saffigon

[raayllum]

y'know what i'm wondering about now is, if the quasar diamonds are so rare, why do the celestial elves have them? were they entrusted with them by a startouch elf? if the startouch elves left everyone bc they were like "none of you are worth it good luck with aaravos he's your problem now" why not take the gems with them? hmm

[snekdood]

ive been disillusioned with a lot of the left for a while, it's nice to at least see that other ppl see it now, though the reason why kinda fucking sucks.

[nerdyfangirlingbooks]

Every now and then I remember the times I would mention to my flatmate that I was thinking of buying myself something reasonably expensive (that I had been eyeing up for months and had budgeted for) and she'd tell me that I shouldn't spend that much money on something I didn't need and it would be stupid etc etc while she regularly impulse bought things that cost at least as much and she would use once (while complaining that she was under a lot of financial stress and couldn't afford <$3/week for 2 months for a rental washing machine when ours broke). She is... perhaps not my first call for financial advice

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#49: The Final Deal (1.05)

gif cred: @nerd4music

Over the years, Jadis has made several deals with Rick and pretty much every single time she screwed him over. 😪 And unsurprisingly, Jadis tries to screw Rick and Michonne over again as she and Richonne attempt to make more deals in the following TOWL scene. However, this time around will be the final deal. Finally. 🙌🏽...

Richonne enter a Yellowstone National Park museum and it’s fitting for Jadis' final moments to take place in this sorta artsy location.

gif cred: @nerd4music

As Rick and Michonne quietly hunt Jadis down they come across that bumbling trio from earlier and once again they easily disarm them. And then walkers come and take the trio out which…how those three survived this long I’ll never know lol.

So then a shootout ensues with Jadis. And it’s sweet seeing Rick and Michonne hold onto each other as they run away. 

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

As Rick and Michonne stoop behind some fabric, I adore the quick little moment of Michonne checking on Rick with one hand on his face and one on his thigh. Her baby for real. 🥲

cred: @ririchonne

Jadis is again yapping about living and dying for the cause and calling Rick a traitor and then when Rick pokes his head out she straight up aims for the head and grazes him with her shot. 😑Knowing how fatal that shot could have been to Rick, Jadis’ needed to be sent to the afterlife immediately. Like...

Michonne says Rick’s name with concern as they switch places and he assures that he’s alright. And proving yet again that Jadis oddly might belong in the Top 5 Richonne Believers, she says, “You two together, you are unstoppable.”

Then she gets way too personal when she says, “But that won’t save your kids. You kill me, they’re dead. I die by my wounds, they’re dead.” And she’s feeling extra bold as she steps out of hiding and says, “I get killed by walkers, they’re dead.”

What Jadis fails to see is that having the audacity to threaten Michonne and Rick’s kids in front of them like this guarantees she’s dead. Like Jadis, hon...

You can tell Michonne is seeing red as she steps out with her gun aimed at Jadis. Understandably, because now Jadis is triggering Michonne as a mother.

Rick calls Michonne's name but Michonne is ready to end this lady once and for all as she debates pulling the trigger. Jadis almost looks like she’s beckoning her to do it, but knowing they actually do need some info out of Jadis first, Michonne instead kills the walkers coming from behind Jadis.

When Michonne runs out of bullets, Jadis starts shooting and they both flee for cover. Jadis tries to dish out more of that CRM culty propaganda when she says, “It didn’t have to be this way. You were on the path, Rick. After all these years, you were finally feeling the responsibility to fight for something bigger than yourself.”

Wth, Jadis? 😑 Hearing that I was like - truly girl, shut up because what do you mean he finally felt a responsibility to fight for something bigger than himself?? As if Jadis didn’t meet Rick in the process of him fighting a whole war to free oppressed communities. 🙃 She's an absolute clown. 🤡

Rick makes his way over to Michonne as Jadis tells Rick that “Beale saw it too. He was gonna give you the Echelon briefing the moment you returned.” Yeah well, Consignee Bethune had other plans lol. 😋🚁🌊

And then I always really like this wordless exchange between Rick and Michonne. Because as Jadis claims that Rick’s eyes would have been opened by the briefing, Michonne looks at him and then he looks up at her and the ways it’s filmed you can just tell that there is nothing the CRM could say or open his eyes too that would make him not choose Michonne every single time. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Jadis says Rick could have secured Alexandria’s security but he didn’t. Then she tries to make Michonne an issue by saying, “You let Michonne pull you away from that.” If only Jadis knew how true that was considering Michonne literally pulled them out of a helicopter to get away from this army. 🤭

Then Jadis wants to start coming at Michonne directly saying all she had to do was leave when Rick arranged for her escape and since she didn’t Jadis declares that now the fates of their friends and their children are sealed. Ok, Little Miss Villain...

Rick tries to again appeal to Jadis’ heart, if she has one, by saying she doesn’t really want to kill everyone back home. He calls her Anne again and he’s onto something regarding the name Anne getting Jadis riled up cuz she sounds particularly irritated as she doubles down on the CRM perspective that, “It’s not about want. It’s about keeping your humanity or saving humanity. And it is a choice.”

In a way, that is the very thing TOWL explored with Rick’s journey. He thought he had to just die and save humanity but through Michonne he regained his humanity and the belief that they can both keep their humanity and save humanity, it doesn’t have to be either/or.

Jadis says she’s chosen her community and her life and then questions if it’ll be them that dies today or her and everyone back home. And the way Michonne got a good swing at Jadis with RJ’s ax, it’s looking like Jadis is going to be the one meeting her demise. Her time is clearly almost up.

So playing pretend one more time, Michonne says, “She’s right, Rick.”  And then Rick and Michonne demonstrate yet again that verbal communication is just a thing they do for fun because they are entirely capable of conversing and making entire plans just by looking at each other.

As they look in each others eyes they immediately know to try and pull a con on the original scammer herself. Also I just realized this is Michonne once again choosing to just not even address Jadis and speak only to Rick.

Michonne says, “I didn’t want to see it. I wanted her dead so I didn’t have to see it. But Rick, there has to be a sacrifice. Since I found you, all that I’ve done has been for us. But now I see, this can’t end with us going home.”

Jadis asks what’s it gonna be and then Rick says, “Okay,” pretending to agree that he’ll stay with the CRM if Jadis doesn’t threaten Michonne or their home. 

Michonne says, “There’s still a deal to me made, one where we all can live and Alexandria.” And hearing yet another deal even be attempted to be made with Judas was just...

Fortunately, it’s a fake deal and the final deal with this snake.

Rick says Michonne will get supplies that’ll help Jadis stay alive long enough to get to the jump point and then Rick will go back with Jadis. The shot of Michonne looking at Rick as he says this. 🥲 It just truly feels like she’s looking at the love of her life. 🥹

Rick looks in Michonne’s eyes as he tells Jadis that they can say he was the lone survivor of the helicopter crash and he’ll go back to the CRM to work for a future like none of this ever happened.

He says they’ll do this on one condition and Jadis already knows when she says, “Michonne gets away and I never tell them about Alexandria.” Rick says, “It’s the only way this works” and then I love his subtle wink at Michonne when he asks, “We got a deal?” 

Jadis wonders why she should trust Rick after all the stuff he’s pulled but that had me like why should you trust him???? Pretty ironic coming from literally the longest-running scammer in the franchise. 😑

gif cred: @nerd4music

Rick understandably isn’t interested in convincing Jadis why he can be trusted so he just asks, “We got a deal or not?” Jadis isn’t doing so hot from the blood loss so she agrees and says, “Yeah. We got a deal.”

Then, y’all I adore seeing the small detail of Rick and Michonne holding hands. 😭 I love that they were holding hands during this deal, wanting each other to know that regardless of what they’re saying to Jadis right now they’re still entirely in this together.

And I also love that Rick doesn't let go of Michonne’s hand until the very last second as she stands up to come out of hiding and “go get supplies.” 🧲 TOWL said every Richonne scene is gonna have a dash of romance and I’m beyond here for it. 🥰

So Michonne tosses her weapon and exits and I love that she puts a little feisty emphasis on the weapon toss when she looks at Jadis. And then Rick disarms and shows himself as Jadis tells him to come closer.

Jadis lays down her weapons and Rick of course takes one more opportunity to let Petty Rick shine as he looks at Jadis on death's door and says, “You’ve looked better.” When I tell you I love this extra man lol. 😋 I know he’s appreciating the number his wife did on this garbage woman. And whenever Rick’s eyebrows go up like that, just know some shade is bound to follow. 🤭

gif cred: @nerd4music

Jadis again expresses acknowledgement of the power of Richonne when she says, “I was a fool to think I could take you down, with you two together.” Jadis never got much right in life, but she did have a solid grasp on the fact that Rick and Michonne really do make each other stronger and they're hard to beat together. She explains that’s why she agreed to the deal so she could keep Rick and Michonne separate.

And then to the *utter shock* of everyone, Jadis whips out Red’s red gun and attempts to double cross them for the fifty-'leventh time. 🙄But I love how Rick responds unfazed to her ploy like he thinks it’s the most predictable thing ever. 🥱 A serpent gon’ do what a serpent gon’ do, so I'm sure seeing her aim the gun just had Rick like...

Jadis says she doesn’t trust Rick but she respects him. And then Michonne shows up with a weapon pointed at Jadis and tells her to drop the gun or she’ll kill her.

Then, those noodle-less walkers come and bite a chunk out of Jadis' neck. And getting fatally bit instantly spurs Jadis' come-to-Jesus.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Jadis goes into a monologue about the many lives she tried to balance with her back and forth between Jadis and Anne and the CRM and the Alexandrians. And Richonne is nice enough to listen to her last words.

As she realizes Father Gabriel already showed her the answers she needed (realized too late imo 🙃), Jadis reveals where her dossier is hidden and tells them to just destroy it and go home.

She still believes in the CRM and that they’ll bring the world back, so she looks at Michonne and Rick and says, “Tell me you won’t come after them.” And then y’all, Michonne says request denied because she doesn’t give a damn if this is Jadis' dying wish, they’re gonna do what needs to be done. 👌🏽

Michonne replies, “No. Because we are coming for them.” And the way Rick looks, it appears like this development is news to him lol. But I love that Michonne wants Jadis to know this just before she goes.

Michonne continues, “We’re gonna get the dossier. And then the CRM - we’re gonna stop them.” She looks over at Rick as she continues to inform both Rick and Jadis of what comes next when she says, “He’s gonna get the Echelon briefing and find out everything that they do that the city doesn’t know about. The city I saw won’t stand for what they are. And we’re gonna help the city stop them.”

And y’all, the way Jadis is staring at Michonne...I know she’s thinking ‘and this is why I wrote a whole chapter on Rick's wife in my dossier.’ #DirectQuoteFromJadis'Mind. 🤭 Had her like...

Then knowing how much Jadis loves being called Anne, Michonne calmly says, “Because, Anne, the CRM is not the answer and they must end.” And, with the way Bowlcut believes in Richonne, you know Jadis knows they’re going to be successful at stopping the CRM.

Jadis really had to die knowing she and the very mission she dedicated her life to are about to take some serious Ls. 😬

Michonne then turns to Rick and says, “We’re gonna do that.” See, Michonne has been through a whole lot of life and so she’s standing here now knowing the CRM can be taken down just like all the rest.

And always a great and supportive husband, Rick is on board with this plan as he looks from Michonne over to Jadis and says, “You kept us alive for a reason.” And I love the way Rick subtly smiles at her, knowing Jadis is getting yet another front-row seat to the power of Richonne. 

So Jadis,...

Hearing this seems to have Jadis realizing she made some bad life choices and should have just stuck to her artsy lane when she says, “I wish I died an artist.” I always really like that line. Something about it is poetic and pretty in a tragic way.

But also, whenever I hear it I’m like girl, don’t worry you did die an artist...

Jadis reflects on how her life as an artist wasn’t about survival but about truth. She says this is the end of her story and her peace and then it becomes crystal clear a Richonne proposal moment is coming when Jadis removes the wedding ring and holds it out.

As she holds the ring, she tells Rick, “On the bridge, you told Gabriel you wanted to marry her.” And I love that this gets brought up again and that Michonne gets to learn that Rick was planning to marry her officially before he was taken.

The way Jadis looks over to Michonne when she says this always makes me smile because she looks quite happy to let Michonne know, 'yes girl, your man was trying to...

Jadis puts the ring in Rick’s hand and says, “He found this, and he wanted to give it to you.” Rick is shook by this and asks, “How did you...?” And I feel like with the way Rick so clearly had proposing on his mind during this road trip home I’m sure that has him even more bewildered of how Jadis knew this.

Jadis just smiles and shakes her head which had me like - hold up up up cuz no we’re nawt just shrugging off this detail of how she got the ring and was in contact with Father Gabriel. I needed her to tell them about her tea times with Gabriel because Richonne needs to interrogate that man when they get home lol. 🙃

Jadis tells Rick he wasn’t dreaming about killing her and then says, “Go ahead. Do what you said you would do. Please.” Michonne and Rick stand up and the time arrives for Rick to finally take Jadis out for good.

Jadis dies and it’s a somber vibe as Rick just quietly walks away and Michonne follows. After playing in Richonne’s face from season 7 forward, stealing years from them, and putting their children in danger, I felt it was only right for her to go. Even overdue. And while that monologue didn’t at all redeem her in my eyes, it was well-performed by McIntosh and had some heart.

gif cred: @nerd4music

I’m most glad that she gave Rick that ring tho because it leads to the best scene of the episode. 🤩

One of the earliest ways that trifling Jadis tried Richonne was in the season 7 finale when she said she was gonna lay with Rick and asked Michonne if she cared. 🙃 Y’all remember when she looked Rick up and down, turned to Michonne, and asked, “Yours?”

Well...about that.😊

I always find it to be poetically fitting that here in Jadis’ final episode, it’s also the very episode where Rick and Michonne affirm that Jadis' "Yours?" question actually isn’t that crazy because Rick and Michonne really do happily belong to each other.

He’s hers. She’s his. 🥲

So you know I gotta break down the absolutely beautiful scene that makes that sentiment crystal clear. 😌👌🏽💍

[innuendostudios]

by a wide margin the weirdest video essay I've ever release: List of Songs that Represent "Smart Music" Ranked from Most to Least Appropriate to Put in a Video Essay

this video is sponsored by Nebula, where you can watch ad-free and (sometimes, slightly) better edited versions of my videos for 40% off an annual subscription. just follow this link.

as a quick note: YouTube has already demonetized this video, as two different corporations are claiming copyright on recordings they do not own the copyright to - both are Creative Commons recordings of public domain music, that, in one case, YouTube has misidentified as a different recording, and, in the other, YouTube has the music in its database as under copyright despite it being having been released under CC BY-SA 3.0. I am disputing these false claims and will (hopefully) get whatever money I am owed, but, for now, YouTube is not paying me a dime for this.

so it would be a bigger help than usual if you would either watch the video on Nebula or back me on Patreon.

thanks. transcript below the cut!

List of Songs That Represent “Smart Music” Ranked From Most To Least Appropriate To Put In A Video Essay (And Presented In Drill Bit Order).

1. Clair de Lune, Debussy

This has been top dog ever since the teaser for Godzilla: King of the Monsters, and cemented its position against challengers with a showcase in Everything Everywhere All at Once. Said film could have been the shark-jumping moment where the song was irretrievably lost to irony, given directors Kwan and Scheinert (Daniels)’s style mercilessly marries the aesthetics of prestige and shitpost. Yes, despite its silliness, EEAAO is achingly sincere, but could the general public be trusted to recognize that? But then it won Best Picture, so apparently yes! Beautiful, delicate, to score a film or video with Clair de Lune signals a desire to be seen not only as an intellectual, but as an aesthete. The song could lose potency if the Clair de Lune sequence were parodied enough, but how does one parody EEAAO???

9. Gymnopedie No. 1, Satie

I fear we must, as a society, and as a community of video essayists, move on from Gymnopedie No. 1. It held the title longer than, I think, any champion previous, and for that it deserves merit. But its time is over. It is, like the phrase “mad dated,” mad dated. It is saying “lmao” out loud. Did you know the original screenplay for 2005 film The Island specifically stated that, in the weird culty enclave in which the film opens, Gymnopedie No. 1 must be playing over the loudspeaker? I don’t think Michael Bay followed that directive (I’m not rewatching the movie to find out), but that is how long this was the “Smart Music” song - since 5 months after YouTube launched. If you must - absolutely must - put Satie in a video essay, use Gnossienne No. 1, though it too is on its way to passe. At this point I’m prepared to say Vexations or GTFO.

2. Ave Maria, Schubert/Liszt

Nothing was certain after Satie vacated the throne, and for a while it seemed we might have a Starks vs. Baratheons situation between Schubert and Debussy. Following several appearances in pretentious YouTube videos, the Ave Maria made its strongest showing yet by scoring the opening scene of the grimdarkest Batman film so far, an entire twenty days before getting fully Lannister’d by Everything Everywhere All at Once. Unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, still she nips at the heels of the king, and may yet take his place. No one else poses a comparable threat. Hers is a curious strategy, being a religious, Christmas, and even classic Disney standard now repurposed as “Smart Music;” she gets a big boost every December, but can she take the top spot before this cyclical exposure nudges her back into a prior niche?

8. Moonlight Sonata, Beethoven

If you were in a film program in the mid-2000s, you are sick to death of Moonlight Sonata. Also if you were in a music class where you were asked to determine a song’s time signature by ear - how am I supposed to tell the difference between waltz time and 4/4 with all triplets without the sheet music in front of me? To say scoring a video with Moonlight Sonata is a hack move - you’d have to be a hack to not already know! This was the soundtrack to the blind cave salamander level of Earthworm Jim 2, there’s no coming back from that! I mean, the association with Tallarico Studios alone… It’s done. Roll over, Beethoven.

3. Cello Suite No. 1 (Prelude), Bach

This one is firmly-rooted. It is not going anywhere, both in the sense that nothing could soon push it off the list but it’s hard to imagine rising any higher. It is just slightly too beautiful, too expressive, too legato to fall into the stiffness of Habanera or the pomposity of a De Beers ad, but just close enough to them in tone to always read as a hipper alternative. So you’ll never be overexposed, but never go that long without hearing the Yo-Yo Ma version. And so here it stays, third on the podium, solid bronze, the waterbender, the Plup; with you as always is Prelude to Cello Suite No. 1. (Frankly surprised it took us this long to get to Johann, but don’t worry - he’ll be Bach.)

7. Air on the G String, Bach/Wilhelmj

Told ya. It’s not that she isn’t a beautiful piece of music, and it’s not that she already had her time. In truth, she never got her flowers. Inasmuch as she had a run, it was squished between the omnipresences of Beethoven and Satie. You’ll still hear from her now and then; she crops up, like a lucky penny. And you’ll smile, every time, but you know the stars in your eyes are not present joy, but nostalgia. A fondness for what was and what could’ve been - what should have been. Why - why couldn’t this have had the legs of Gymnopedie? I mean, even the Fucking Champs version - could that have made a run? Could TikTok pick up on it? But comes the day you have to accept - if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened by now. Air on the G String grows weary; let her rest.

4. Duo des Fleurs, Delibes

Bit of a dark horse, this one. Didn’t exactly come out of nowhere - it’s been here the whole time - but you didn’t see it coming! It’s like that time I went snorkeling, and I wondered, “Where are the fish?” I was told there would be tropical fish, but all I saw was blue. Then I caught one flitting by my head and, as soon my eyes registered the shape, I realized they were everywhere! I just hadn’t taken them in. This is the one that makes you ask, where did I hear that before? Was this the one at the end of Margaret? No! How did it go? How do I hum dyads? But then it shows up and, oh yeah, that’s the one! The really pretty one. I knew it’d come around again. Has staying power, could make a run for the top if it sees an opening, but seemingly content, for now, to dance around the periphery, appreciated when heard if only half-remembered the next day.

6. Prelude in E Minor Op. 28 No. 4, Chopin

The bottom end of acceptability. Anything lower, you must avoid. But you can use Prelude in E. It is a risk, and it takes skill. But you can use Prelude in E. It is not for the faint of heart. This is the ending of Fez we’re talking about here. This is that one TED Talk about how everyone loves classical music they just don’t know it yet. This was all over Anatomy of a Fall. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something lighter? Nocturne in E-flat [Op. 9 No. 2] is very nice. Prelude has just enough penetration that some people are going to recognize it, and enough clout that those who do are going to expect things of the person who puts it in a video essay. You can’t just throw this under a rant about The Snyder Cut. But you can - with care, with effort, and with grace - use Prelude in E.

5. Spiegel im Spiegel, Part

We are not ready for Spiegel im Spiegel. The rare “Smart Music” that is, rather than classical, contemporary minimalist. This is - I have been led to believe - all over the film festival circuit. It is the go-to for aspiring arthouse directors. So I assume it is only a matter of time until it reaches general cultural awareness. But we - the YouTube video essay community - are not, at this point in time, pretentious enough to pull off Spiegel im Spiegel. This is not a statement on the song: it is a lovely, sparse, and unpretentious piece of music, which is why pretentious people are drawn to it. And we are not there yet. But I believe in us.

POSTSCRIPTUM

The List of Songs that Represent “Smart Music” is not ranked by quality; they are all, as a baseline, masterpieces. They are ordered, instead, by their possession of antipodal qualities. Beethoven’s Fifth may be a beautiful piece but it’s too well-known - to the casual listener, it reads only as “classical music.” Vltava is a beautiful piece, but it’s not recognizable enough - to most, it will read only as “music.” Pachelbel’s Canon works in too many contexts. Mozart’s Lacrimosa no longer works in any context but “Shit’s About To Go Off.” The Song that Represents “Smart Music” must balance these humors: suggestive, but not too specific; recognizable, but not overfamiliar. The kind of thing one imagines cultured people listen to, and fancies oneself cultured for having noticed it. Just popular enough to signify obscurity to a large number of people.

This impossibility of being both popular and obscure is what keeps the list in motion. Many songs drift back into obscurity before reaching the top, but, once in the primary position, a song begins its slow procession to overexposure. And when, at last, it is too popular to be niche, it does not slip to number 2; it plummets to the bottom, as did Icarus.

Due to this slow but constant movement, new songs will, at intervals, join the ranks, taking the place of those that became gauche. And if, dear listener, you were aiming to trendset, to score your next whatever-it-is-you-do with the newest Song to Represent “Smart Music,” and were I a gambling man… Bach’s Prelude in C. And I’ll tell you why: it appears in the Netflix series Bodies alongside Chopin (#6), mirroring Satie’s dual appearance in The Queen’s Gambit (#9); its arpeggiated structure makes it usable in scenarios similar to the Cello Suite (#3) (Johann did love him some broken chords); and it forms the basis of the Gounod version of Ave Maria, if you would like a Cool Person’s Alternative to Schubert (#2). You may feel I’m playing too safe, but I tell you truly: this song is due. But if I can impart one piece of wisdom let it be this: whatever you do, whoever you are, you cannot use Fur Elise. You cannot. You can’t do it. It can’t be allowed. Don’t fu-

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

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: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum. 

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice. 

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror. 

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now. 

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence. 

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense. 

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours. 

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening? 

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here. 

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.  

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling. 

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny. 

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you. 

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.  

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.” 

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you. 

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.” 

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.” 

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.” 

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?” 

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide. 

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.” 

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder. 

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight. 

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again. 

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.  

Think. 

You had to think. 

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance. 

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals. 

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror. 

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy. 

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch. 

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately. 

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover. 

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else. 

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question. 

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty. 

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled. 

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship. 

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense. 

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet. 

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.” 

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above. 

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess. 

This was real. All of it. 

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache. 

But that relief never came. 

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue. 

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what? 

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground. 

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding. 

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home. 

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand. 

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles. 

���I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”  

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?” 

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him. 

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do. 

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another. 

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was. 

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence. 

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl. 

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified. 

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.  

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame. 

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you. 

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat. 

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that. 

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again. 

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?” 

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.” 

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.” 

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?” 

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?” 

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good. 

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.” 

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”  

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again. 

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible. 

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair. 

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt. 

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?” 

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.” 

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.” 

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?” 

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question. 

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.” 

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.” 

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?” 

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.” 

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air. 

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”  

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed. 

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees. 

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?” 

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.” 

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face. 

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you. 

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?” 

 So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin. 

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink. 

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up. 

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain. 

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.  

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine. 

Woah. 

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders. 

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you. 

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward. 

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place. 

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down. 

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…” 

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.” 

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with. 

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.” 

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.” 

“Why not?”  

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.” 

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit. 

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?” 

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.” 

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting. 

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.  

“What was that?” 

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer. 

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.” 

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.” 

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot. 

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity. 

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs. 

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?” 

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.” 

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse. 

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration. 

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.” 

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants. 

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…”  while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t. 

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.” 

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead. 

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there." 

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture. 

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.  

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets. 

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream. 

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure. 

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe. 

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.” 

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?” 

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.  

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.” 

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you. 

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”  

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back. 

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance. 

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper. 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward. 

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself. 

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.” 

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made. 

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again. 

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust. 

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else. 

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away. 

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you. 

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening. 

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form. 

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-” 

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts. 

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs? 

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?” 

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again. 

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful. 

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.  

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder. 

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.  

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy. 

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something. 

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him. 

Buggy was already asleep.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Hey! Why was Wanda called “the Pretender” during the Krakoa era and how did it even come about? I’m not interested in reading Krakoa era X-Men, but I do like Scarlet Witch. I know it has to do with House of M and all that, but I thought it was put to bed during Uncanny Avengers so I’m a little confused why Wanda and House of M led to her being called the Pretender years later. Plus did Magneto have anything to say about it?

Wanda's treatment regarding the Decimation has never been consistent. Children's Crusade and AvX repaired a lot of the damage that had been done to her character, but she definitely backslid during Remender's run on Uncanny Avengers, and an overall negative perception of her persisted, especially among X-Men fans and writers, for the rest of the decade.

The Decimation became topical again in the early days of Krakoa. With the dawn of mutant resurrection, past genocides and extinction events were a frequent topic of conversation, and living mutants who had been affected by the Decimation were given the option of voluntarily dying so that they could be "restored." At the same time, members of Krakoa's unelected government, such as Exodus and Apocalypse, were focused on shaping culture, and this is where we started to see a more mythologized account of the Decimation, in which Wanda-- a "false mutant"-- is depicted as an insidious "Pretender."

Culty!

So Wanda becomes an enemy of the state, and we see over the next two or so years that everybody on Krakoa hates her and is totally bought into the Pretender narrative. There's a particularly clunky bit of dialogue in Way of X where we see mutants using her name as a slur. It gets so bad that Teddy, as the new leader of Kree-Skrull Alliance, refuses trade negotiations with Krakoa because of the insult to his mother-in-law.

And, fine, it makes sense that a lot of mutants would have very strong feelings about the Decimation. But it's abundantly clear, throughout this period, that Krakoan leadership is using Wanda as a boogieman figure to cultivate Krakoan nationalism and weird, pseudo-religious fervor about resurrection. All of this feels particularly sinister when you remember that Emma Frost took a psychic testimony from Wanda in Children's Crusade. She and Cyclops, who are both on the Krakoan Council, could have used that information to clear Wanda's name years ago and worked with her to provide restorative justice, something Wanda has repeatedly proven herself committed to doing.

So, what'd Magneto do about it? Not much. Rather than speak up on Wanda's behalf, he allowed his colleagues on the Council to continue dragging her name through the mud and exploiting the collective trauma of the Decimation for political ends. After catching major shade from an Alliance diplomat, he arranged a secret meeting with Wanda and the two of them reconciled in private. Magneto told Wanda about Krakoan resurrection, which, at the time, was a state secret, and Wanda hatched a plan to stage her own, very public death on Krakoa in order to gain access to the resurrection system from inside. This allowed her to enhance the resurrection process in such a way that it became much easier to heal Decimation victims and recover mutants who might have otherwise fallen through the system's cracks. These improvements played a vital role in saving mutantkind and resurrecting the Phoenix during the fall of Krakoa-- and Wanda's stunt played out in such a way that the Council had no choice but to clear her name.

This all happens in a miniseries called Trial of Magneto, whcih came out in 2021. For the rest of the Krakoan era, Wanda had a much better relationship with mutants, and so far, it seems like the Decimation has, actually, finally, been put to rest.

[mariacallous]

this might be a weird question, but i was wondering if you had some advice for a situation i'm in. i was super super far left and "anti imperialist" (somewhere between 2019 chapo listener and tankie, if that tells you anything) but am finding myself growing more and more moderate as i age. i still have most of my core values, and i believe i fell into culty parts of the left as a result of those values and believing that that was how best to end human suffering, poverty, racism,

...I'm not sure what the question is.

Edit: there are multiple parts that didn't show up until after this, apologies anon (and I don't know that I saw part 2?):

I mean, it sounds like you stopped and did some analysis and hard thinking, and wrestled with your discomfort and concerns and ended up realizing how far in you were and that you didn't want to stay there or continue. That's not easy, or quick, and so I think recognizing that is important.

I think also recognizing whatever you may have done while you were involved may not go away (though I don't know from these the extent of all that you did), you have the opportunity to go in that different direction, and be part of orgs and protests and work that are both personally and socially uplifting, that still fit and work with your beliefs. Finding opportunities and places to do this work, and to realize how easy it can be to get caught up in something that ends up in a place you don't like and don't agree with, is how you could move on.

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Elliott Quotes

sunshine and elliott reunion WHENNNN?? @selene567 he’s hereee, sorry it took a while ♡

“I wanna snuggle okay? Sue me.”

“I was kind of joking earlier when I said they gave off culty vibes, but I don’t think it’s a joke at this point.”

“My powers can do more than just bring you peaceful sleep. I love them for their ability to do that, but they can also bring you wonder, and mystery, and strength, and joy. They’re yours, Sunshine. Always.”

“I’m glad you think it’s beautiful. But if you ask me—and if you won’t, I will—I think you are so much more amazing than any dreamscape I could create.”

“Do I have to send you back to your self-inflicted grocery store hell?”

“Since when do you have to date somebody to cuddle them? I mean that just seems like you are drastically reducing your list of potential cuddle partners for no reason.”

“I mean if I just come out and say it, I’ll be denying us both the opportunity for at least a few more years of reciprocated but undisclosed pining for one another that could easily be solved by an honest conversation but one that neither of us is prepared to make for fear of rejection…”

“It wasn’t a game to me. You aren’t a game and you aren’t some prize to win.”

“I call you Sunshine because that’s what you feel like to me. Like warmth. Like a guiding light. I literally smile when I think about you like some hallmark bullshit.”

“God, you’re fucking cute.”

“You’re all I have now Aaron, please help.”

“Congratulations. You unlocked a portion of my tragic backstory, brave traveler.”

“‘Yes’? That’s all I get? Well sure, it’s enough, but where’s the weeping, where’s the drama, where’s you cutting me off with a kiss like some kind of movie? OW, why are you hitting me?”

“Thank you, Sunshine. Well… for giving me a chance. A decision you very well may come to regret, but if that’s the case, it’s really not my problem.”

“I’m working on it, I promise. For you.”

“I think people are beautiful because they’re complex, and they can surprise you in a million little ways, every day.”

“I’m probably pronouncing half of these wrong, because, ya know. I’m trash.”

“That one there—that’s called Caelum. It’s one of the dimmest ones. It’s not a very exciting one, the name just means chisel. But the word also means Heaven, or Sky. I like that. It’s just a little guy, but… I feel like it’s got some cool secrets.”

“The dreams are always sweet when you’re in them.”

“I just want them to be safe.”

“Sorry, baby. Kiss to make it better.”

“I love my powers. But the waking reality that I have with you is so much better than the things I make. Because that reality is true. And I’ve got you in it.”

“‘Slew’ is a word, shut up.”

“Urgency? You say that like I'm annoyed my Starbucks order is taking a while, this is my partner's life we're talking about, ‘urgency’ doesn't begin to describe it.”

“No. No, I don’t think you’re crazy. I know you, sunshine. I trust you.”

“If they’ve been trying to use you in some way, I’ll make their life a living hell. They’ll wish they could wake up.”

“We’ll… figure this out. Together. That’s the part that I care about. You, Sunshine.”

“Fuck physics, fuck law of nature, just give me M. C. Escher, baby”

“Oh you think I sound whiny now? You don’t know how whiny I can get.”

“Oh good. I wanna hold you as I pass the fuck out.”

“Hey, but then again, we also might just get some looks because people know a power couple when they see one.”

“This feels like the magical equivalent to ‘we’ve been trying to reach you about your vehicle’s extended warranty’, just now with a fun culty, closed-community spin.”

“You feel good. No improvements necessary there. Well I mean maybe there are a few things I could fix—“

“Fuck off, Blake!”

“I know you hate me, you don’t have to remind me.”

“I’m just here for good dreams and good vibes, you know?”

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

[glubandeepspace]

my current understanding of raf lore in regards to mc's part in it is basically ↓

they met as kids once when he ran away from home to explore (Nightly Stroll), but then he went back home n mc got taken in by those culty people

(Forgotten Sea) they reunite as fellows in more fucked roles. raf initially chose her as follower for convenience (probably didnt instant recognize) but then as they realize more abt each other they become friends in an arranged marriage adjacent situation that ends up actually wrong to the sea somehow. but i mean the tome is weird abt what it says abt how he should treat a follower and he himself also claims "tis a human fantasy" for lemurians to fall for who theyre bound to. yet he fell n all.

more theory territory bc again the end of forgotten sea is vague—during the ceremony, his awakening doesnt work bc the sea could tell he isnt more devoted to it than he is to mc, and the sea demands him to choose between her n lemuria (not that the sea would destroy its own people, but the flame lemuria needs was already dying, and rafayel's proper awakening couldve saved it but now it needs a sacrifice). it's such a last minute twist / confirmation of fears and mc makes him sacrifice her (or he kills her bc the sea compells him). this brings forth the new flame.

but rafayel dies a lot later as Forgotten Sea says, because... the incident with sea witch mc (Fragrant Dream) and the implied mc of Siren's Song (idk what order these would be). but the thing abt sea witch is—she may have been cursed as punishment by the sea, and raf didnt agree with this, turned her back human at the cost of a lot of effort n his life. he basically died for mc 1-2 times total for all the above, no matter what order. but he probably knew he'd die for sea witch (i doubt the sea offed him). so hes not above dying for mc except

"a rumor" "the god of the sea had lied to the deep sea for his beloved" (Forgotten Sea) im believing this rumor and that the lie was sometjing like.. that he'd take back the heart he gifted mc (which already irked the sea, hence flickering flame during Forgotten Sea kiss that happened right after the gifting) (it sounded like a metaphorical gifting at first but ig not) (maybe halfway. somethingsometjing magic). bc he doesnt want to kill her, especially after he already tried killing her once, and he doesnt trust everything the sea expects. he resents the prophecies or whatever. he thinks he can save lemuria in his own way

lemuria that btw fell to ruin specifically bc of his absence from it when Siren Song mc took his tail & scales (thats why he sung the elegy as he perished alongside her)

plus, you know, other humans

he gets reborn (who knows how again) into what we can call linkon raf, whos focused still on avenging his people and likely finding a way to revive lemuria while protecting its remains—a way that doesnt depend on what's now mc's heart, but she is a backup choice he may consider (though the sea wishes she were the first choice) (but like very to the very back of his brain, the last choice even, esp since he actively protects her actually) (where the fence between his thoughts and the sea's are)

probably something to do with the aether core ironically part of her heart will be what helps lemuria

somewhere in all this was also an mc who lived on an island alone ? (forgot where from!) and also an mc who might fr get her heart carved by some teen lemurian that's either a new raf somehow or someone connected (mentioned in an mc dream i also forgot which myth from, but probably forgotten sea? dream abt abysswalker-like era though) and i need to reread abysswalker before going on even longer for its mentions of tome stuff etc

[exvangelical-christian-nerd]

TW Religion

Look I understand why religious people take offense to Good Omens, the Hellaverse, and that type of media (I've made posts on this before, about how the church kinda made their own bed, and I stand by that). I'm religious. I'm a practicing Christian. There are things in the shows that bother me a bit at times. There are parts of the fandom that I think go too far, but that happens in every single fandom. I think many of us who've been in any fandom for a bit can think of an example where someone just took something way to far. I mean there are multiple stories out there, to the point you sometimes see jokes about it, where someone went from fan to felon pretty dang quick. Or cases where a group of fans got more than a bit culty. The difference with the Hellaverse specifically, is, I believe, that if you take it to far you can start messing with very real demons, who are not the same as the ones in the show, and I don't want to touch that.

Now all that said, the fact that I am religious is a key contributor in why I love this kinda of media, and why I gravitate to it. I like things that bother me, at least things that bother me theologically. I really like things that make me question my faith, or components of it. Also, if I haven't made this crystal clear, the church has caused me a great deal of pain, and continues to do so. I have a lot of religious trauma to work through, and it can be really hard, because I often feel really alone. Most people with religious trauma leave the religion in question. I'm still here. I have to grapple, almost daily, with separating my hurt from my faith, and separating what I was taught from what I actually believe. I'm exvangelical, but I'm still a church going, bible believing Christian, and y'all that's a special kind of hell. It hurts, a lot. Sometimes to the point where it makes me physically ill. People I love and respect, continue to say things knowingly or unknowingly that cut like a knife. And How many times can you get stabbed? How long? How long must I hurt?

These shows help me process. They help me look at things from another perspective and go "do I believe that? And if I do, why?" Also sometimes they call me out, and that's never fun... but it can be important. But one of the big ones is that it gives me a chance to process my hurt with the symbolism of my childhood. It's healing.

I latched onto Emily, because I see myself in her. I see someone who believed, and had the rug pulled out from under them. I see someone, who still believes, but feels betrayed. Someone who now has to confront and question, because "if this was a lie what else is?" And "I trusted this person and this is what they did?" And possibly worst of all, "I helped enable this. I allowed this to happen. I might not have known, but I still helped. What have I done?" I know those feelings. I live them every single day.

I understand Aziraphale's choice to go running back to heaven (whether I like that choice or not, and I don't). It looked like they would accept him as he was, even accept those he loves. He sees an opportunity to change things for the better, in this system he knows, and cares about even. It's not going to go well. We know it's not, and I think even Aziraphale knows that, but that need to believe it can change, that you change it, yeah I get it. I really do.

I understand Sera's desperation to protect. I remember feeling St. Peter's aversion. The desperate bargaining we've seen from the cherubs trying to convince themselves what they're doing is right, or at least not wrong, I've done it. I see myself in Vaggie, trying to mend the damage she did. I was an armored gay. I know I too caused harm. Lucifer's abandonment issues and desire to just leave it all behind him or try to. It's all to real. And Crowley's disillusionment with everything? His belief that he is "on his own side", because where else could he possibly go? Yeah I get that too.

And I could go on

And on

And on

[marvelmaniac715]

I was lowkey in a cult when I was younger because once a week I would go to a hall, in uniform, with several little girls, and we would work towards a common goal (earning badges) and we’d start every meeting with a song where the leaders, whose names we never knew so we called them things such as Brown Owl - it was all owl themed for some reason - would form an arch with their arms and we would all skip through their linked arms whilst chanting about what we were. Then we would recite a promise whilst holding our fingers up in a three fingered salute, I can still remember it and it went like this:

“I promise that I will do my best to be true to myself and develop my beliefs, to serve the Queen and my community, to help other people and to keep the Brownie Guide law.”

Then at the end of the session we would link hands and lift them up and down to simulate bells whilst singing a song that I do still remember that went like this:

“Oh Lord our god, thy children call, grant us life ease, and bless us all, goodnight.”

Then the leaders would say “Goodnight Brownies” and we’d go home like that was normal. Our parents not only knew about this, but fully supported it because where I live that’s just a normal part of childhood that’s looked back upon fondly, and they get these children in YOUNG, the Rainbows are like six or seven, and it’s not just girls, the boys have Scouts. But it’s not just the meetings that were odd, when I was too old to be a Brownie (you can only go when you’re eight to ten years old) there was a special moving up ceremony where I could become a Guide. You might wonder “What’s so strange about that?” Well, after being given a book to read about the mythological story behind the creation and ethos of the group involving a talking owl, the chosen girls would be lifted by the arms by two of the leaders and ‘flown’ over a plastic replica toadstool (I’m in a wheelchair so I just wheeled around it), then they would stand before a fake pond, spin around three times, then recite:

“Twist me and turn me and show me the elf, I looked in the water and there saw myself.”

Then we’d get a badge and people would clap. I thought nothing of it at the time but it was only after I left Guides (I could have kept going and eventually become a leader myself) that I realised just how odd it was. And that was just the modern day, back in World War Two these little girls were used to gather scraps to make weapons as well as to raise money and spread flyers for the war effort. Is it just me that finds this whole thing kind of culty? 😂

[sleepinginpanic]

I feel like if Charlie had actually ran as himself and not Gegg than he would be winning in a landslide. He’s so smart and actually makes such great points, the only problems are the bits he has committed to.

Because he has to only use signs and only say a few words at a time, his freedom of speech is very limited making it harder to make his points. He has to constantly be writing things down and if no one decides to read what he wrote it can be completely ignored. Seen when he was trying to argue with Celbit and him just not reading any of the signs (mostly because he was busying arguing with others at the time and probably just didn’t notice them.) Charlie has a really good voice it’s strong and he’s very charismatic. We’re not seeing a lot of that with Gegg though, Gegg’s voice isn’t commanding like Charlie’s can be, it’s scratchy and hard to understand (which is the point but still) it makes it difficult to want to listen to it. Charlie has played several characters and has the ability to make his voice very loud, or threatening as well as soft and very happy go lucky. This can be very beneficial for his campaign as he can participate in the debates more.

The other bit is the whole we are Gegg thing, which I understand is more of a we are all one but it comes off as weird, kinda culty. It just struggles to come across as Charlie wants it to because of Gegg, his constant referring to stuff as Gegg-something or something-Gegg makes it hard to understand the point. If Charlie wasn’t Gegg then this point could be better construed.

The last bit that really damns him is the whole burn the world. If toned down a little of not the whole world but mostly the government then it might come better across or at least explained better. Also by him running as Gegg a lot of people have taken it as a joke, meaning they might not even consider Gegg to be a real opinion.

On the other hand if Charlie has run as himself it would make winning harder too, especially when going against the others.

People shut up when Gegg gets his turn because he writes it all down, if it was just Charlie speaking there is a lot more of a likelihood that he will be talked over or interrupted like the other candidates.

Also being an egg gives him more of a sense of security, despite everyone knowing that he’s Gegg, they still treat him like an egg when it comes to certain things. They jump to his aid a lot faster and have more of an instinct to protect him.

Maybe it’s Charlie himself or Gegg but a lot of people also just go with the bit with him. He’s funny to them and it makes them play along more. No one’s calling out the whole burn the world thing because it funny, it’s this little egg that wants to burn shit. It makes his actions less questionable.

All together both of them have their ups and downs. Which is why it would have been cool to have them be co runners. In all actuality it would be hard to pull of especially with Charlie not wanting people to know he’s Gegg but if they could have Charlie sometimes talk in his actual voice at least for arguing parts or explaining things better it would be a lot more helpful. Listening to Charlie talk to BBH and seeing how easy Charlie seemed to get him on the same page makes me think if Charlie was talking then they could convince a lot more people of their standing.

Also I wish that they would have everyone speak in their actual languages and have the translators fixed. It would solve a lot of issues. People would most likely listen more and they have to read what’s said like with Gegg and it makes it more comfortable for those who don’t speak English. It’s hard to get points across when you don’t know the right words.

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House, pt. 9

"My lord, a message from Azura."

Archcanon Saryoni looked...strange. Either he was trying not to be sick or he was trying not to laugh.

"Well? What is this message?" Vivec slipped into the godliest voice possible and looked down at his devoted priest.

"Ah...it includes an expletive, so I wrote it down. I should prefer not to speak such profane words in...Your presence, Lord Vivec."

Vivec gestured, took the offered paper, and looked with what he hoped was detached serenity. "You may go. I am not in the least angered at you, for if the messenger is blighted for giving bad news, however can it be turned to our advantage?"

Saryoni left, and Vivec finally unrolled the message, which was both very short and very simple.

To the apostate murderer Vivec

Fuck. You.

He burned it, and watched the ashes drift off. The daedric princes didn't usually bother with things like this. He still got the odd stalkerish message from Molag Bal, but this sort of thing?

What in oblivion did it mean?

He opened Morrowtwitter, intending to do his usual morning scrolling, and nearly broke his phone.

---------------------------------------------------

*The Night Before*

---------------------------------------------------

"This was a terrible idea." Sadara grumbled, and pushed closer to Jiub to stay under the umbrella. "You have all this weed and you can't get a bigger umbrella?"

"Why don't YOU get a bigger umbrella, huh? Cozy up to His Cultiness and see if you can't get us a little more gold, huh? Feel like we could use him as a friend considering Almalexia's body wasn't where I left it. First time a body I tossed just up and vanished."

"Because if I wanted to go into prostitution I'd move to Suran where that shit's legal." And she REALLY didn't want to think about Almalexia right now.

"It's not like you can catch anything off him."

"No diseases, anyway, but probably a hell of a lot of clinging."

You need to relax, Nerevar's voice wafted through her mind, Have a little fun, you know. You can't do much well if you keep being stressed about petty things.

Nearly dying because of your boyfriend isn't petty. The man has no hobbies except spreading plagues and trying to recruit people to worship him.

If you spent even ONE night with him--

I'm not fucking him, Nerevar! How about this, I'll fuck SOMEBODY at the party. Would that make you happy? But you've got to agree to be quiet while I'm here. If people think I'm talking to a voice in my head I'm not getting laid this night...or any other night.

Thankfully, Nerevar agreed.

She wanted a romp anyway. A one night stand. Something that would leave her with a headache, an ache between the legs, and a ripped pair of panties stuffed into her pocket to show for the whole thing. A story to tell for a while about the dangers of being too drunk. There was something exciting about the whole idea--

"What'd ya bring?"

A guy out in front of Greg's house, standing under the porch awning, flicked a cigarette and gestured vaguely.

"Weed," Jiub said, waggling the bag in his other hand, "Let us in."

Inside they found Greg, already well-watered and swaying only slightly. "Hey, hey, you made it! Jiub, great to see you...and uh...Sad...Sada..."

"Sadara."

"Yeah, that. There's a bunch of food in the kitchen, we've got some ashlanders in here that brought a whole roasted kagouti, so if you like kagouti steak or a burger or something you might want to get on that pronto. Ah, we got karaoke, but Jolene's here so you'll have to wrestle him off it if you want a shot."

"Jolene?"

"Big motherfucker. We don't know his name but he shows up now'n then, brings an armful of booze...and only ever sings that 'Jolene' song, so we started calling him that. Kind of a weepy drunk."

Sadara went on ahead, got a kagouti steak, some sujamma, and some ash yam fries which all vanished in a hurry. She grabbed a bottle of flin from a 6 pack somebody opened, poured it into a cup and set off, looking...

...alright, who might I regret the least when I wake up tomorrow morning?

What looked like a gulakhan made a pass at her, but the poor thing was so wobbly she couldn't do anything but decline. She gave him a smile and guided him over to an empty couch. "Have some water, you don't look so good."

He stammered out a thank you and then she turned away.

There's too many people here, Nerevar said in her head, Reminds me of old council soirees.

Yeah, this is how we party now.

She walked looking for anyone she knew, and chatted with one or two of the Waffle House regulars.

"Stupid landlord raised our rent again. We're already renting four to the apartment and we're talking to a fifth guy who's an ash ghoul."

"Thought people didn't want them in around here. Not that I mind, they've always been polite to me."

The Dunmer shrugged. "He can pay a share of rent and only eats corprusmeat. You'd think they'd be messy as all oblivion but they're actually pretty tidy. Like to keep things 'in order.' He actually came in and did our dishes without being asked."

"That checks out," she laughed. "Careful of the ordinators though, no matter how polite they are, they don't care for the ash folk."

"Oh yeah, we already got that down. Cult or not we agree all ordinators are bastards."

There was a laugh, and then the guy saw some friend or the other and headed off to speak to him.

Sadara moved through the crowd, only half-paying attention to the sea of faces around her. Her cup was half-empty and she was strongly considering going to find Jiub and ask what he did with the weed when some imperial woman appeared at her elbow.

"Hey, can you help me out?"

"With what?"

"I want to do a song and Jolene's five times in and showing no signs of stopping."

She'd ask why her, but figured it was because she didn't look too drunk...or maybe that she looked like an easy mark, who knew. She agreed and followed the woman into an upstairs room where she was then unfortunate to get within earshot of this Jolene.

"--flaming locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green--"

Half the room was ignoring him, and half were complaining, but Jolene didn't seem to notice any of it, so consumed with the song as he was. Sadara moved closer, and got a better look at him.

He looked like someone's long-haired dad with delusions of being a rally strider racer, right down to the bandana covering his forehead and tied off in the back. Black leather jacket, jeans, shades, the whole nine yards, as the saying went. The cherry on top, though, was the braided goatee.

Why me? she thought.

Nerevar stirred in the back of her mind, but didn't say a word.

"--and I cannot compete with you...Jolene."

The man was really putting his all into it; Sadara felt bad for walking up to him. He was a little drunk, she guessed, because he didn't notice her until she spoke to him.

"Come on, time to sit down. Let somebody else have a turn."

"Why?" He sounded half-about to cry. "What's the point?"

One of THOSE drunks, she thought ruefully. Well, there wasn't much going on...she wasn't having a lot of luck finding a guy for the night. Maybe if this guy were less focused on whoever he lost he'd do.

"Come on." She grabbed his arm and tugged gently. "You don't look so good, you need to sit down."

Sniffling. Half a sob. Then he looked up at her, and his weepy expression changed in an instant.

"Sure. Sure, why not.."

Jolene let her lead him off to a couch in a back hallway that only seemed to be frequently by people heading to the bathroom at the back. She fetched a bottle of flin and came back to him with two cups, then poured him out a bit. It was only being this close now that she noticed his ring--black and with a boxy setting and a little spike at the top.

"A drink'll serve you better than weeping over it. Or at least it'll put you out of your misery for a few hours."

"Nothing ever helps. I don't get hungover and I don't stop thinking about--about--" Jolene sputtered slightly.

"Well, there's got to be something that'll work," she patted his shoulder. "Get your mind off it. It's not the same thing, but I'm broke as hell and I have a bunch of ways to keep my mind off how much it sucks."

"Such as?"

"Finding literally anything to do that's free. I learned how to make tea from trama root, that's everywhere. The Waffle House I work at's got a nice jukebox...the manager's been teaching me to patch things up better than I was doing. That...none of that will probably help you, though, you look like you've got enough money you don't...don't, uh..." Sadara waved a hand absently. "Cliffracer hunting is fun if you need to burn off some steam. It'll make you some money but you'll probably get a bunch of new scars out of it."

She rolled up one sleeve and gestured to some of the healed-over scars.

"It looks--terrible," Jolene said, his voice halting. "And you did this for drinking money?"

"Oh no, I did it for a living before I got the job at the Waffle House," Sadara shrugged. "When you don't have much you have to take what you can get...and cliffracer plumes sell for well enough to be worth the trip. They're edible, too, so it's easy food...less gold to spend on food and more to spend on healing potions and armor repair. I kept meaning to buy a lute, but..."

"What stopped you?"

"These." she gestured. "Jiub got me the job, and it's not great...pipes get clogged, landlord keeps raising the rent, and we eat sleep for dinner two nights a week, but it's not bad."

"How is that not BAD?" he burst out. "You could do MUCH better. I'm sure you have more opportunities."

"Without qualifications, and not wanting to kowtow to crazy Telvanni...I'm not sure I'd suit for the Redoran, and as for Hlaalu...well I guess I am one, but..."

She shrugged. The flin was making her chatty, she knew she was saying too much, but she couldn't help herself. Jolene was such an easy listener and seemed to be hanging onto her every word.

"But what?"

"But I prefer not to tell people, because then they ask where I'm from, and then I tell them, and I have to hear, 'oh, I know you. Your cousin is the corpsefucker, right?" Sadara shrugged. "So I just tell everyone I don't belong to a Great House. It's easier. People expect less from you anyway. If I said I was house Hlaalu they'd probably think I was an idiot for not...you know..."

"Kissing Imperial ass, it's what they're known for," Jolene said. He finished the rest of his flin in one gulp, then took the bottle and took a long guzzle from it. He handed it back to her, and grumbled slightly. "That's swill, do they not have anything better?"

"It's a party, not a soiree," Sadara shrugged. "It'll get you drunk. Who cares about the quality?"

"I do. I have this thing called standards--"

"You're in the Red Mountain neighborhood, there's no such thing. There's probably a guy in every apartment building making prison wine out of whatever he can get his hands on. And why show up if you're going to insult what they've got on offer?"

"Like I have anything else to do." Jolene sat back, and looked up at the ceiling. "All this time, all these people..."

He started mumbling under his breath and she only caught bits of what he said.

"...have to show for...the point?...know what I'm doing..."

He straightened up once Sadara had finished her own cup and was pouring out another.

Nerevar? she thought.

Yes? The voice in her mind was unusually muted.

Will this guy do?

YES. The enthusiasm was clear, and in an odd way it was contagious.

"You don't seem like you're doing good," Sadara said, "So I was wondering...I came here to get a little...well..."

"Get what?" Jolene, for all his woe over his lost love, whoever it was, seemed completely clueless.

"You know. You want me to scream it in front of everyone?" she gave a slight giggle and leaned in as close as she could manage, considering he was taller than her. "Unless you aren't interested."

"Interested in wh--"

Jolene finally seemed to get it, and tensed straight up.

"You don't...know me," he said slowly, and after a moment, leaned down and said in a quieter voice, "Feeling reckless, are we?"

"Maybe." Sadara gave a grin, and met his eyes directly. "I don't really care who you are, I don't care what you've got - I can't catch it anyway."

They were a hair's breadth away from kissing when the shout came that had ruined many a party in the Red Mountain region neighborhood and would likely ruin many more.

"BONEHEADS!"

Chaos erupted in the hallway, and shrieks aplenty were heard in the rooms nearby. Four people stumbled out of the bathroom, one of then a Dunmer trying to zip up his shorts and the three others screeching about leaving half the moon sugar on the bathroom floor.

"Fucking hells--" Sadara swore, and started to get up. "Figures I'm about to get laid and the ordinators show up. I guess I'll see you at the next o--"

But Jolene was up beside her in a flash and said, "How do you feel about Suran?"

"Suran? What's that got to--"

"I can get us there, there's a Telvanni that runs a portal from near here to there for his drug money. You want to go?"

For only a moment did she think.

"Sure. How're you gonna get us out? And I thought you couldn't teleport from inside the Ghostfence?"

Jolene grinned madly. "The Ghostfence can't stop me."

-------------------------------------------------

Between an invisibility spell and the ordinators getting busy arresting a few people who decided that attempting to run off with the ordinator's guar mounts was an excellent life decision, Sadara and Jolene slipped out without being seen--though the rain didn't stop, even for a moment. The Telvanni he mentioned was only a street over, and it wouldn't take long, she was told.

She insisted on not going too far until she got word back from Jiub--who'd been "taking a walk" with a few other guys and so had early warning of the ordinators pulling up.

You good? Jiub texted back as they were entering said Telvanni's house.

Better than good, she wrote back, as Jolene was negotiating. Going to Suran with some big hunk of a man.

I don't want to hear any details. Just be careful, alright?

Alright. I'll be fine.

"Sadara, let's go. Portal's ready."

She put away her phone, and stepped into a glowing circle on the floor. That looked enough like what she remembered from some of the Mages Guilds back in Cyrodiil.

A single blink.

She opened her eyes.

And right before the two of them was a huge sign with big gaudy flashing neon that said, "WELCOME TO FABULOUS SURAN."

"Well," she said suddenly, "What're we gonna do here? You can't go at me on the street, you know."

"There's a lot more to do here than back there behind the Ghostfence," Jolene said, waving one hand briefly. "Musical theater, magic acts, acrobatics...gambling. There's tours, if you wanted--have you ever seen any stage shows?"

"Well--online." Sadara looked around. The crowds around weren't paying a bit of attention to them. People were in House robes, armor, wearing feathered costumes...and the city, however glittery, seemed so--alive. Not like the Imperial capital, but...somehow MORE. "Just being around here's a treat, though, you don't have to--it's not necessary."

She was going to bang him anyway; she didn't want him to feel like he had to wine and dine her.

"It is ENTIRELY necessary," Jolene added in a grandiose tone. "Now tell me, my lady, where shall we go first?"

[dadrielle]

lolololol fine, twist my arm why don't you, here are my Gabrielle and Imogen thoughts.

Ok, so, one thing I like to turn around in my mind and talk a lot about is how Gabrielle’s moral confidence was shaken after the Rift (for non-Xena-fan followers, this was a series of events that put Xena and Gabrielle at odds and culminated in Gabrielle’s demon-spawn daughter killing Xena’s son, and Gabrielle having to kill her daughter like, twice (neither one stuck)(lol)). She went from having a very strong concept of her own internal moral framework to being unsure and casting about for something she could adhere to in order to regain some sense of knowing The Right Thing To Do. She became even more vulnerable to culty people like Najara and Aiden and Eli, because she was desperately seeking an external scaffolding to hang her morals on because she no longer trusted herself. This lead directly into her misguided pacifism arc, and then into her decision to ultimately put aside that search for her own path in order to follow Xena’s full warrior path, which is really the great tragedy of her character.

Imogen does not reach that point through the same means, of course, but she likewise struggles quite a bit with trusting her own moral sense. She is constantly asking others whether people or actions are good or bad, and second guessing her own actions and worth and motivations. She desperately wants the answers to be easy because they never have been and she is exhausted. She thinks she might be tainted; how can she trust herself to make the right calls? And I think that makes her more likely to both want to believe in authority figures and to be particularly let down by them not being all they’re cracked up to be. Had the Vanguard found her before Laudna, it’s very possible they would have been able to recruit her against her better instincts. I don’t think she would be a true believer and would ultimately rebel against the human cost of the project but without the Hells and Laudna in particular she too would be very much vulnerable to cults.

In both cases, they do actually have strong beliefs and a core desire to help rather than hurt people. But they don’t trust themselves to do it correctly and that gets them in trouble. In both cases, too, the strength of their love is also seeded in this weakness. Gabrielle refused to believe that Hope could be intrinsically evil. Imogen wants so badly for her mother’s actions to come from a place of care. But that lack of self-trust means that when they lean too far into their ability to understand the motives of and have compassion for others, it becomes paralytic instead of balancing.

I hope that Imogen’s arc takes her on a different path than Gabrielle’s; as I said, I think Gabrielle’s ultimate decision to model herself on Xena more fully is a very tragic one. I don’t think she ever quite manages to regain full trust in herself. However, since Imogen’s arc started from a place of self doubt and since that lack of self-worth is the core problem in the Hells generally, I am hopeful that she will develop in the opposite way and ultimately gain a firmer trust in her own ability to do the right thing as best she can.

[handbarfs]

OKAY JRWI RIPTIDE THEORY TIME

i wanted to talk about the prophecy a little more, try to analyse it a bit and some of my dumb theories! spoilers for episode 110 ahead!

"An entity threatens world stability Caged in the deepest layers of infinity" The egg from the one shot that Drey took most probably released this entity and caused the hole in the sea.

"The seal remains locked by a key of divinity." If the Ferin bloodline possesses divine or special blood, it would explain how Drey, by holding it, could open this egg. Perhaps this egg was sealed away millennia ago by the two main goddesses, with the warriors who served them. The conflict may have started between two factions: those in favour of this entity and those opposed to it, maybe? The tree mentioned four bloodlines in the world, and it's possible that one of them had a disagreement with the other three, which eventually escalated into this war. This particular bloodline might have used this entity as a weapon in the great war, but perhaps things spiralled out of control?

this is what the tree said- "a war won by these combined efforts sealed an entity away and together created not only its prison but a key and a warning. this warning is the original prophecy meant to be passed down until the inevitable- time." and visions of tritons riding leviathans, red haired olympian looking elves flying with own wings, gargatuan dragons, casters controlling the elements like they were born to do so.

"Its release in time, an inevitability." The chains that imprisoned the entity might have a time limit I guess OR like most ancient prophecies, this one recognizes the inevitable hunger for power among most living beings. It foresees that people will attempt to find this entity to gain control over it and hopefully use it to become more powerful in Mana. Maybe the navy's secret project or Nikalus's personal plans are related to this entity?

"A sea god's last egg, the chosen is born underneath an eclipse, in the midst of a storm " The prophecy didn't come into action with Gillion's first birth but, in a way, with his second birth in the episode "Moonlight, Storm, and Sea" when he emerged from the Luxbris Pearl. I'm not entirely sure if it was an eclipse during that moment though; I just remember it being pure darkness, without a moon.

"foreboded calamity, the chosen is warned the shape of all life shall take a new form" If people have desires with with selfish motives, there will be repercussions. It's the same deal with Nikalus; he grants people's wishes, but they need to be pure-hearted. If someone asks for something with greed and self-serving intentions, it messes them up, with the tar corrupting and eventually killing them.

"the shape of all life shall take a new form" so this corrupted tar affects all creatures, all life forms- turning them into tar monsters, with their greatest fears and needs plaguing them as they become undead- a new form.

"A choice to be made, with no time to mourn." This part gets pretty confusing because the story hasn't really touched on the idea of making choices (except for that culty nonsense the elders fed Gillion). Maybe there's a choice between fulfilling personal desires or attaining true freedom from the desires that lock us into labels and hinder personal growth. Like Chip's burning desire to find Arlin, which keeps him stuck in his painful past and memories, preventing him from moving forward and growing. Or Jay's dilemma, torn between her Navy Ferin family and the loss of her sister, versus taking control of her life and focusing on herself. And Gillion, caught between the undersea rules and manipulation that's easier to accept, versus facing the pain and fear of confronting the lies and manipulation the guardians have fed him, discovering a much larger and complex world beyond the undersea. Their freedom from these desires would leave no room for mourning because they'd be too busy enjoying their liberation from such constraints.

A couple more things- Niklaus's powers bear a striking resemblance to the entity that corrupts the Black Sea. Maybe his freedom is tied to freeing this entity, giving him full access to his abilities? Another character with powers similar to this entity is Kuba Kenta, involving black tar oozing from wounds inflicted by him and and nightmares of people's worst fears. Kenta's powers have been described as otherworldly (the probability of different planes, existence of creatures worse than demons and fiends that come from the darkest depths "crawled from the darkest depths of creation itself"). All of these powers—Black Sea corruption, Niklaus's, and Kenta's—basically lead to a slow killing for their victims, exploiting their fears and greed while breaking their sense of self before ultimately killing them. My theory is that one of the bloodlines involved in the great war against the others dabbled in forbidden dark magic, and invited this entity into Mana. Things likely spiraled out of control, and the other bloodlines had to quell it through the great war and cage it within the egg, and then shunning out this particular bloodline for its actions. Now, it seems this bloodline is trying to regain its place in society by tampering with this entity once more, and I THINK it has something to do with the Hendrix bloodline and Nikalus's desire of freedom.

And I also think the Navy is aware of this entity and its history (maybe Ferin family secrets) and is trying to create a machine to help control this entity and ally with fiendish creatures like Kenta under their ranks. They plan to USE the entity to stay in power socially and militarily in Mana.