it’s just me. I wanted to talk to you. I…” You weren’t sure what to say. Tears burned in your eye, the conflict of love and fear choking you. It wasn’t the first time you regretted running away, but right then the feeling was more intense than any you had ever felt. It hurt. Physically, it hurt you. “I miss you, daddy.”

“Does he know where you are? Are you safe?” he asked. “If you can, hide. I’ll have men there to rescue you as soon as possible and then I’ll get you home. I’ll murder that bastard for what he’s done. I need you to tell me everything.”

“No, that’s not why I called,” you told him, shaking your head. Nausea swam unsteadily in your stomach. Your hands shook violently enough that holding the mouthpiece took both of them. “I wanted to tell you that I’m safe, I’m fine. I-I love you, daddy. So you don’t—you don’t need to look for me anymore.”

There was a long, long moment of heavy silence.

“Did he tell you to say this? What does he want?”

“Captain Buggy doesn't know I’m calling you, but I need you to know that you don’t have to look for me anymore,” you said. “Please. I just want to… Please stop looking for me. I know you think I’m sick, but I’m-I’m not. I’m fine, I’m happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated. His tone of voice shot ice water all the way down into your gut, every single alarm bell in your head ringing at full volume. A cold sweat broke out on the back of your neck and you looked around, anticipating violence even though you knew he wasn’t actually there.

“He hired me,” you said. “I’m on his crew and-”

“A pirate crew.”

“They’re my-my friends,” you explained, shaking your head. “And Captain Buggy is… He’s not like what you think.”

“He’s a pirate. An egotistical overgrown child with delusions of grandeur. He’s exactly what I think. Whatever he told you, whatever promises he’s made to you, they’re a lie,” Dad said, his voice hard. “He’s using you. He’s taking advantage of your weak mind. Once he’s done enjoying and exploiting the fruits of my labor, he’ll throw you away without a second thought. I imagine he’ll try to ransom you back to me, or perhaps sell you off to the highest bidder. All you mean to him is money and a warm body.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head fast. “No, that’s… No.”

“What else do you think would make you worthy of his attention? I have tried to mold you into a good, useful girl, but you’re sickly and you’re weak. You’re not smart or capable or beautiful. You’re practically a child. You need to be taken care of and given strict direction. The only reason a man would want a girl like you is because you’re easy and because you’re my daughter, don’t you understand? That’s why I’ve tried so hard to protect you. I never should have trusted you to be left on your own.” He sighed. “Help me arrest them and I will do what I can to protect you.”

“What?”

“Your Captain Buggy will be caught, and I’d wager it will happen soon. Give me information about him, and I will ask that you’re spared execution and released into my custody for treatment.”

“I can’t do that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to come home?”

You blinked out a single tear, staring hard at the desk. “A little,” you admitted weakly. “But I… I can’t. I made a promise. I’m sorry, daddy.”

“My sweet girl, you’re not capable of surviving out there without me. You know that you’re sick, you know that you need me. This is the only chance you will have to beg for my forgiveness and help. Give me a reason to speak on your behalf. I’m ordering you to, as your father.”

Your stomach turned painfully. “Daddy, I know that I’m… I don’t want you to be mad at me, really. I never wanted that. I love you. But I made a promise.”

“When that man is caught and tried, you will be prosecuted right along with him. Has he told you of his crimes? He is a killer and a thief.”

“I know.”

“He killed Randall.”

You froze, your heart stopping. For a moment, you could smell the blood and the old wreckage of the crumbling building. You could hear the way he screamed, the sickening sound of the blade getting caught in his neck.

“I know,” you said again, barely audible. “Daddy, I’m begging you to stop trying to find me. Please. I love you, I will love you forever and ever, but I can’t live like that again.”

His facade broke with a noise that barely translated, a growl like sound. You flinched hard, whimpering.

“After everything I did to keep you clean and pure, you turned out just like her,” Dad said, almost like he was ranting to himself. “Perhaps it was inevitable after all. You still belong to me. No matter what you have allowed that man to do to you, he cannot have you. I will find you, no matter what. You are mine.”

With those words hanging like the final, solemn condemnation of an executioner, the line went dead.

Slowly, so slowly, you hung up the mouthpiece.

The man who let you use his Den Den Mushi seemed significantly less amused by you after having heard the interaction. You didn’t know what he might have taken from that conversation. You weren’t sure what you took from it. Disgust? Dread? Fear? Despair? You left the office with a brick of anxiety in your gut, the slow, sinking realization of what you had done setting in. It was all true. Dad was looking for you. He would find you. Calling him like that told him exactly where you were.

The sun was setting on Lafitte, you needed to hurry back to Captain Buggy. You had no idea what you were going to tell him. Overcome with sour nausea at the thought, you stumbled into an alleyway to violently dry heave, gagging on the sour bile that you squeezed out of your empty stomach.

“There you are,” somebody said. You stiffened, turning fast with fresh terror making your heart race. It was not the kidnapping mercenary or Marine you feared, but a familiar round, red face.

“Newt,” you said, relieved.

“Hey there,” he greeted you awkwardly. “The Captain wants you back on the ship.”

“Right,” you said, nodding and wiping your sweaty palms on your thighs, trying to hide the obvious evidence of your guilt. “Lead the way.”

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m real sorry about this.”

The last thing you were aware of was a sharp sense of betrayal, and then the cloying scent of some powdery mist Newt sprayed in front of your face.

The rest of it, sneaking northside with the vague idea that you were going to join the circus and be a pirate, converged with the last time you woke up dazed and confused and tied up.

And just like last time, Captain Buggy was the one to pull you out of the stupor. He opened the door and flicked the light on, blinding you.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he called, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table that was pushed aside, swinging it around so he could sit on it the wrong way with his arms crossed over the back. “Sorry about the,” he gestured around. “I was hoping to get a cage up here, but it was a bit of a rush job. Maybe another time.”

“Captain Buggy, what’s going on?” you asked, the words coming out mushy and heavy. The light was too loud, too violent. Your head ached with each agonizing pound of your heart. You weren’t entirely sure this was real. Maybe it was another memory, maybe you were still lost. Maybe nothing ever was real because you felt awfully disconnected and confused. “Please untie me.”

“Only if you’re good,” Buggy said. “We need to have a little talk first. You’ve been a naughty girl.”

“You… you drugged me.”

He shrugged glibly. “Technically, that was Newt.” Oh, right. You remembered that part.

“Did he tie me up?”

“Oh no, that was me. Couldn’t risk letting you make any more stupid decisions. Although,” he leaned forward to speak conspiratorially, “between you and me, it’s hotter than I thought it would be. If I weren’t so pissed right now things would be going very differently.”

“What?” you asked.

“Exactly, I’m glad you asked, babydoll. Because of your little stunt, we had to leave Lafitte early.”

Stunt. That one took you a moment, but the grief and despair was quick to rush back in right alongside the fear and uncertainty. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head in denial of it. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Do you know why your dad only told a few trusted mercenaries and Marines that his daughter had been kidnapped?” Buggy asked, cutting you off. “Because, unlike you, he’s not a moron. Plastering your name and face on missing posters would be an advertisement to all of his old enemies that he misplaced most of his most valuable assets. If the Surgeon really wanted to save you, he had to do it quietly.”

“You’re… It’s because I called him, right? I just wanted to ask him to stop looking for me,” you tried to explain, although you could hear how cheap that excuse sounded.

“Did you now?” Buggy asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well, dipshit, what you actually did was let him know that you left because you wanted to. Now daddy dearest doesn’t care one bit if his little girl gets roughed up, she’s used goods and he’s got a bigger prize in sight.”

“What prize?”

“Me,” Buggy emphatically answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you,” he pointed at you, “are nothin’ but bait.”

You frowned, your mind lagging behind trying to keep up with what he was saying. The anesthetic still gunked up the insides of your head, made your body all heavy and uncoordinated. “I don’t… understand,” you told him.

“The news is that the Surgeon’s beloved daughter had been kidnapped by the Buggy Pirates. I’ll give it to him, that was bold. He’s trying to get everybody else to do his job so he can come in during the third act and collect my bounty. I can see it now—” Buggy raised his hands as if to showcase a marquee. “Past his prime has-been Marine takes the stage for the final time to stop one of the most infamous pirates in all of the East Blue.” His hands dropped. “Unfortunately, it’s a tragedy. For him. Sure, we’ll have to premiere sooner than I would like, not great, but it’s gonna make waves, babydoll. All this is just free marketing.”

“Is that…”

“Is that what?” Buggy asked.

“Is that why you're mad at me, captain?” you asked, hating the feeling of embarrassed, pained tears pricking the corner of your eye, making your chin wobble.

“Oh no,” Buggy said. “I’m not mad at you for that, sweetheart. I mean, I’m a little mad, but I’m not exactly surprised that you would run off and call home. I’d even say it was convenient if you had waited a day or two. No, I’m worried about you—about your loyalty. I heard your conversation with pops and I’ve gotta say,” Buggy clicked his tongue in disapproval, “yikes.”

“You were spying on me?” you asked. “How? Why?”

“Because I’m not stupid. I knew I couldn’t trust that you’d be honest with me about your conversation with him, and now I see why. Seriously, I did not expect it to be that bad. Shit’s nauseating. I knew you were a little stunted—mentally and physically—but hearing it firsthand... Bleh. You know what you sounded like? Daddy’s little princess. There’s something weird going on there and since you were a virgin when I got you, I can only think that maybe you’re not nearly as dedicated to me as you keep saying you are. That’s what this is, right? You’re playing both sides, waiting to see who comes out on top?”

“No, I’m loyal to you, Captain Buggy,” you said.

He gave you a flat look. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I called him because… Because I thought it would make him stop. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, right. Because you didn’t believe me when I told you that I’d take care of you, right? That’s what you’re saying. But you trusted that daddy would do what you asked if you said it real sweet. Is that it?”

“I wanted to help,” you said, trying very hard not to cry.

“You said you love him, was that supposed to be helpful too?”

“No, that’s… He’s my dad, Captain Buggy.”

“You chose to come to me. You wanted to leave him.”

“He’s still my dad.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Buggy exclaimed, standing up and kicking the chair away. You yelped, curling in on yourself. “You know who takes care of you now?” He demanded loudly. “Captain Buggy.”

“He’s the only family I have.”

“What,” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not enough?”

“No, that’s not-”

“If you think about it, I’m a way better dad to you than he ever was.”

“No, he… it’s different, Captain Buggy,” you said, struggling to get the words out because you couldn’t fight the tears anymore.

“I feed you, clothe you, look after you. I keep you safe and I let you come every single day. What did he do? Beat you? Make you feel like shit?”

“Captain-”

“Why don’t you love me more than him?”

“Please-”

“What more could you possibly expect me to do!? I swear, you’re just like the rest of them. Ungrateful, miserable little—”

“Captain Buggy, please stop yelling!” you cried desperately. “I’m so-so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, really, I’m-” Your words cut off with a broken sob. You couldn’t even wipe your eye or nose, having to hide your face against your knees to clean up some of the mess. “You know I only want you, you ha-aave to know I do. I would do ah-anything for you. I thought if I—if I could help you, then… I’m so so-” You couldn’t finish the apology, your words cracking over one another in your incoherent, blubbering haste to get them out.

He didn’t respond right away, leaving you to sob pathetically in the ensuing silence. Now that you were crying, it was like everything was flooding out. Every memory your brain saw fit to replay, every feeling of despair and sadness and misery and pain and loss and the acute ache of disappointing the only two people in your life who had ever really mattered, all of it gushed out all at once.

“Aw, shit. Hey,” Buggy finally said, crouching down next to you. When you looked up at him, he pulled a face. He didn’t look angry though. “Eee—yikes, that’s… Okay, look. Let’s just take five, okay? Cool down a little bit. I didn’t mean that thing I said before about you being… You know. So, um, can you just… Not do this,” he gestured to your face, “anymore.”

You sniffed, looking up in an attempt to stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice breaking.

“Yeah, I got that part. Okay, here, let’s…” Buggy flicked out his knife and sawed through the ropes around your wrists. You sniffled, trying to mop up your face as soon as you could use your hands. “Jeez,” he said, “that is a lot of snot.”

That just made you sob more, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“No, hey, I don’t even mind,” Buggy said quickly, clearly trying to placate you. “C’mere, you snotty lil brat.” He grabbed you, forcibly pulling you against his shoulder. Without any hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Buggy grunted, rocking back before stabilizing himself and awkwardly patting your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “There, there.”

“I’m ss-oo, so sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice muffled by the way your face was squished against his chest.

“I know,” Buggy said. “This really is a disgusting amount of—you’ve only got one eye that can actually cry, where is this all coming from?”

He settled his arm around you like a hug. Even awkward and not at all comfortable, Buggy was holding you while you cried. When was the last time anyone did that? You couldn’t remember. Every other pair of arms you had sought refuge in had been cold or hard or unwelcoming, but Buggy wasn’t. He was warm and solid and scary and cranky and cruel and funny and handsome and he was all you had and-

“Captain Buggy, I love you,” you said.

“Aw, babydoll,” Buggy cooed. “I know you do.”

“No—oh.” You sniffled, wiping at your face as you pulled away to look at him. “I don’t mean kissing or holding hands love, it’s…” You grabbed at his hand, pulling it up and pressing it against your chest, above your heart. “I love you. Before I talked to him, I guess I still thought that Dad was… That some part of him would—would care about me, but…” You choked down another sob, hating how hard it was to get those words out. “The Surgeon is our enemy, that’s all.”

“Do you realize what that means?” Buggy asked.

“I know,” you said, forcing yourself to harden against the soft part of your heart that shied away from that. “I know that. But I’m a pirate, and he’s a Marine.” You looked up to meet Buggy’s eyes. “And you are my captain, so… So whatever you think is best, Captain Buggy. I trust you.”

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #not sfw #tw.dubcon

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Two: Moths to Flame

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“Have I left you speechless?” Astarion laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.” “I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly. No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

Chapter CW: Minor/Supporting character death.

A/N: Cross-posting from AO3. Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“If I knew you’d be playing the role of dead weight, I would’ve left you for dead on the side of that road!”

If Astarion saved even half his venom for the gnolls tearing down this road, maybe they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.

Nevermind that Naomi and Shadowheart would’ve told Astarion to beat it before he could take another slice with that knife of his. The party’s Most Valuable Cleric isn’t exactly leaping to Naomi’s defense at the moment. As it is, none of them have much of a defense left at all.

Snapping jaws clamp to Shadowheart’s shield and drag, shunting it sideways. Magic flares, bright and scalding, from the half-elf’s hands. A screech shreds the air, the acrid stench of singed fur burning in Naomi’s nose. But the gnolls’ incessant cackling doesn’t falter.

Shadowheart stumbles backward with wet, slapping steps. “A little help, here!” She grunts through gritted teeth.

Karlach heeds her plea, flames leaping to life across her flesh. She swings her axe in a wide arc, but the gnolls jerk backwards and the blade only breezes over air. Their foes slink into a circle around her and Shadowheart, spitting.

Sweat beads across Naomi’s brow. She clutches the silver symbol chained around her neck -- an elven dancer, poised with a sword. Come on. Come on!

Silver flame snaps at the heels of a slavering gnoll. But it snuffs soon after it sparks. Harmless as a sneeze. Slitted eyes lock to hers. Maddening laughter mingles with a low, guttural growl.

“That’s it?!” Astarion’s exasperation hits a new octave. “That’s your contribution?!”

Naomi’s chest heaves. She drops back into cover behind the overturned cart, shoulder brushing Astarion’s bristling one. An arrow hisses past her ear. The ground sizzles where it splatters on impact, bare inches from her feet. Something snaps free beneath her ribs, like a breaking bowstring.

Nevermind all of this cleric shit, actually.

“Fuck it!” She snarls.

“Oh now, you’re throwing in the towel?” Astarion seethes. He nocks another arrow and shifts to shoot. “I was sure you’d set fire to it al--”

For a sparse, sacred second, Astarion’s livid glare gives way to eyes blown wide as moons. They track the quivering mote of magic hanging a breath from his nose as it steers an arrow safely past instead of through him. Even after the flute leaves Naomi’s lips, the hum sticks on her skin like static. His jaw drops slack, anger melted to awe. What started as a shout ends in a whisper only she can hear.

“--ready.”

Noise rushes in again. Karlach rushes the opening and arcs down with her axe. The gnoll cleaves. The weapon wrenches back with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters the dirt in webby strings.

Naomi pivots, forgoing cover and for the flute pressed close. Magic shivers across her lips, like the gentle caress of a lover. She shudders. The tremor builds, barreling down her neck, raising hairs in its wake, running through her ribs, to her feet, until the ground itself is shaking. A storm of claws rains from overhead as the gnolls lunge towards her. Thunder pulses from where she stands, sudden as a snap of fingers.

The gnolls fall, backs slapping sand. Heat lashes near Naomi’s cheek. Karlach swings again and makes a mess of them. The road’s a river of red, vined in viscera.

It’s over. But it isn’t quiet. A chorus of breath that can’t be caught aches in Naomi’s ears. Her heartbeat’s a rampant drum, pounding next to a melody that plays faintly in her mind. She can’t quite grasp the tune. But it lingers all the same, like a bruise she doesn’t remember earning.

She’s earned someone’s ire, apparently. Astarion’s glare comes to life once more with murderous vengeance. “You’re a fucking bard?! This whole time, you-- I fucking knew it!”

By the time they trudge back to camp -- beaten, bloody, but still breathing in spite of it all-- Astarion’s changed his tune.

“Well, well,” he tuts with a devilish gleam in his eye, “someone’s been holding out on us.”

Naomi trains her attention to the task at hand -- dinner. The meat starts to sizzle on its skewer. Not so different from those scarlet eyes searing into the back of her head. But other stares join Astarion’s, morphing into shadows cast long from the firelight. She doesn’t need to turn her cheek to know they’re waiting. All of them, at this point.

One of them isn’t so content to continue doing so.

“So, it seems that while you’re an absolutely abysmal cleric, you’re not a bad bard. I’d say I underestimated you,” Astarion muses dryly, “but given the evidence, I don’t know what other conclusion I could’ve drawn. Whatever else you are, you’re quite a good liar. Aren’t you?”

She spares him a sideways glance to find his arms crossed. Astarion doesn’t wait, he demands. An answer, attention, satisfaction. The rest of their crew beg the same, but they have the decency to do so in blessed silence.

It’s a virtue that eludes her, even as she tries to seek its sanctuary. Naomi rubs her throbbing temples. Still, the ringing in her ears doesn’t stifle. It prickles in the depths of her memory, in a melody both foreign and familiar. Gods, how does it go again?

Astarion clears his throat, expectant.

Naomi sighs tightly. “And I suppose that wounds you, you open, bleeding book.”

His cover hasn’t opened an inch in the weeks since their second meeting. Third, technically, if you count his apparent sighting of her on the nautiloid. But she’s seen enough to be sure it is a cover.

After all, she first saw ‘mister boring magistrate’ fishing in the Flophouse. As far as she could tell from her brief residency there, Fraygo’s housed foreigners, passersby, and people who wanted to rob them. If Astarion’s from the Gate as he says, it leaves little wonder as to what category he’d fall in.

“Ha!” His laughter comes pitchy. “On the contrary, I’m thoroughly entertained. I suppose that’s what a bard’s good for.”

Naomi’s jaw shifts, but before she can parry his backhanded commentary, a gentler voice enters the fray.

“We’ve all got our stories, our secrets, and our reasons for them,” Wyll interjects. “You don’t owe us every one of yours. But we do deserve to know where your loyalties lie.”

Naomi winces. The fire’s spitting, but it somehow stings far less than the warlock with the heart of gold wondering where her heart is at.

Astarion scoffs, hands shifting to his hips. “More importantly, I need to know you’re not holding back when you’re supposed to be watching my back!”

“Why were you?” Shadowheart’s voice cuts in, cool as steel. “Holding back?”

Naomi’s eyes flit to Shadowheart’s scar, so similar to the one Naomi has across her own nose. Her fingers twitch. She buries the urge to reach up to her own face to trace the shape of the scrape. Why were you holding back?

It didn’t end well the last time she played, she could say. Or at least, the last time she sang. She could say, ‘superstition’. But either way, she’d have to say so much more.

“It’s been a while since I played,” she settles on instead. “I grew up in an Eilistraeean temple, in an opening to the Underdark. Before all of this, I hadn’t ventured very far out onto the surface. I was only just starting to. This little adventure has been…strange in so many senses.”

Wyll’s expression softens. “You thought your goddess would protect you.”

Sure. Close enough. Naomi takes the cue, smiles sadly, and nods. Astarion spoils the moment with some strangled sound between a laugh and a snort. Like a dying horse.

A hand cuffs her shoulder. Naomi stiffens for a second before easing again. Gale kneels down beside her, plucking the skewer from between her fingers. An act of mercy, it turns out. She blinks, now noticing the blackened meat that’s been right in front of her and in the flames for far too long.

Oh. Naomi’s lips twitch ruefully. Crispy.

“A bard’s magic is arcane,” Gale says, taking a knife to carve off the worst of the char. “But we’ve all seen you wield divine power. Your goddess must still favor you.”

“Hardly,” Astarion mutters, faint with dwindling interest. He’s drifted halfway back to his tent, though his ears stay perked.

Gale arches a brow. “A great deal, I’d wager. Most deities are not so content to play ‘second fiddle’, so to speak. If a god gifts you powers, they usually expect you’ll use them effectively.”

“I swear I really am better with a fiddle,” Naomi says, sheepish.

“You’d be better at banging pots and pans than with sacred flame,” Shadowheart laughs without malice. “You’re not bad at healing, though.”

“Ouch,” Naomi pans. “I think I might need some.”

The wizard needs a more intellectual peace of mind, it seems. Their banter only deepens Gale’s worry lines.

“Eilistraee is the Dark Dancer,” Naomi tells him. “She’s a goddess of freedom, and music, and, well, dancing. She’d never punish me for this.”

She wouldn’t. Naomi swallows hard. Would she?

“If anything,” she says, shrugging her shoulders back, “she’s probably as relieved as the lot of you look.”

Gale nods, saying nothing, but thinking loud enough for Naomi to hear him without the help of the tadpole. He’s caught on something, like a gear that won’t budge. She teeths her cheek, pondering what has him hung up, when fresh heat prickles her skin.

Her eyes dart to the campfire, but Gale has it neatly tamed. It’s Karlach that’s crackling. The tiefling saunters up behind them.

“So, new you,” Karlach says, eyes alight with mischief, “what other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”

Before she can entertain an answer, Gale gives her one.

“I’m formally usurping you from dinner duties,” he says warmly. “My first command with my newfound authority is for you to regale us with song while I rescue our sustenance.”

Naomi offers an easy smile. “Your wish is my command, oh benevolent one.”

Naomi frees the flute from the fastenings at her belt, lifts the hollowed bone to her lips, and lets her breath flow. Music flows with it, playful and springy. It floods their little clearing in the woods, hushing the sounds of scurrying creatures.

Is this how it goes? No.

It’s not the melody haunting her head, but for a few moments’ time, she doesn’t feel so trapped in there. Vaguely, she feels her comrades watching her again as she plays, but as the music carries through the camp, it carries her mind away from them. Carries her away from tadpoles and gnolls and concerns of certain doom. They’re all fading sparks, drifting into nightfall. To dust, they all return.

Until her wandering, distant gaze meets a vermillion one, and it pins her back to the present. Astarion peers at her over a page he's no longer pretending to read. He’s got that look again, the one he wore when she cast cutting words and cast away the arrow intent on his demise. Such round eyes, softened in surprise. But they narrow, knife-like, a second later, as soon as he sees he’s been seen.

A sly smile curls over Astarion’s lips as her song bends with the smoke from the cookfire. It’s a small victory, maybe, but she’s not sure if it's his or hers.

The song dwindles. Naomi spies another set of glittering eyes that send her stomach plummeting. Lae’zel doesn’t just stare. She’s stabbing Naomi, surely, in some spiritual sense if not a literal one. Must not be keen on bards.

Naomi sets the flute away again. Karlach clears her throat pointedly.

“Erm, don’t take this the wrong way -- not that that wasn’t very lovely! It was! I was just wondering, do you have anymore, you know, fighting tricks?”

Naomi shrugs. “I can cast ‘stab’ as a cantrip.”

“You--”

The bugbear snarls through his teeth.

“--ruined--”

He grips the morningstar like a vice, taking swing to Astarion’s head. Still, snickers spill in a fountain from the elf’s lips. He can’t stem his tide of laughter. Not since they burst into the barn and found the bugbear and the ogre fucking over a haystack.

The flute fucks the bugbear, instead. The morningstar glances, harmless, over and above Astarion’s carefully coiffed curls.

“--my--”

Splinters burst from the board the bugbear breaks instead of the Gale he intended to. The flute screws him again.

“--rutting!”

And again. He’s left panting, winded, and dearly wanting.

“Oh that’s what that was supposed to be?” Naomi huffs. “Sounded like you stubbed a toe.” Her eyes drop to his bare member, still bared for all to see. “It looks like a stubby toe.”

That hit landed. She can see it in the crazed gleam that bulges in his eyes. The morningstar thumps, forgotten, at his furred feet. The bugbear lunges. The flute flies from her fingertips and crunches to ruin between his jaws. He spits out the pieces like loose teeth.

Naomi lets out a deflated groan. “See, this is why I didn’t pack the fucking fiddle.”

“Not so tricksy now!” He laughs darkly, lips parted in a too-wide grin.

Her back smacks boards. Hot, rancid breath clouds her cheek as the bugbear looms, boxing her in. Only for a moment. Naomi spies a tell-tale shimmer behind the bugbear’s back.

“Oh no,” she says with a smirk. “Now I’m much worse.”

Astarion’s knife sinks in. Blood sprays in a warm, wet rain across her neck. The bugbear’s face twists with the blade.

Her lips pucker, and a high, wavering whistle whisks her away. Mist shrouds her shoes as she fades. Naomi emerges again above the fray, poised on the junction of beams crossing beneath the pitched roof. A low woosh chases after her. Astarion unfurls from the fog on the beam’s other end, the soles of his boots glowing briefly blue.

He sets his sights on their larger quarry. Karlach’s kept the ogre at bay, but the beast bears down, relentless with fists and fury. Gale gives them a wide berth, working glittering fractals out of the air with a flourish and a biting incantation. Frost fans from his outstretched palms. His spell paints an ice slick beneath the ogre’s fumbling feet. Down she goes. Naomi braces against the aftershock. Debris patters her shoulders as the whole barn rattles.

Karlach tumbles down, too. The tiefling buckles, hissing as she grips the gash in her arm. Naomi’s whistle keens sweeter. When Karlach draws her hand away again, the wound’s drawn closed.

An arrow flits past her cheek. Naomi turns to see Astarion easing from his stance as the ogre breathes her last. Her one-time lover’s still stubbornly holding onto his, though.

A gargled cry echoes from down below. Naomi watches the wounded bugbear crawling among the scattered straw. Pitiful.

“Hey!” She calls. “Up here!”

His neck cranes, wild eyes burning at the sight of her overhead. Naomi’s tongue lies heavy in her mouth. The words are stones. She casts them with a pair of fingers. Middle ones, raised in turn.

“Up. Yours.”

Green light floods his skull, seeping from his eyes sockets, gushing from his lips. He shudders. And then he wilts, limp and lifeless.

He’s hardly mourned. Astarion’s breathy laughter spurts out of him, unbidden.

“That actually killed him?” He beams, but his eyes are dark and his voice scrapes low. “Oh, you’re an absolute menace.”

The praise rings in her ear. Like temple chimes. Or warning bells. Or, something else. A song, maybe. She can’t pin it down.

Sea spray slaps the cliffside near the coast, but it doesn’t drown the peeling cry of a lute plucked to misery. A shrill chorus comes with it. Naomi grimaces.

“Is that meant to be music?” Lae’zel’s face wrinkles in disgust.

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning,” Naomi mutters, picking her way up the slope.

“Likewise,” Lae’zel grumbles.

“It’s quite agonizing, isn’t it?” Astarion groans.

The culprit comes into view as they crest the hill. She’s a tiefling woman with violet skin and flowing hair decked in motley. A pretty picture of what a bard should be, if she wasn’t wilted over her own instrument.

“It’s-- it’s just stuck,” Naomi sighs, shaking her head.

The tiefling shoots a wary glance her way. “You’re right. But how did you know?”

“Besides the fact that poor lute is crying out for mercy?”

“Ugh. I know I’m butchering it with this stupid song,” the tiefling mutters, burying her head in her hands.

“It’s not stupid. It’s just…stuck,” Naomi says again. Like the sudden lump in Naomi’s throat that thickens, and doesn’t budge. She coughs to clear it, but the pressure remains. “Let’s start with the lyrics.”

But it doesn’t stop there. By sundown, Alfira’s pitched a tent in their camp and taken refuge by the fire. Her music’s mournful, but hopeful. Happy in the sad way of something good that’s happened before. But now, it’s done with.

Gale balks as Naomi reaches to stir the stew. She’s shooed off unceremoniously. Forever banned from dinner duty, it seems.

She paces, purposeless. Fluteless. Fidgeting. Cursed with idle hands. At least a devil’s workshop might put them to use. Sounds productive. This dwelling certainly isn’t.

What use is it, thinking about the Doom again? The tadpole is already in her brain. Doesn’t mean it has to be so incessantly on it.

And of course, their only hope, Halsin the druid, had to find himself in the middle of a goblin fortress. Something, someday should be easy. If it isn’t any of this. Tomorrow, they’ll attempt extraction. Which means tonight, there’s no use being sick about it.

But her ears are still ringing. Someone hands her stew. She sips it halfheartedly, and sets the rest away to cool indefinitely.

“Won’t you share a song of yours?” Alfira says some time later, with a pitying sort of smile.

Naomi sits on the stumps with her, heaving a weighty sigh. “Who’s to say I have any? You said yourself, you haven’t heard of me.”

“You helped me find the words for my music well enough. You’ve got something stuck, too. Don’t you?”

Naomi frowns. Yes, something stuck something awful. A little worm, wreaking havoc in her head. Among other things. Or, maybe the obvious thing is the only thing. Side effects of side-stepping ceremorphosis for too long.

Alfira shifts her lute in her lap. “How about I play, and you sing it if you know it?”

The first chord thrums. Naomi feels it stir beneath her sternum. Feels the shrill ache leave her ears at last. This isn’t what’s stuck. But, maybe it’s part of it. Her eyes slide shut, as if to sleep.

Naomi knows it. She knows the first note catches in her throat before it comes free, but she frees it anyway. She feels the butterfly fear flutter in her gut, and sings, still.

“Bare feet along the coast

Sand swallows the steps we’ve tread before

But you’ve made your mark

Like the silver tide that sunders the shore

Breaking waves and carving cliffs

Yielding to the sweeping sea

In the salt and in the stone

You’ve made your mark on me…”

It’s been a long time, she thinks, as the final verse closes, and silence comes again. It’s been a long time since she sang.

It’s about time. It was all a long time ago. It hasn’t happened since. It doesn’t have to happen again.

And it felt good. She lets out a long breath that drifts like a ghost. Gods, it felt good. She peels her nose to the simmering stars, shoulder blades sinking back and down.

Naomi blinks. She didn’t realize how much time slipped from her, sitting here, as the embers withered down to smoke plumes. She’s the only one that remains to keep the crickets company. Soft snores and sounds of slumber flit across the camp. Naomi stands, stiffness prickling in her legs.

“Quite the view. Isn’t it?”

Not alone, after all. She pivots, pulse kicking only to tumble right back down again.

“Astarion! You’re--”

Lounging. Just a few feet away. He lies with his arms propping his back, head tilted towards the sky, just as hers was. Basking. Moonlight melts in his curls and leaves a sheen on his cheeks. He looks made of marble; sharp edges lining supple muscle and smooth skin.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she finishes lamely.

“My apologies for startling you,” he says, not seeming sorry at all. “You seemed lost in thought. I found myself in much the same state. Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring when we find this druid.” His expression shifts, smirk fading with his brow bending in. “Will he know how to bring the tadpole under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?”

“Honestly? I…” Naomi trails off, toying with the notion. Honesty hasn’t been her strong suit. So far. She takes a stab at it, anyway. “I doubt there’s a simple solution to something that’s so fucked to begin with.”

Astarion cocks his head. “You’re not one for faith, are you? I suppose that makes us kindred spirits. Perhaps that’s the real reason why you couldn’t keep with the cleric routine.”

The barb doesn’t feel like one, said so gently.

“You have a lovely voice, you know,” he says, soft as silk. “I hope this isn’t the only chance I’ll get to hear it.”

It might be. Naomi swallows, but her throat’s grown dry as a desert.

“Have I left you speechless?” He laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.”

“I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly.

No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

“Not quite,” he says with a shake of his head. “I quite like what little of ‘you’ I’ve gotten to see. Better than whatever you were pretending to be. I’d like to see more of the real you, however tomorrow unfolds.”

So that’s what he means. He doesn’t want this to be an end. Naomi tilts her head. Why?

He stands in a lithe motion, fluid as a brushstroke. “And you’d like to see more of what the surface has to offer, I’m sure. I promise it’s not all illithids and imminent doom. There’s beauty here, if you know where to find it.” He drifts a step closer. And then another. “Art. Poetry. Music.”

Every word is crooned in a low timbre with a rasp at the edge. They sound like songs, the way he says them. Brimming with depths unknown and promises just below the surface. Same as his eyes, alight with an agenda she can’t quite clock.

Same as that night at the Flophouse, where she couldn’t shake his stare. What would’ve happened if something else hadn’t almost happened? What would he have done, if she came as close as they are now?

She should know better, now. He’s nearer than he’s ever been, aside from the times they’ve brushed by each other during their brushes with danger. And he’s pretty to listen to. A red flag all on its own. She should know that, at least.

“Alfira had it right, didn’t she?” Astarion says with a lift at the corner of his mouth. “You were stuck. And now you’re…” He closes his fingers to his palms and opens them again, casting them down to his sides. “...free as a bird.”

“And it suits you,” he says, wetting his lips. His gaze dips down and lingers for a moment before it fixes hers again. “This little transformation of yours.”

Noise rips to life in her ears. Naomi’s palms fly to her temples and press. But it doesn’t drown out. Bile burns the back of her throat. She spies a blur, shifting past Astarion’s shoulder.

“What is that?” She pants. “Alfira?”

Her pulse sprints. Panic pours adrenaline in her veins. Alfira’s tent is torn. Ribbons of it billow in the breeze. The stench of rot rolls with it. Naomi recoils. Not again. No.

There’s a shape, in the dark. Wet, like a puddle. Crumpled. Breaking, under gnashing teeth.

And another figure, hunched over the first. Pale. Spindly. Bony.

Astarion doesn’t budge. His brow wrinkles, annoyance cracking his facade. “I don’t hear--”

But the dead do. The creature’s head rolls upright with a sickening snap. The brush comes alive in sudden cacophonous clatter.

Astarion moves when she makes him. Naomi shoves his shoulders with as much force as she can muster. “Astarion -- look out!”

“Well,” Astarion says, with a hint of a smile and reproach in equal measure. “Looks like someone’s finally decided to rejoin the living.”

Naomi finds him with one knee propped, an arm draped over it, and his other leg dangling over the low stonework on the side of the bridge. A creek babbles beneath their feet. His knife glints by the barest light of the slivered moon, flipping once more before he stows it.

“I slept?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

“Like the dead,” he replies, with a smile that’s grown. It doesn’t match the flicker of worry that darts through his eyes, rabbit-quick, and then gone. Quick as Naomi’s heartbeat, still hammering. “Did you dream?”

“Mhm,” Naomi hums, forlorn. “Spiders again.” She saunters over to sit upon the stone beside him, swinging both legs over the side of the wall and letting them hang.

“Hm. Considering our daily dose of the macabre, perhaps that means it was a pleasant one, compared to what it could’ve been.”

The fire snaps behind them, festering in its final death throes. When she glances back at it, over her shoulder, there’s no flames to be seen. Only a flurry of sparks, bursting to fleeting life on a wayward breeze. The campsite’s quiet as the grave without another soul stirring.

In darkest night, she and Astarion can see better than most others in their camp. It used to irk him, getting voluntold for this shift of watch. He prefers to see the sunrise. But then, he decided, all on his own, he’d rather see the stars with her. So, he’d abandoned Gale’s educational company for finer sorts. His words, not hers.

There isn’t much to see, though. Even the moon’s turned her cheek, showing only a glimpse of it. Naomi scans the cliffs, surveying either end of their chokepoint on the road cutting through them. Not many places to run, should they find themselves surrounded. But there’s not many threats they wouldn’t see coming from up here.

Baldur’s Gate is still three sleeps away. Though, Naomi will take the trance for them, instead. If she has any say in it. She hadn’t meant to sleep at all, let alone into the start of her watch.

“I promise no more corpses came calling,” Astarions says with a searching gaze. “No more curses, and no more hungry shadows.”

Naomi’s attention follows the slope of own arm, to her palm, splayed, on the stone. No more spell stains on her skin, either. For now. Still, her gaze lingers, until a paler hand comes to lie over hers.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He murmurs.

Naomi swallows, but finds herself suddenly parched. For water. For words.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, dear,” he sighs, but it’s soft. “I think I can hear it well enough without the worm. You don’t think expunging a centuries-old darkness did the trick.”

Naomi dares a glance upwards. He speaks reassurance in the language of skepticism. But she catches a glimpse of anxiety again, passing like a phantom on his face before fading.

“You don’t think saving a cleric of Selune, rescuing the actual divine daughter of Selune, or wrenching Shadowheart from Shar’s grip exorcized any of your own demons.” He clicks his tongue. “Even though you killed a lot of already dead people.”

Astarion leans in, stoking familiar, feather-light anticipation in her gut. He stops as they come nearly nose-to-nose. Farther than her lips would like, but near enough to read her mind. “You need to be sure.”

“If I can be,” she says, weaker than she means to.

Gooseflesh wakes on her skin, brought to life by Astarion raising only a finger. His nail drags, just sharp enough to be sweet, up the column of her throat, sending a shiver down Naomi’s spine. His index presses beneath her chin, and lifts.

“Then sing for me.”

He didn’t ask for a frail whisper, but it’s all she has left to offer. “What do you want to hear?”

Just one finger, one little motion. And she’d offer him anything. He knows it. He has to know it.

“One of your songs,” he says at once. “The one you sang at Last Light.”

He knows exactly what he wants. Naomi’s chin still rests on his fingertip, but barely so, on a barely-there touch. Only her feet hang loose, but the whole of her feels weightless.

“I sang a lot of songs at Last Light,” she says, clearing the husk in her throat.

A pout wrinkles his perfection. “You know the one.”

A wry smile steals across her face. He knows it, too. Even though she hasn’t sung it since. His finger leaves her chin with a flick as the first note leaves her lips.

“When she laid her gaze on me

What I knew of warmth melted

Into honey-covered and sticky-sweet

Incessant, yearning, burning heat…”

And when she laid her gaze on me

I felt myself undone

For whatever I had been before

Was gone to dust forevermore…”

She sings it in elvish, the way she wrote it. She sings about a girl’s first time in the sun. About a silly little drow who confused freckles for death pox. It starts sweet. Hopeful. And then it aches with a swell.

Astarion draws his dagger, and draws watchful eyes over their surroundings.

“But when I stumbled back to shadowed halls

And gazed upon a looking glass

I found not love, but scalding sin

Written on my very skin…”

Whatever I had been before

Whatever I might have lived to be

Was gone to dust forevermore

The sunlight scorched the life from me...”

I drew my fists and damned her name

But still I bore my grief and shame

That I had traded night for light

That I must forsake her to save my life…”

The song ends where it started: hopeful. Like the way Astarion glances at her now. Wide-eyed, like he’s been wind-blown by wonder, wearing her favorite smile. The points of his fangs poke out from his lips by the barest bit.

He stows his dagger in its sheath again. But the pinprick of nerves stays sharp, needling beneath Naomi’s ribs.

“When dawn broke the dark didn’t waver

Nor did my heartbeat slow

I watched the sun rise from safety in shadows

And dared, again, to dance in the glow…”

And still, I lived, and still, I breathed

And still I bore the scars

But no others knew them by that pain

They said my freckles looked like stars…”

She laid her gaze on me again

And I was never the same

I laid to rest what I had been before

And when I end, I’ll be dust, evermore

But the great between is my domain.”

“Hm,” Astarion hums, fingers still rapping the rhythm on the stone. “Perhaps you were right, my dear. I daresay there’s an undead presence nearby that’s simply insurmountable. I don’t think we should trifle with that level of dark power. Best to cater to his whims.” His eyes flash, brimming with mischief, and the lightest nip of hunger. “Keep him sated, so to speak.”

“Don’t I already?” Naomi shoots him a sideways glance, but her wary eyes are quick to return to the darkened edge of her sightline.

“Mm. You are…”

Stuck in his throat, it seems. Seems a fair revenge, for how he’s made everything beneath her ribs feel like mush with just a look. Made her sing with one wag of a finger. Made her dare to sing again, at all.

“...too adorable,” he huffs with an accompanying eyeroll. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling. Look around,” he says with a wave of his arms. “It’s only me.”

It is. Just the two of them. But it hurts to look at him, just now. Like staring straight at the sun. She can feel the warmth he doesn’t speak, hear the part he doesn’t say. And you know I’d never hurt you. I love you.

Or, she wants to. Hear it. Maybe more than he wants to say it.

Naomi wavers where she sits. “It took a few hours, with A-Alfira--”

“We’re on watch. We’ve got the time, an arsenal of weapons, and alarm spells. And a cleric. A real one, with Selune on our side instead of Shar. Oh, and dare I forget,” he leans a whisper to her ear, the sound as sheer as a negligee, “a very limber bard. You must’ve heard of her.”

Briefly, his hand cups her cheek, kissing sweet, tingling coolness over the warmth flushed there. Naomi arches a brow, but it’s too late. It’s already over, and he already knows he’s found a new trick. And, it’s at least sort of working to quell the disquiet gnawing at her insides.

“I know you don’t believe it yet,” he says, his smile giving way to seriousness. “But I do. You’ve survived so much else. Why not this, too?”

Naomi gives the slightest shake of her head. “Because there is never a simple solution to something that is so fucked to begin with.”

“Well,” he says, chipper regardless, “then it’s a good thing there was absolutely nothing simple about lifting the shadow curse and shooing off all of those other pesky undead. There’s only room for one in the tent.”

He’s right. No more undead show up before the sun does. But still, some haunted song begs remembrance in the back of Naomi’s brain.

A/N: The fic settles into a more linear progression (less time hoppy) going forward from this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, would love to hear if you did! <3 <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfic #midnight chimes #naomi tavriel #my writing

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valsnonsense · 17 days

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Prince Blaise Diamond

"WO-HO-HOAH!!! DIDJA SEE THAT SHIT?! Nearly broke our record on that run!!"

Parents: King Darnell and Guy Diamond

Siblings: Tiny Diamond (Elder Brother)

Age: 19

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Gay

Genre: Funk/Hip-Hop/Pop

Voice Claim: Jason Desrouleaox (Jason Derulo)

First son of King D and Guy Diamond, and heir to the throne of Funk. Wild and loud and a bit of an adrenaline junkie, Blaise may be a bit much compared to the relaxed Funk people, but he's beloved nonetheless.

On top of training to be the next King of Funk, Blaise is a excellent Moth Racer (think dragon racing from HTTYD2). Ever since he saw a racing match as a kid while his family was visiting Trollstopia, he wanted to learn how to rear and race with a moth. So for his tenth birthday, D and Guy got him a moth grub to raise as his own. He named her Stellaluna, and she grew to be one of the FASTEST moths on record. He's very proud.

When he's not practicing for races, Blaise loves to party. He's usually seen out and about the city partying on the streets, at gigs in clubs, or in big stadiums. Man cant sit still for two seconds or he will literally explode.

Speaking of music, Blaise is mainly a funk troll, but does inheret a love of hip-hop and pop from his fathers'. He loves how they can all flow together to make new types of music entirely their own. He's constantly pushing the boundaries of Funk. He also likes to try and incorporate jazz in there, to try and impress a certain pop prince~

Blaise currently resides in Vibe City alongside his family

Fun Facts!

- Blaise will shed his arm and leg fur in the spring and summer. And by shed, I mean it all falls off in one fell swoop, living him nekid like a glitter troll. Scared the SHIT outta his dads when it happened for the first time when he was baby.

- When Stellaluna began to pupate, Blaise thought she was dying. The young boy ran to Guy BAWLING his eyes out, crying that his caterpillar was gonna die. Guy spent about an hour soothing him and having to explain that she was not dying but turning to moth xD

- Since he loves moths, he and Strawberry get along super well. Whenever he and the family visit Trollstopia, he and Strawberry will ramble about bugs for hours

The child of my most questionable crack ship is here! I have issues okay

Blaise went through only one design change, and that was just a profession change really. At first, he was just an athlete, but I after seeing some art about Trolls rearing moths, I had the idea of them riding moths, like dragons from HTTYD. I mean they're certaintly small enough. So boom!

Why is he voiced by Jason Derulo? So that he and Apple can sing Spicy Margarita. No that's it that's literally the only reason

Edit: OH! Blaise's moth is based off the Indian Lily Moth! I'll be drawing him with her soon. Image below the cut xP (TW for bug)

Voice Example: Kiss The Sky (Jason Derulo)

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls oc #trolls prince d x guy diamond #trolls blaise #myart #traditional art #still no ship name for this couple lol #i am open to suggestions #i love this little man #dint be fooled by his smile he is a menace #like most of my ocs lol #can you tell i live my goblin dreams vicariously through them?#Spotify #trolls the depths au

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tenebriskukris · 1 month

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Oshi No Ko Chapter 143 – My Thoughts/Analysis

I knew we were going to be in for a real treat when the previous chapter ended the way it did, and boy howdy did this chapter not disappoint. Spoilers for Oshi No Ko Ch143 below.

The chapter starts off immediately where the last one ends. I said in my previous analysis that we might cut away from Aqua’s reaction where it stands but to see them commit to showing the entire scene like this is a really good sign. Considering how things are framed in the manga, giving this interaction continuous spotlight without cuts is really going to hammer in the importance of this chapter even further.

“I can’t help it. If I don’t hold you tight, I feel like you’ll suddenly disappear, sensei.” Rubyyyyyyyy. You really have to feel for her in this scene. After finding out Goro died when he was the reason she wanted to become an idol in the first place and now that he’s here in front of her you can’t blame her for being so clingy to him.

Ruby asking him to call her Sarina-chan is as precious as always. Aqua trying to brush it off is also quite in-character for him. The man can be insensitive toward other people’s feelings sometimes—mostly because of his own Issues—but his heart’s in the right place. Not to mention his own trauma pushing him in the direction where he thinks he doesn’t deserve anything good happening to him. Trauma can be a bitch like that.

Ah, I’m sure the mental age comment is going to have people riled up again. It might be relatively accurate for Aqua—though not fully, as we’ve already seen the lines between Aqua and Goro blur by his own admission—but Ruby didn’t get the chance to grow this old in her previous life. This is all new to her, whereas for Aqua he’d already had the chance to be this age in the past.

…Aqua owns a pair of glasses? I recall he had a pair in the first few chapters of the manga where he wanted to deceive that one girl but it’s the first time that’s been brought up in awhile. It could be Ichigo’s but we haven’t seen much of him since he reappeared.

“You always listen to my selfish requests no matter what.” I’ve suddenly been attacked by the mental image of Sarina staying up late to watch B-Komachi and Goro telling her to go to sleep and in exchange he’ll record the concert for her to watch later.

He looks so similar to Goro in this scene with him wearing the glasses. Perhaps it’s the way the panel and his hairstyle is drawn, but I’m already reminded of the first chapter of the series. The callbacks…

What did I just say about the callbacks??? Ruby asks Aqua if he’ll marry her in a joking manner and again Aqua brushes her off like in the first chapter. Holy shit.

And Ruby’s using the 18 years old line here. I was wondering when she was going to bring that up. And seeing her being praised by the person she loves…it’s so sweet. We really needed some levity after how dark and depressing the past few chapters were. Depending on the atmosphere of some media an onslaught of darkness can be fine, but Oshi No Ko isn’t solidly grimdark enough to justify it.

Ruby is really piling on the pressure here. To her, those meetings with Goro in the hospital room were her light. They were one of the only things tying her to life and a better future since even her own parents didn’t give her the relief of human interaction. Is it any wonder that she was so attached to someone who treated her with overwhelming care and affection? Sarina wasn’t even his patient and he took time out of his day to be with her and comfort her through her ordeal. Of course she was going to be attached to him and vice versa. Those days might have been the happiest she had ever been.

And of course Aqua’s trauma rears its ugly head. It’s an integral part of his character that I’ve seen so many people discount since the series has started. His entire character is built upon the guilt that he feels for being the reason(in his mind) about why his mother is dead. Am I talking about Ai or Goro’s unnamed mother? Either works—but the fact that Aqua’s been put into a situation where he feels like he’s the reason why someone he loves is dead isn’t going to do him any favors. Any sort of healing he’d done over the years as Goro had suddenly been ripped apart after Ai’s death.

Aqua with his singular white star eye… Oh jeez, he’s really letting down his barriers in front of Ruby now, isn’t he. And I also note that he doesn’t have that black star eye in his other eye. In half the chapter alone Ruby has already done more for him than any of his other love interests. I mean seriously—Kana didn’t even seem to notice Aqua’s entire facade, and Akane couldn’t even partially drag him out of it. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Ruby is the most important person to Aqua if he’s reacting like this to her right now.

And damn—we get to see Aqua’s thoughts on what he’s been doing and how he feels about all of this. This chapter really echoes back some of the things we’d already seen about Aqua and how he thinks, how he reacts and his thoughts on everything that’s happened. The black star eyes return to him as the memories of all the things he’s done come back to him…with the revenge plot looming in the background of this entire interaction.

Ruby’s star eyes returning as she mentions idols is very on-brand for her. Ditto with this entire infodumping setup about idols. Very cute.

“Sensei, you’re my idol.” Aqua is the real Oshi No Ko confirmed. This is only half a joke as I do think that both Ruby and Aqua are what the title of Oshi No Ko is referring to. So I wonder if in the future Aqua will say that Ruby is his idol as a callback to this scene. There’s also the odd brackets in the whole Oshi No Ko title that I know will be relevant due to Word Of God but I’ll table that discussion until it becomes more relevant.

“Thank you for being alive.” It’s quite plausible that this might be the first time he’s heard those words before. Goro’s relationship with his grandparents wasn’t exactly the coziest from what I remember, Ai famously had issues speaking about love and intimacy, and Miyako would always have some sort of distance with the twins even if she was their foster mother. Even Aqua’s other love interests haven't even got that far with him to say those words.

Blind follower, huh. I know that there’s some translation liberties taken with this scene considering the underlying currents behind those English words, but someone made a better explanation of the subtleties that were lost in translation that I’ll link here.

Oh hey it’s a mention of an event that only happened in the Spica novel! That whole thing where Goro ran to get Sarina concert tickets. I was hearing some slop about how people were talking about it being noncanon because of the material in it and because it was written by another author, but with the Oshi No Ko writer’s blessing, so it’s great that we finally have some confirmation on that end.

“Nothing’s changed. You’re still the first love I adore.” Putting aside the whole “first love” bit which I will get to later, it’s also curious to note that his behavior from when he was Goro vs Aqua hasn’t changed from Ruby’s perspective. As the only person to see both Goro and Aqua—aside from Ai, but she’s dead—she can make such a statement and leave it uncontested.

This monologue from Ruby about how she’ll accept everything about Aqua wholeheartedly…it really tugs at some heartstrings. Whatever evils, whatever burdens Aqua will endure, Ruby will accept them all alongside him. It’s a stark contrast to Akane wanting to “save” Aqua from himself. And makes it perhaps doubly hilarious that Akane hasn’t done anything plot relevant to actually stop Aqua’s revenge scheme—hell, she’s even now a part of it.

DID SHE REALLY PULL A TITLE DROP THERE???? AND WITH AQUA SHOWING WHITE STAR EYES AS WELL?????

Oh my god we cut back to the movie Ai and Hikaru kissing. I can’t believe it. On one hand I’m mad because we didn’t get the buildup for it on the set itself and context for it there, but on the other I’m just as satisfied because we finally got to see them set their feelings on the table and FUCKING KISS.

I NEED to know whether or not Aqua has white star eyes after the kiss scene during the movie. His eyes are still closed in the final panel but if they’re still white after it I think that’s game. Both Kana and Akane have had their shot at dragging Aqua back from the abyss and failed but if he still has white star eyes in the next chapter and keeps having them for the long term…then it’s pretty much over.

Thematically, none of the other girls were able to understand Aqua enough to make him shine again. Akane could only understand a fraction of the whole of Aqua, and Kana can only see Aqua’s facade without exerting the effort to understand him deeper.

But I don’t think this is the climax of the entire arc just yet. Things still need to develop for Aqua and Ruby with the movie production further—there are still issues with the script that need to be touched on, Crow Girl’s presence, Hikaru lurking in the background, and Ruby’s former mother still shrouded in darkness. There’s still plenty of things that’ll still need spotlight on—I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re only about a third or so of the arc down, which is already concerning considering it’s already the longest arc we’ve got. But I’m sure I’ll have words to say on that mess and the entire state of the movie arc after it finishes.

#oshi no ko #onk #oshi no ko analysis #onk analysis #my analysis #mine #oshi no ko spoilers #oshi no ko ch143 #i am uber late to the party for this one but better late than never

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flyingcoffeemugs2 · 2 months

Text

"Flesh &/ +meat" Chapter 2 ROUGH Excerpt

For the first half of Jamie's life, his Dad had only existed in absence, a chalk drawing on the side walk for a body removed from a crime scene. Blank space. Only years later did he realize that the crime scene was actually his own body and the missing man wasn't the victim but the perp who had a permanent kind of absolution, despite how many finger prints he left for dusting evidence.

That's hindsight for you, always too clear and always too late.

Maybe there was some shame in admitting it, even if it was only to himself, but the idea of his Dad was far better than what reality could ever offer. Loving the absence was easy, a pedestal occupied by the best version of a man who nowadays barely scrapped the surface of the bare minimum requirements. Maybe a whole other man altogether.

When it comes to his dad’s temperament, he’s developed a bottle-type system to brace himself for the version of the man that’s on chronic rotation: a full bottle was a warning, an empty bottle was an allegory and a broken one was potentially incriminating evidence. Glass bottles spanning the color spectrum with different labels, cursive or bold lettering lining on top cabinets and store shelves, dictating the trajectory of his life with the kind of authority they had no right in having.

The last time they were inside the same walls, potentially incriminating evidence was mere seconds away from turning into five o’clock news. The only thing that separated them was three steps of cemented stairs, a suburban road with lamps going down in rows, moths dying by the second as they landed on heated glass. Breath rushing his lungs as the cut over his brow dripped blood into his eye, a new brand of terror crushing him with it’s inevitable gravity as he forced himself to run faster.

But there’s no bottle over cell lines, phone towers carrying their communication and leaving him blind as to who to brace for this time. No visual aid. A different kind of blank space.

With each breath he takes, another layer of frost coats his insides and leaves on the next exhale. The cold air bites at his bare fingers in the Austin Martin and he has half a mind to untuck his fist from his jersey, turn on the car, and put on the heat.

“You there, lad?” Dad’s voice pulls him back into his body, a stretched-out rubber band snapping back into place.

“What?” He’s sure they were having a conversation at some point but for the life of him he can’t latch onto the auditory information coming his way.

“Asked if you’d seen Kent on Sky Sport yet?”

Hypothetically, if your Dad doesn’t hit you more than when he does hit you when you’re around each other, is the reality of the situation that your dad doesn’t hit you? Quantifiably, isn’t something that’s higher in frequency more cemented in reality? What’s the tipping scale in a scenario like that? Just thoughts, you know?

He’s spacing out, eyes focusing and blurring on his dashboard as he tries to figure out why he even picked up the phone in the first place, why he dialed Dad when he swore to himself he never would. Swore to his Dad he never would.

Liar, he hisses to himself internally, bitter vitriol locking his joints, nausea rearing it’s head in his belly.

“What do you want then?”, he blurts out the question gracelessly before he can help himself, words tumbling out, clumsy on his tongue, jumbled all together. Jamie can feel his muscles locking up.

“What?”

“You asked me to call, and you know. I said when we was talking last time I don’t want to speak to you no more”

“Aye lad, let dead dogs stay dead. And that dog’s been dead half a year now, innit? It’s bare bones now. Don’t matter no more.” Dad says. Bares bones like it means nothing, a carcass picked apart and abandoned, vultures pecking at their recent roadkill. Like anything that happens between them holds the same weight of significance and insignificance simultaneously.

Jamie hates his dad sometimes.

He hates that he wishes he hated him more and loved him less.

During one of London’s balmier days and Jamie’s less than stellar nights, he had driven Keeley mad to the point where she was actually crossed with him. So he’d apologized, then pestered her to admit she loved him.

Tell me you love me, go on!

Keeley didn’t.

“Jamie, you wouldn’t know what to do with love if it smacked you across your face”

And that had shut him up, hadn’t it? She was right, was the thing. Love smacked Jamie across the face. Frequently. He never knew what to do about it but take it. Take his Dad’s love in all its shit and gold, that wonderful and hideous package deal.

Fucking monstrous amalgamation of a thing.

Fuck love, anyway.

Loving his Dad had always been a daily exercise in grinding teeth, and here he is again, wearing down the enamel on his molars.

“So, what do you want then?”

“A crime for a father to call his son?”

“Anything can be a crime when you’re involved in it, Da”

“Ay, cheeky brat ain’t you? Told you I saw you play. That’s good. I’m happy, aint I? You’re back where you should be”

Thought where you thought I should be was in Manchester.

“Right. ‘Preciate it”

“Seen Kent’s delivery then?”

“The Sky Sports pundit circle wank?”

“Aye. Talking bollocks. He shouldn’t speak about you that way”

You speak about me that way, he thinks and then wisely holds his tongue.

“That why you called then?”

“No…listen. Got myself sorted out”

“Did you now?”

“Don’t be disrespectful like that, lad. It’s been doing me good. Been getting my nose clean before I phoned ya.”

“How long it’s been then?”

“Since you got all emotional and said we was done”

“Good. Yeah, that’s good then.”

“Your auntie Julie has been putting me up in a center in London. Good bird, your aunt”

“Not in Manchester then?”

“No. The thing about addiction they’re saying is you have to get a new group of friends when you’re trying to get clean”

“Yeah, good, good then. That’s good for you”

“Was calling to ask of you to come see me”

“Don’t think that’s the best idea, Da”

“You too good to see your old man now?”

“No,” he breathes out “That’s not what I’m saying”

“Then what’s the problem? Told you to let dead dogs stay dead. I’m clean ain’t I?”

You almost fucking killed me, he thinks. It’s a sobering thought. Grounding.

“Listen, I ain’t promising nothing”

“You being precious about your fickle feelings again? Said I was clean. What, you want me to say it a third time now?”

“It can’t be like last time”

“Sure”

“Dad, I’m dead serious. We’re done done if it’s like last time.”

“It won’t be lad. Swear down. Just think about it”

“I’m not promising nothing”

“Right, right. I’ll do the promising then”

“You have to mean it. I’m serious Da”

“I’ll mean it”

I promise, I swear I ain’t ever gonna be anything like him, lad

Liar

“Right”

“Jamie” and that catches him off guard “I promise you. It’s gonna be different this time”

“Ok, yeah” he breathes out. There’s nothing more he wants to say as the traitorous feeling of hope slowly warms his insides. “I need to go Dad.”

“Lad, I promise you”

“Yeah, listen, I have a post match debrief with the team” he lies. He doesn’t want to give his Dad anything more than he already has today. He’s given him enough as is. “I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, love you lad”

“Cheers”

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #afc richmond #fanfic #fanfic excerpt #james tartt sr #listen I know this is MORE than a long time coming but crazy thing #i ended up in fight camp and got busy soooooo here you go before i'm done

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pan-fried-autism · 9 months

Text

Lab Accident - Chapter 2

Characters: Swap!Leonid (@bowlerhatwearer), Mothgo (@sallychaosaura), The Swap Harris Family

Summary: Leonid starts properly investigating Ms. Mewtons dissappearance.

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: smoking, implied child death

14 was the number displayed on the house.

Leonid, in his running Prius, stared out at the house before nodding sagely to himself.

14 [STREET NAME], he thought. This is the place.

He put the car into park and exited through the driver side door. He walked up to the house, taking in the scenery.

The house was a one story, and kind of small. The siding was painted a dark olive green, and the lawn seemed to be freshly mowed. Not completely mowed, though— there were still patches of over grown grass strewn throughout.

In the driveway was a grey VW Beetle. There was a dent by the front bumper, two strange dents on the top of the car above the driver side door, a small crack on the left rear view window, and— a little worryingly— a row of claw marks on the hood.

He walked up the small pathway connecting the front door to the driveway, passing by a large window. He took a look in, seeing counters, a sink, some dirty dishes, and a small view of a stove top— definitely the kitchen. Further into the house, he could see a table with four chairs.

Approaching the front door, Leonid noticed the small window it had. He couldn’t see through, though. Too dusty.

Finally, he knocked.

A voice rang from inside the house. “One moment!”

The voice was… a little odd sounding. He couldn’t put his finger on why.

Somewhat loud footsteps echoed up to the door, where it swung open…

… and a sight to behold stood staring down at him.

A very tall robot, at LEAST 7 feet, was cramped down in the doorway. The head was like a TV, only orange, and there were two things on the sides of her head with heart designs on them. She has antenna, too. Moths eyes were heterochromatic, one being orange and the other blue.

Mang was wearing a purple sweater, a dark purple skirt, and darker purple pants. She also had… wings? on her back? They were strange— they didn’t look metallic at all. They looked real.

One thing Leonid knew was real, though, was the tired expression on the robots face.

Leonid knew he was staring, gawking even, but... what else was he supposed to do? He'd never seen someone such as her before.

He managed to collect himself, though, and stood firmly before speaking.

"Good morning."

The robot stared at him, suspicion breaking through her tired haze.

"Good morning. Who are you?" moth replied.

Nikolai reached into his pocket and brought out his badge. "Leonid Aksakov, private investigator. I'd like to ask you some questions."

The tired expression turned into a sad one.

"... This is about Gremmy, isn't it?"

"Yes, if you're referring to Grementine Mewton."

"I am. I thought the police investigation already ended?"

"Well, an anonymous client claiming to be her friend has hired me."

Mothgo got a thoughtful expression on her face. She shook it off after a second and stepped to the side. "Come in."

And so he did.

The walls of the living room and dining room were a light blue in colour. Facing Leonid was a hallway, and on the left side of its entryway was a bookcase. To the left of that bookcase, against a different wall, was a faded yellow armchair with its own end table and lamp. Looking further to the other wall, he saw what he guessed was the heart of the living room-- a TV on a long stand, a coffee table, and an off white couch. All on a diagonal angle, for whatever reason. There was a small wooden cabinet on the ground, too.

Looking to his right, he saw the dining room table again. It was a bit small, only able to have four chairs.

One chair seemed pretty dusty.

The house, though nice, had a strange feeling about it. Like something was deeply wrong, and it couldn't comprehend what it was.

Mothgo sat down on the couch, and Leonid followed suit. He produced a small notepad and pencil from one of the pockets of his jacket.

"Before we begin, Miss, I understand there's another robot that lives here, too." he spoke.

"Yeah, M0u5e. She's over with the lady who rescued her all those months ago." she replied.

Leonid wrote that down.

"Okay, Ms... Mothgo. I have a few questions for you regarding Ms. Mewtons disappearance. I imagine you may have heard some of them before."

Mothgo shifted a bit in spot.

"... Maybe. But I'll answer your questions."

Leo nodded, and flipped a few pages back. He cleared his throat before he began.

"What was Ms. Mewton like?"

Mothgo looked down at her hands, a pained smile forming on mangs face.

"Gremmy is... She can be cold at first, but she can be really nice once she warms up! She's very kind and sweet! She took me in when I needed help."

Leonid wrote as she spoke. He began again.

"What is your relationship to, or with her?"

"She's my best friend! I care for her very much! I..." her hands shook a little. "I've been trying to fly around to look for her, but I also have to care for M0u5e and the house, and the job I took up when she di-disappeared... It-It's so much to do at once, and I'm just one person..."

"What job did you take up?" he asked, giving her a sympathetic look.

"It's at the- the pet store she worked at. I'm the mascot and security guard."

"Mm hmm."

He wrote this down as well.

"When did you see her last?"

"I last saw Grem on November 16, 2027 at noon. That's when she and M0u5e left."

Scribble scribble scribble.

"Did you know of her weekend plans?"

"Yes! She and M0u5e were going to the northern region to see her friend Nikolai.--" (A sudden cold feeling went through Leonids veins.) "I wanted to come, but couldn't because my wings don't do well with the cold. I... I wish I had just toughed it out. Maybe if I did (sniff)... she would still be here..."

Despite the horrible feeling Leonid had, he still reached over and gently patted Mothgo on the shoulder.

"None of this is your fault, Ms. Mothgo. Nobody would have expected her to go missing."

A tear fell from moths eye... screen eye thing, which she wiped away.

"Thank- thank you." she wavered out.

Leonid returned to writing.

"Now, finally; Do you know anybody who may wish ill on her?"

Mothgos demeanor changed in an instant. The sad expression upon mangs face/screen changed to one of contempt and anger.

"Yeah. A few people. One in particular." she spat out.

"His name is Jackson Harris, he's Grem's ex-boyfriend. He's fucking disgusting. He bothers Grem like every fucking week! She broke up with him in high school!... HIGH SCHOOL!! Talk about stalker behaviour! She made it clear she's not interested, but he still bothers her! If anyone did something with my Gremmy, it's him."

Leonid took many notes, making sure to put simple dashes for every time Mothgo swore. The amount of vitriol she held for Harris was almost... scary.

It gave him a bit of a lead, at least. That's twice somebody mentioned a Jack or Jackson in negative relation to Ms. Mewton.

He closed his notepad and put it back in his jacket as he stood up.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Mothgo. Would you happen to know where he lives?" he inquired.

"Yeah, at least Grem did. She has it written down in case she ever needed to call the police."

Leonid couldn't help but grimace slightly as Mothgo speedwalked to the kitchen, returning after a second with a small slip of paper.

Looking over it thoroughly, he nodded once more and headed to the front door.

"Thank you again, Ms. Mothgo."

"Of course, Mr. Aksakov."

Leonid stepped through the doorway... before stopping a moment.

"Oh, there's just one more thing."

Leo hurried to his car, went through a few things, and returned to the house after a minute, an envelope in hand.

"Here." he handed it to the hybrid robot.

Mothgo carefully opened the envelope flap...

and found enclosed some money.

"You sound like you're in need of help. I hope this makes this easier, if only a little, and if only for a while."

Mothgo looked up and gave him a soft smile.

"Thanks!" she chirped at him.

Leonid nodded and turned around, but stopped just short of the doorway when he heard something from behind him.

"... Detective?"

He turned around, promptly being met with a pained expression. Mothgo spoke one more time to him.

"Please, find my friend. Please."

Leonid gave her a quick nod before leaving.

He went to his car and hopped in, starting it up before driving away. Thoughts swirled in his head.

That's two people who deeply cared for Grementine... three, perhaps, if I could talk to her assistant. Her friend seemed horribly stressed with her gone.

... I hope she's okay. I hope they'll both be okay.

.............

Detective Aksakov parked his car. He got out, facing the house before him.

It was a two-story row house in a neighbourhood downtown. The white coat of paint on the siding seemed fresh, as did the blue paint on the gable of the roof. In the driveway was an orange Toyota brand minivan. There was a kiddy pool in the small front lawn as well, for whatever reason.

Leonid walked up to the front door, having to tread on the freshly mowed lawn, seeing as there was no pathway.

He approached the door, knocking swiftly. From inside, he could hear the very faint sound of a baby fussing, quickly drowned out by footsteps.

Alright, Mr. Harris, he thought. Let's see what you're li--

A woman answered the door.

She had the facial shape and ears of a hare, but not only did her nose more closely resemble that of some kind of ungulate, she had antlers sticking out of her head. Her fingers ended in small hooves, too. In her arms was a very small boy, looking to have just reached toddler age. He had tiny little horn buds on his head, longish ears, digitigrade legs, hooves, and big eyes. Big eyes that never looked away from Leo.

He could hear the baby fussing, too.

This took Leo off his guard for but a brief moment, though he very quickly tried to collect himself.

"Does Jake- (damnit) does Jack Harris live here?" he asked awkwardly.

The woman cocked her head at him.

"Who are ya?" she inquired back at him in a thick Midwest accident.

Leonid took out his badge once more.

"Leonid Aksakov, private investigator."

"Ah. Yer looking for my cousin."

"Right. Does he live here?"

"Nope. He moved out a few months ago, and my uncle John-- his dad-- let me and my crew move in. Good thing, too, we needed the space. He had a lot of weird..." she trailed off as she looked at the toddler in her arms. "... stuff in his house, for whatever reason."

Leo sighed a bit.

"Ah... do you know where he moved?"

"Nope. Dunno."

Oh.

"Well... can you maybe give me the address of his father?"

"Oh, sure! He and Aunt Tu live up in Hometon, in the Upper Hills section. 3 [STREET NAME] to be exact."

"Alright, thank you, Ms..."

"Paula Lopez."

"Ms. Lopez. One more thing, what do you mean by 'weird stuff?'"

"Lotta weird pictures of some chick. Threw em all out, they creeped the.... the uh, devil out of me. Now if you excuse me, one of my little ankle-biters needs some TLC. Bye, now!"

The little one in her arms waved at him as she closed the door.

Leo walked back to his car, thinking about Ms. Lopez's comments.

He had a lot of weird stuff... lotta weird pictures of some chick.

It gave him a sour feeling in his gut.

Maybe a little trip out of town may help him. A quick google search too-- hes seen the name Harris in clothing stores before. Who knows?

...............

Geez, I can see why the area is called Upper Hills, Leonid thought as he drove up a road surrounded by large, fancy houses.

He was almost amazed at some of the things he saw-- fountains in the front yard, gated blocking the driveway, a small tennis court in front of one particularly grand house. It would be truly amazing if Leonid didn't feel looked down just by driving through.

Eventually, though, he pulled up to the Harris house.

Well... a little too big to be just a house. Thought only two stories, the house AND property were quite large. He could even see a second floor balcony! Didn't feel big enough to be a mansion though... he'd just stick with manor for now.

Water sprinkled lined the expansive front lawn, going off back and forth while Leo walked up the cobblestone path to the front door. A few small yet intricate marble fountains sat in front of the railing of the front porch, with its swinging bench and everything.

As he did, he took out a cigarette.

The driveway was something to write home about too-- there were four whole cars there. A very nice looking minivan, a Honda Civic, a blue Tesla Model Y, and to top it all of, a 2009 Honda S2000 CR. Leo had heard about those cars-- they cost nearly a quarter of a million dollars nowadays,

He didn't like it. He lit the cigarette in his hands as fast as he could.

He walked up the brick steps to the porch, taking note of the silver knocker on the door and the large window it was in the middle of. He couldn't exactly see through it, though-- the windows were stained glass.

Taking a puff from his cigarette, he took the knocker and gave it a good wringing, listening to the strangely clean sounding knock it produced.

He heard the footsteps approaching unusually fast. Perhaps Mr. Harris was nearby when he knocked. Ah, well, at least he didn't have to wait so long for hi--

The door opened. This time, he was not met by an adult.

Rather, a child. A young girl to be exact. She seemed to be a hare of some kind. She wore a long sleeved striped shirt and a denim skirt, and she looked up at Leo with her inquisitive eyes.

Leonid looked at the child with what he guess was a "deer in the headlights" look, not saying anything for a moment. He tried to compose himself once more, exhaling the cigarette smoke away from her direction before clearing his throat.

"Hello... are you John Harris?"

He had not composed himself properly.

The girl blinked at him. "Which John Harris? We have two." she replied.

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose, damning his stupid question before he took a breath and spoke again.

"... Whichever of the two is the father of John Harris." he explained, promptly taking another drag off his smoke.

This would prove to be a mistake when the girl was silent for a moment before turning around and calling out,

"DAD! There's a fancy man at the door and he wants you!"

Leonid nearly choked on the cigarette and went into a coughing fit while the girl scampered away. Luckily, it ended before another person appeared at the door.

He looked to be somewhere in his early 50s, and wore a fleece vest over a long sleeve button up shirt. He wore black slacks and loafers, and had a very expensive looking watch on his wrist. Unusual for a warm day in May.

The man cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm John Harris Sr, the one you seek." he introduced himself, a haughty tone coating every inch of his voice. "What is your business?"

Leonid, already regretting coming here, took out his badge yet again.

"Leonid Aksakov, Private Investigator. I'm looking for your son... Jack Harris." he announced.

John put his thumb and finger up to his chin, stroking a little.

"A detective, are we?" the hare responded.

"... Well, I might as well let you in, sir. I'll have to ask that you cigarette, though."

"Of course, Mr. Harris."

The detective looked around, but found no ashtray. He looked up at John awkwardly, murmuring a little before coughing into his fist.

"Any place where I can extinguish it?" he muttered sheepishly.

John waved his hand dismissively.

"Just stamp it out on the doorstep. Our groundskeeper can take care of it later." With that, he walked back into the manor.

This guy had too much money, Leonid thought, though out loud he simply said "Alright, sir." He threw the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out on the ground, before wiping his feet on their welcome mat and walking inside.

The walls were a creamy yellow colour with a dark oak trim, and a fancy hallway table with pictures and ceramic figurines. Throughout the entryway and hallway, paintings and photographs were hung upon the wall. There was an entryway to some sort of red room with the same trim.

Something told him they were rich.

As Leonid hung up his coat on the standing rack, John turned to him with a somewhat smug look on his face.

"Now, as you are a guest in our manor, we need to make you feel welcome. Tell me, do you like biscuits?"

Snob. Of course he offers me biscuits. He'll probably give me a cup of tea, too.

"Of course, that is a very generous and kind offer, Mr. Harris." Leonid replied out loud.

John clapped his hands happily.

"Perfect! I'll get my wife to put on some biscuits and tea for us, you go to the sitting room and I'll gather the family."

John darted down a hallway and into a doorway, giving Leonid some space to sigh and rant quietly to himself.

"Of course he asks his wife, why am I not surprised that Mr. Can't-Even-Tie-His-Shoes-By-Himself Harris orders his wife to do that for him?"

He started toward the sitting room, still ranting.

"... And NOW I get to meet his family. What is this, The Sound Of Music??? Well... at least maybe I get to find out more about Jack through this. Just act polite and friendly, and ask the right questions... then you're out of here. Hopefully that is soon."

Suddenly, Leo heard John talking to someone down the hall. The voice sounded like that of a young woman.

"Julie, get up from your chair! We have an important guest over."

"Dad, I'm working on an essay!"

"It can wait, Juliana. We must be polite."

"Ugh, FINE."

He couldn't help but sigh again.

"This is why I prefer when people come to my office, instead of doing field work... especially when it's guys like him..." he muttered.

His hand unconsciously reached for a cigarette. It stopped once he realized.

He already wanted to leave.

.....

A few minutes later, Leonid was sat in the sitting room.

The wood trim of the walls was now white in color, and the paint was a bright inviting yellow. He was sat on a white couch with a floral print. In front of him was a white coffee table covered in a silken tablecloth, and across from him in a chair was Mr. Harris.

There were other things too, of course-- on the wall to his left was a big white mantle-place holding many photographs and trinkets, along with a childs drawing taped to it. Next to that was a grandfather clock. On the wall to his left was a loveseat similar to the couch, and above that was a large amount of portraits.

He found his interest drawn to these. At the very top was a wedding photo and a large family photo. Below these was a series of photos forming a rectangular shape. The frames were interesting-- they contained two pictures instead of one. On the left side of each frame was a photo of a leveret, and on the right of each was what he guessed was a recent picture of each leveret. One only had a photo of the leveret for some reason. All in all, there were 12 people depicted. Next to the frame in the top right corner was a 13th picture of a leveret, though this one was lop-eared and french gray in fur colour.

Leonid's best guess was that these were his children. Definitely shocking to see, at first, but he figured he must have wanted a large, influential family. Still didn't make it any less surprising.

Other people were in the room, too.

To the left in front of the mantle-place was a miserable young woman slumped in a chair. He guessed she was the one John had been talking down to— he knew the look of someone who had been talked down to by their father. She kept shooting dirty looks at John, who either didn't notice or didn't care.

In an armchair next to John was a young man in a Supreme shirt typing on his phone.

Leaning against the right wall was a teenage boy in what he guessed was a basketball shirt and sports shorts. From the looks of it, he'd been practicing, as evidence by the Gatorade he was nursing.

On the loveseat was the young girl from before, though this time she was joined by a younger boy. He had a Bluey shirt on, and shorts held up by suspenders.

Both children were staring at him. He couldn't help but feel uneased.

He waved to them politely, unsure of what to do about them. Maybe John Sr. was gonna introduce them? Again, he wasn't sure. He didn't even know if he should say anything.

Luckily the problem solved itself when the little girl asked, "Are you a detective? Like on the TV?"

Leo breathed a sigh of relief and formulated a response.

"Well... yes, in a way... but my job is not as exciting as the television makes it appear to be. It involves a lot more paperwork."

The two children gave him a look of surprise and happiness, clearly in awe regardless of what he said.

"That's so cool..." the little boy marveled.

Leonid returned with a polite smile.

John piped up all of a sudden.

"I imagine you're wondering who the young people here are. They're my children, of course!"

"Oh, I see." Leo calmly replied, though he thought to himself 'As if I would have never guessed that. You literally told me i was going to meet them.' "You must be very proud of them."

John pointed at the people around Leonid as he replied, starting with the young woman. "This is Juliana, Johnathan (named for myself), Jacob, Jillian, and little Joey.

"They aren't all of my children, of course. You can see the others though, right above Jill and Joey."

Saying this, he gestured to the many photos Leo had seen earlier.

So I was right.

"Ah, thirteen wonderful children, I see!"

"Oh, just 12. The grey one is my grandson."

Leonid nodded in understanding.

"I see you have quite the large family... and that the branches of your tree have grown wide; but I should not expect anything else. I have, after all, heard about the famous Harris family. How an ancestor of yours founded a shoe factory that continues to this very day... together with the manufacturing and distribution of socks, a branch that was added later."

John sat up might and proud, snootier than anything.

"Yes, my great-grandfather Peter. I'm the current owner of the show factory, and will pass it down to my oldest and his family. I have many children with their own pursuits in success. Most of which have succeeded."

Jill, the little girl, butted in all of a sudden.

"Can I do the name thing, Dad?"

John Sr. smiled at her. "Only if our guest wants to see."

Both looked at him expectantly.

Leonid hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about, but decided to reply with an "Oh, yes." It probably wouldn't be good to be rude to the young daughter of a man who makes enough money to look down at you simply by giving you food.

Cheerfully, Jill stood up on the love seat and started pointing at the photos, reciting what must have been an oft said phrase.

"Jack, Janet, James, Julie, Jenny Jared and Johnny, Jake and Jorge, Jill-- that's me, Judie-- she was my twin, and Joey!"

Leonid felt himself flinching internally at the was, and couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. He didn't want the family to see this, though, so he smiled politely and nodded.

"Wonderful! All of them are great names."

He turned to John Sr. "I assume, Mr. Harris, that it was you who has chosen the names of your children... and/or had a say in it?"

"Well, yes, most of them. I did wish for them all to start with J, but of course my wife had a say in the matter."

Leonid nodded again, looking back at the pictures, whispering "What a fascinating family..."

His volume returned to normal as he spoke to John again.

"Mr. Harris," he began, "As you have already guessed, I have come for this visit for a specific reason: It is about your oldest son, who is Jack I presume? I will leave it up to you if you prefer your children remain here. Or if we should talk in private."

"I agree. I think it would be best if—“

John was interrupted by a woman entering the room.

She seemed to be the same age as John Sr, and wore a white turtleneck sweater with a knee-length chocolate brown skirt-- 'perhaps they aren't aware of the concept of heat?' Leo thought briefly-- and was a carrying a tray with biscuits, teacups, and a teapot.

She gave Leonid a friendly smile, greeting him with “Hello, sir.”

Leonid gave a smile back.

“Greetings! You are Mrs. Harris, I presume? I would like to thank you for your hospitality, and your biscuits and tea.”

She nodded, setting the tray down on the coffee table. The biscuits seemed to be half dipped in chocolate, and were in funny little oblong shapes. Jill and Joey immediately went for them.

“Yes, that’s me.” She confirmed. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it next to John Sr, sitting down as he spoke to her.

“Not at all, my flame. Detective Aksakov has some questions for us regarding Jackson.” he crooned, putting his arm around her.

Petunia smiled and gave him a kiss, before pouring up some tea. She gave teacups to herself, Julie, John Sr, John Jr, and Leonid.

Leonid gave her a polite nod as he took a sip of the tea. It tasted something like white tea, but with a strange yet nice floral finish.

“The tea tastes wonderful… thank you. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Harris; due to a current investigation, I thought that Jack… Jackson could perhaps help me with some questions.

“I understand that you might be curious as to what this investigation is about, but I am afraid that I am not allowed to talk about it. My apologies; but—“ He looked at John Sr.— “You probably understand how it is with business and NDAs. In my field, it is like this as well. I wanted to talk to your son, but I was unfortunately unable to reach him. Given that you, as his parents, are his closest relatives, I thought you might perhaps know how I could reach him.”

John Sr nodded, replying “I understand perfectly. He’s QUITE far away, sir.”

Leonid raised an eyebrow curiously.

He sat up a bit, clapping his hands and looking around at his children in the room.

“Alright, children— leave. This is a private matter.” He announced firmly.

The Harris children got up saying various things— Leonid swore he heard Julie say “finally”— and soon, the three adults were alone in the room together.

"Is he currently on a business trip?" Leo asked once alone with them.

John chuckled a bit. "Oh, Gary hardly hosts any business trips these days. It's different; Jack moved."

"Moved... I do have to say, this does surprise me a bit... after all, from what I've heard, Jack worked in the... if I may say family business; so again, I do have to say it surprises me to hear this, Mr. Harris."

Leonid didn't EXACTLY hear. Jack was mentioned on the company website and the Wikipedia page. Best to act he knows and suspects nothing.

John curtly nodded. "Yes, it was strange for us, too. He said he 'needed a fresh start'. Perhaps he's looking to start his own branch of the business."

"We're looking to book a flight for next month to visit him. He said he'd have something nice to show us when he got there." Mrs. Harris added, before asking, "Would you care for a chocolate ladyfinger, Detective?"

"Of course. Thank you Mrs. Harris, that is very kind of you." he replied politely. He was having some thoughts regarding her addition, however.

'Hmm... this might have just gotten more interesting than I thought.'

Speaking out loud again, he said, "I see... you both must be very excited to see your son, right?"

"Yes, very excited. He never said what it WAS that he was going to show us, he wants it to remain a surprise." John replied quite matter of factly.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Harris picked up one of the ladyfingers and put it on a napkin before handing it to Leonid.

He looked at her. "Thank you." he said.

He took a bite of the biscuit-- it tasted almost exactly like sponge cake, save for the milk chocolate coating.

"Wonderful... absolutely wonderful, this biscuit... I am certain that Jackson has his reasons to keep this surprise a surprise... and wanting to wait before showing it to you." he remarked, nodding a bit.

Petunia gave him a proud smile, obviously taking pride in her lovely ladyfingers.

"You're welcome, detective! Though I still can't help but wonder what it is..." she queried.

"If he is keeping it this much of a secret, then I assume it is going to be very exciting." he suggested, taking another biscuit.

"Did you have any other questions?" John asked before sipping his tea.

Leonid hummed a bit and gave his answer. "Well, I wanted to talk with your son, but I guess that given how he has moved away, this is not possible. But thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, for answering my questions and introducing me to your family; and thank you, Mrs. Harris, for the tea and biscuits."

John said nothing, before giving Leonid a little smirk.

"If you want, I can tell you where he is."

This made the detective sit up expectantly.

"You would? That... that is very kind of you, Mr. Harris. Thank you very much."

The middle aged man took a page of card stock out of his vest pocket, along with a fountain pen, and wrote something on it. Once done, he passed it to Leonid.

The detective took a look.

New AndaAnderville, British Columbia, Canada

Leonid couldn't help wrinkling his brow in confusion.

Canada... why did he move so far away?

Shaking his head, he simply put it in his pocket, before giving a slight yet genuine smile and talking again.

"Thank you, Mr. Harris, I can assure you that this helps me a lot. I am confident that when I meet your son, he'll be able to answer the question that I have. Thank you very much for your help."

"You're welcome, Detective Aksakov. Feel free to stay as long as you need to."

Leo finished his tea and second biscuit and got up, still smiling.

"Thank you for the kind offer, Mr. Harris, but I think I've taken enough of you and your family's valuable time. I don't want to take any more away from it." He admitted to them.

"You're welcome again, Detective Aksakov." Petunia said warmly.

"... and thank you for coming over!" her husband added.

Leonid got up and bowed. "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. and Mrs. Harris."

As the detective left the house, he was already thinking of his next move, and what it was gonna be.

First, though, he'd have to find the next flight to British Columbia.

#mothgo gets paid 4k for every scene shes in #lab accident #fiction #story #swap au #swap!leonid #leonid akdow #mothgo #the harris family #tw smoking #tw implied death #julie harris

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