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smokeys-house · 8 months

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The Cane King's Daughter

⭐️Art by @sator-the-wanderer, story by @smokeys-house ⭐️

⭐️Also available on ao3!⭐️

✨️Part two TCKD: A Story for Another Time available here✨️

Storms at sea are no rare occurrence. Squalls that sweep ships to their sides may be daunting, but no more so than the tumult of the lives of all folk, land or sea. Captain Whetstone, a self made pirate born on the coast of France, has made rather a name for herself. A large and fluffy brown moomin, she grew up hearing the stories of a free life at sea.

She sat wide upon a chair in the cabin of her ship. The strain of a pirate's life wore heavily upon her brow. The early days were rife with plunder and excitement, raucous laughter and cheers. She'd made it, or so she would've thought. She'd got the merry life she'd wanted, as for whether it'd be a short one would be up to the rule of law.

'Perhaps I've been at it too long.' the captain thought to herself. She sighed aloud, staring into the vanity mirror as if looking past herself. "Rouse yerself. Yer a captain, not some layabout on a fishing trip." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and made for the deck. She'd grown weary of taking scores and the thrill of living on the run.

The crew still aboard The Honeyed Word were working diligently; hauling crates to and from the port, maintaining the ship, or otherwise making themselves useful. Marseille was bustling, lively, and lousy with merchant ships. The local law, while concerned about piracy, were not so eager to challenge those engaged in its splendors. Collecting a bribe was practically by the books in Marseille. It wasn't the pirate haven of Nassau, but at least here she could try to lie low for a while.

The salted sea air mingled nicely with the smell of cookery and the commotion of working sailors as the captain made rounds amongst what crew remained on deck.

"Cap'n." A grizzled old hemulen woman wiped the sweat from her brow. "Most of the crew 'ave headed into town. I assume you can simply follow the ruckus if ye be needing to find them." Her voice was coarse and thick, but with a sense of duty.

"As it happens, I fear I may be in search of drink myself." The captain shielded her eyes from the sun with her paws. "Keep an eye on things for me while I'm gone."

"Promise me ye don't be up to nothin' foolish. I seen that bored look you been wearin'."

"No foolishness here, Ruthie. Just a quick nip, and maybe a rest in a bed what ain't rollin' on the waves." She patted the hemulen woman on the back with a hearty thud, to which she chuckled mirthfully.

The way into town was fraught with people of all classes and lifestyles; merchants, traders, sailors, simple common folk, rich and poor. Marseille was a well populated city, and drew in people from all over. The captain trod a familiar path to her preferred local pub, one of the few she hadn't been run out of in recent memory. Despite the relative ease with which she carried herself, being spotted by knowing eyes would likely spell trouble, or at the very least more excitement than she was looking for.

"Didn't think I'd see you in here again, after last time." The barkeep didn't look up from polishing his glass.

"I'm not sure I remember the last time. Much to see around these parts I'm afraid, sometimes too much." She eyed a table of navy men in the corner as she approached the counter. It was a clean establishment, not necessarily upscale, but it did at least serve the more well-to-do in days long since passed. The place was littered with well crafted furniture and gave an air of high status, but the clientele quickly dimmed the illusion. The velvets adorning curtains and chairs had all faded, and some were torn in spots.

"What'll you have, Whetstone?"

"That'll be captain Whetstone from you. Pour me anything what ain't rum n' cask-water, and you can call me whatever you like!" The two shared a laugh as the bartender filled two tankards with ale.

"Word on the street is your boys are already wreaking havoc. Half my usual patrons have made themselves scarce. You've only been in town a couple of days I thought, but from the way folks are talking I would've thought the devil himself had popped up on our doorstep, and made himself at home."

"Oh, how lovely." Whetstone sighed and eagerly watched the man pour. "I'd have thought by now the folks 'round here would've been dreadfully bored by that sort of thing." She paid for the two drinks and clinked glasses with the bartender. "Not like the navy men do it any different while docked. We're all fixin' t' crack Jenny's teacup!"

"Aye, but your 'Jenny' is more often than not someone else's 'Sally', ye damn dog."

Whetstone raised a finger as she drank deep from her mug. "So long as she's not your Sally I'd say I'd done no wrong. Not my fault no navy men know how to keep a woman in good spirits!" She had a charismatic and an almost musical way of speaking, it was as though everything she said was a line in a play.

"And how might that be, oh great and wise slayer of maidens?"

"Spirits!" She motioned to the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, sharing a hearty cheer with a few eavesdropping barflies.

"And what might it be that brings you to Marseille once more?"

"Naught but the wetting of m' whistle and the tireless search fer comp'ny I reckon. I'm not quite so sure, I think I just wanted t' see yer ugly mug once more!"

She spent a few coins and hours there, seemingly wasting the day away. She knew that she wasn't searching for much of anything, and that she was simply tired of the hardships she'd chosen for herself. 'What use is a free life if I can't live it quietly?' She thought. 'All the excitement out t' sea, and all I'm wanting fer is a quiet day indoors.' Perhaps she'd grown weary of her trade, but taking a day for herself surely wasn't what you'd expect if you'd heard the stories about her.

"That's her right over there. The glum looking gal in the coat." Whetstone's musings were interrupted by murmurs rolling like thunder into jeers. The calm if somewhat gruff environment quickly became rife with tension.

"Seems our mutual friends have spotted a familiar fiend." The barkeep kept his paws busy, still cleaning glasses from patrons past. The captain appeared more tired by the idea than worried, propping herself up on the bar with her arms.

"You've got some nerve. Swingin' your snout 'round here like it weren't still smellin' of my girl's perfume." The hemulen navy man tucked one thumb into his belt as he approached, glancing over his shoulder back to his fellows.

" 'fraid I haven't seen your girl since she were someone else's. Last I checked, and likely still, she belonged to herself. Let's keep our paws in our pockets, shall we?"

"She seems t' think quite highly of you." His words were dripping with venom as he looked the captain up and down. He either had a chip on his shoulder or something to prove. "Turn 'n face me you bilgerat. I'm fixing to see what she thinks is so special!"

"Quiet over there!" A younger fillyjonk man spoke up from the corner, his face mostly obscured by a hat tilted over it. "Some of us are trying to drink in peace."

"What's it to you, boy? Shut yer gob afore I shut it for you!" The navy man leading the group continued to shout, tensions rising among the men behind him. He grabbed the captain by the collar of her coat. "Don't think even for a second I've not seen your face on them posters. Teachin' you a lesson and gettin' paid for it? Price on you's enough to split with these boys and then some."

The captain's eyes darted to and fro, seeking any opportunity to turn this around. The navy men must've numbered at least a dozen in total, all surrounding her. Them aside, patrons flanked them on all sides, acting as likely obstacles. Just as the situation was looking its grimmest, a near full glass flew across the room, finding its target to be the head of the man nearest Whetstone.

That one thrown drink began a large-scale brawl encompassing the entirety of the bar. The glass distracted the leader of the pack long enough for Whetstone to throw the first punch, square in the snout. The rest of the navy men, unable to tell the shouting of patrons from aggressors, and unable to tell who threw the cup, tore through the establishment. Skirmishes filled every corner of the room. The bartender calmly ducked into a room just behind the bar as it all began to unfold. The captain danced among the crowd, dodging blows and delivering them herself.

"This way!" Beckoned the be-hatted fillyjonk man, motioning to the alley entrance he was holding open. Whetstone fought her way through the flinging of paws at maws and more thrown drinks, toward the only friendly face in sight.

Just then, the bartender returned from the storage room behind the counter with a flintlock rifle and pistol in tow. He fired the musket straight into the ceiling, the boom overcoming the sound of the raucous crowd. For a moment, everyone stopped.

"Out of my bar." He spoke quite plainly, as though it were simply closing time. The navy men stopped their brawling and regained focus, looking about the room for their previously cornered quarry.

"Over there! After her, boys!" The sailors that still stood gave chase, stumbling over chairs and glasses underfoot.

In all the excitement, the captain had only just made it to the door when the gun went off. Her and her new acquaintance darted alley to alley, their pursuers forcing them through markets and over fences. Though the chase felt to them as intense as any they'd ever seen, it must have been quite the sight to see that many drunkards speedily shambling across town.

The shouting got further and further away, and luckily the throngs of the afternoon crowd began filling the streets once more. If it weren't for the simple fact that the captain hadn't been at the bar for as long as the rest of them, they likely would have caught up to her. She'd wisely abstained from anything too strong while in public, but a belly full of beer hardly makes for good running. With her wits mostly about her, and her ego intact, she'd made good on her escape thanks to a kind stranger.

Soon after, the busy dockside streets and afternoon sun quickly shifted into wealthy homes and a dimming evening sunset as the two evaded their would-be captors. Once they felt they had lost their assailants, the two caught their breath and the young man calmly led Captain Whetstone to a lovely gated garden bordering the wealthier part of town. It was well kept and filled with vibrant pinks, deep purples and reds, and a sweet floral aroma mixed with the salt of the nearby sea. Ornate metal bars formed a fence, wrapping the exterior of the garden.

"There's a greenhouse here where we can lie low. I like to come here to get lost for a while." The young man's voice shed pretense for a moment.

"Fine work, lad! And yer sure no nosy gardener's eager to do some midnight pruning?" The captain idly rubbed the petals of a nearby rose as she took in the view. "Posh bit o' living, this. Real pretty, though."

"Didn't think pirates cared for flowers. No, no one'll turn up. This square belongs to a wealthy family, used to be the daughter's. Haven't seen her around here in some time, though."

"We've all got our secrets, lad." She winked as she meandered through the garden to the greenhouse. The moon's rise baked a soft light throughout the interior. She idly rummaged through a cupboard above a potting bench. "Bless me tail! Oy, lad! They've got booze in 'ere! Some fine drink by the look of it. Supposin' the young maiden kept a few secrets, too." She snickered as she uncorked the bottle. She'd sobered a bit since her midday jog, and apparently wasn't eager to continue that trend.

"What's your name, anyhow? Ya know mine as it seems half of Marseille does these days. Why risk yer life fer a no good pirate?"

"Well… like you said, we all have our secrets, captain." The young fillyjonk sat upon a stool in the corner, seemingly familiar with the space. Whetstone poured a glass for herself and another for her new friend. The two shared drinks for a while, swapping idle stories late into the evening. The liquor spilled forth as did the relaxation and courage that comes with it.

"So… you're a pirate, ay?" The man swirled his glass in his paw, not looking up from his drink. "You'd know a thing or two about fighting with a sword, then?" He stood, walking over to the potting bench near where Whetstone sat against the wall.

"Aye, lad. I'd say I know a thing or two about swingin' a sword. What're ye gettin' at?" She steadied her eyes as they'd just begun to spin, realizing only now the risk of getting too drunk to stand with strangers about.

"Show me." He tossed her a wooden cutlass from beneath the bench.

"Secrets, secrets, secrets. My my my..." She caught it deftly, laying it across her lap. "I'm supposin' that's not the only thing y' be hiding from me."

"It's not, but if you beat me, I'll tell all."

"Ha, it'll take more'an that to get me into playfighting a stranger what won't say his name with a wooden toy."

"Scourge of the seas frightened by a youngblood after just a few drinks?" He used the point of his wooden sword to lift her chin and meet his gaze. Either he'd handled his liquor better than she did, or he was far more cautious than she was.

"Now yer just testing me patience, boy." She pushed aside the sword and finished her drink, rising to her feet. "Ye won't be needing t' set terms fer if'n you win. On account of ye won't. Take the first swing." She stood straight, sword idle in her paw, in an entirely unready stance. She took in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly. She wasn't unfamiliar with the art of the un-sober sword, but she never did like to lose.

The man swung, overhead and diagonal to her shoulder. She tucked herself to one side as it flew past and struck the ground.

"Slow." Captain Whetstone teased.

He swung again, from left to right, to which she back-stepped.

"Clumsy." She continued her barbs with a wink.

He thrust at her belly in quick succession, the first one a narrow miss, and the second intercepted by the flat of the captain's wooden blade.

"Not bad! Once more!" She taunted, now fully engaged. Her feet planted firm and knees bent, she parried blow after blow. He sent out yet another thrust, this time aimed at her chest.

"Out you go!" She turned his thrust to her outside line and closed in. She turned her point down, pressing the pommel to his ribs, and pushed him out of the greenhouse door into the garden with a shoulder check.

"You're toying with me! Throw a cut at least!" The fillyjonk protested, panting, but on guard after managing to avoid falling flat on his face.

"Aye lad, I am! But here goes!" She threw a cut at a downward angle to cross his chest, or so it seemed at first. She feinted high, forcing him to guard his head and swung low, giving him a gentle tap on his thigh. "How's that?" She smirked. It was clear he was embarrassed, and perhaps a little upset. His face was red from drink, exertion, and now frustration. He threw several wild strikes out in a vain attempt to land a blow, to which she ducked several.

"Easy, lad!" She began deflecting his blows, hoping that he'd ease up. He brought his sword up as a club with both hands, over his head, letting out a tense shout as he swung. She blocked it static and right between the two of them, holding the bind. She turned her point under and went for a disarm, tossing his sword aside. Just as soon as his sword hit the ground, as did he, with a swift push on the chest from the captain. She stood over the fillyjonk, pointing her sword at his chest.

The fillyjonk's hat tumbled back, spilling forth long dark curls, previously tied back with ribbons that had since gone astray. The moonlight soaked into the fillyjonk's fur and hair, cascading shadows from the flowers that she had tumbled into upon onto her muzzle. The contrast between the bright blue flowers, her dark, rolling hair and the soft brown of her fur mirrored that of the shore and a stormy sea. To the captain, she was the very visage of romance. Perhaps it was the light of the moon, or the thrill of the fight, or even the blur of the booze, but she became immediately enamored.

"Well strike me pink! Hell hath no fury, eh? Now the question is, who scorned a bonny lass like you?" The captain lowered her sword, wearing a surprised grin on her face. "I'm supposin' now would be a good time to cash in on my winnings."

The evening stretched on into night, bringing with it the still presence of the full moon and the quiet breeze carried in from offshore. The night air was cool, and just comfortably so.

"My name's Marion." The fillyjonk acquiesced, true to her word. "Marion Cartier. It's my rum we've been spilling all night." She crossed her legs as she sat upon the cobblestone amongst the flowers.

"And this here'd be your garden then? The daughter o' the house as you'd said it. It's beautiful." She cupped the bulb of a flower in her paw. "If yer the daughter of a wealthy family, what business had ye in a bar like that one?"

"Same business I had in having a private garden. An escape."

"An' what was that bit afore I pushed y' down? Figure you'd take me in fer the bounty alive after gettin' me liquor'd up?"

"No… it's not that it's just…" Marion hesitated before answering, burning with embarrassment and the rum in her belly. Eventually she settled on telling the truth. "My father was right."

Captain Whetstone sat just across from her, light-heartedly rolling her eyes. "I'm supposin' that's got a story behind it. Night's young and I've nowhere better t' be, might as well let it out."

"He'd have me fall in line or sell me off just the same. If it's not helpful to his business, it hardly matters what I want."

"Yer a grown woman, can't ye just use all that money o' yers to get yerself a place by yer lonesome? 'S what I'd do."

"The man practically owns me. I won't see any money that doesn't sit in his paws until I take up the mantle."

"...And the swords?" Whetstone was quick to dismiss the woes of the wealthy and continued sating her curiosity with questions. Despite the blooming feeling in her chest, she still found it difficult to feel sympathy for rich folk.

"Father fancies himself a duelist. I'm… I thought I could get to know him better if I could get him to see me." She eyed her paws, rubbing the areas hardened into calluses by many hours of practice. "Told me it wasn't worth my time to wield a sword. Told me I'd be good for nothing if it wasn't for the family business."

The captain looked over at the wooden swords lying on the ground and cocked her head to the side. "Those ain't dueling swords, lassie. That's a cutlass."

Marion's eyes stayed focused on her hands despite the captain's piercing gaze and raised eyebrow. Silence filled the space for a moment.

"I've uh… I'm not quite sure how to uhm… it's rather embarrassing, I fear. Given present company, especially."

"Spill yer beans. I've drank too much t' sleep now fer fear of hangover. An' it's far too long a night yet fer keepin' secrets. B'sides, I won, remember?" Whetstone laid up against a tree and began picking her teeth with one of her claws.

"You must promise not to laugh."

"Miss Marion, I hadn't realized we were school girls! I ain't laughin' now, but I sure could use a good'un, out with it."

"I thought I could be a pirate. Or a privateer. Something on the sea that isn't in the navy. I'd take off as a stowaway on one of my father's ships with a few good men and strike out on my own."

"If that's yer cover fer trying t' claim my bounty it sure is the most… creative ruse anyone's drummed up against me."

"I'm not trying to claim the bounty! Even if I was, you'd have killed that dream along with the one you're stepping on now." Marion paused for a short while, composing herself. The frustration in her voice was joined ever so slightly by the sound of tears beginning to well up.

"Ah, I'm sorry lass, but it's a mite hard to think of someone like yerself at sea… y' need more'an just a few good men and some sword swingin' skills. It's a rough life out there."

"But it's a free one. The sea keeps men honest… in a way. There's bluster, sure, like anywhere else. But the sea asks that you prove it, and I aim to."

"Aye… ye can't lie to her none, this I know." The captain looked to the sky, feeling a flutter in her chest. She was reminded of her youth, and the first time she felt the call to the sea. Though it hadn't been too many years, most pirates don't last more than a few. "You'll find yer way. The bold ones always do."

The conversation bled into thoughtful silence, the pair quietly ruminating on past and future. The captain balanced a near empty bottle on her knee, watching the liquor shift and roll within. She examined the label, taking in the details. A mustachioed fillyjonk gentleman wielding a bundle of sugarcane like a royal scepter sat cross-legged upon a throne also made of sugarcane. In his other paw, a coconut prepared to be a chalice.

"Cartier's Cane King rum blend…" Whetstone continued eyeing the bottle, comparing the fillyjonk on the label with her new friend. "Tell me, what did you say yer name was again?"

–

Captain Whetstone awoke with the early afternoon sun baking into her fur upon a makeshift bed within the greenhouse she had stayed the night before. Her coat had been draped over her like a blanket, and her head was pounding. She stood and stretched, remembering the night prior.

"I swear I fell asleep in the garden, though…" She thought aloud as she surveyed her surroundings. A note penned in fine handwriting sat upon the potting bench, and was tented neatly.

Ms. Whetstone

I should think you capable of reading seeing as you're a captain. You've given me much to think about. I've many choices to make. I apologize for leaving you unattended, but it's as I said that no one visits my garden.

I intend to convince my father to teach me about sailing. I'll tell him it's for to learn the family business, and that ought to be enough. Of course, you and I know the reasons why well enough. The next time you see me, it might be out at sea.

I took the liberty of coaxing you into the greenhouse for a more private rest. I've a busy morning to come.

It was a pleasure meeting you.

-M

"Coaxed me into the..?" The captain was much too heavy to lift. She imagined Marion rolling her on her side like a big fluffy barrel as she slept. She would've been beet red if it weren't for her thick fur. She donned her coat, shook off the embarrassment, and tucked the note into her pocket. With the morning ending and the afternoon just beginning, she thought it prudent to check in with the crew and nurse her hangover with a late breakfast.

Rumors of yesterday's excitement had reached every ear, and just as quickly sank into the sand like waves upon the shore. The king's navy almost always had reason to cause a stir and rarely did it ever go quietly, but with such frequency it joined the day's monotony. A chilled breeze and shapely dark clouds portended a storm to come, though the warmth of the sun persisted for the moment. The docks were alive as always, folks walking shoulder to shoulder, hardly taking note of one another. The cacophony of cooking, trading, buying, and selling rang through the air. The cumulative hangover was just beginning to peak as Captain Whetstone sat down to eat beneath an awning at a dockside restaurant. Through the din of the crowd, she could almost make out the song of seabirds and waves lapping on the shore. She didn't take to being in public well, but the liveliness of the docks drawing eyes off of her bought her a modicum of peace. This peace was short-lived, as a garishly overdressed fillyjonk man cut a path around him through the crowd, speaking loudly and with no lack of self-importance. He moved dramatically, as though he was performing a dance, spinning and gesturing flamboyantly.

"What fortuitous timing, you wishing to take up the family business. As it so happens, I've dealings with a gentleman from Curaçao this very afternoon!"

"Yes, well… I was hoping to start with more on the transportation side of things. Learning to sail ships and the like. I've been doing much reading on the subject." A timid, familiar voice followed shortly after him.

"Hmm? Oh, of course. I'm sure he'll be just as happy with that if all goes well. Regardless, Marion, how does 'Cartier's Cane King Curaçao blend' sound to you? Bold? Alliterative? Lively? Perhaps, too lively, do you think?" His exaggerated manner of speaking sounded as though all must hear. It was difficult to tell whether he was advertising to the world or simply lost within himself.

"Who will be happy with that?" Marion rounded the corner, catching up with her father. She was dressed in deep blues, in an outfit that portrayed her wealthy standing and matched her father. The duo stopped perpendicular to the restaurant Whetstone was eating at, looking out at a few ships along the dock.

"That one there's a wild'un." The captain nudged a nearby patron with her elbow. "Drinks like a sailor 'n aims to be one." The patron patently ignored her idle musings upon seeing they were pointed at the wealthy young woman, assuming it to be a joke with no punch line. She snorted out a quick laugh to herself when comparing Marion's current clothes to her getup the other night. She decided it best to keep her nose out of it and went about finishing her meal.

"The gentleman from Curaçao, my dear."

"And why should it matter to him whether I learn to sail?" Marion's confusion began to mix with her growing concern.

"Well you are to be married, after all. I should think him quite pleased to marry a sailor if he needn't a homemaker." He removed his watch from his pocket and stared impatiently at it for a moment. The watch and the fob were both silver that shone bright against the deep blues of his shimmering waistcoat. He slicked his hair back with his paw as Marion stood dumbfounded.

"Have you no shame?! Selling your daughter off for sugar and spirits! I would think a man of your status would at least have the guts to tell his own daughter about such an arrangement prior. We're done here!" Marion balled her paws into fists, turning to walk away. Just as she turned she felt a tug at the back of her shirt. Her father pulled her back forcefully, turning her to face him.

"We're done when I say we're done." He scolded under his breath, eyeing passersby in the hopes they hadn't seen his family matters turned public. He placed his paws upon her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Get off me!" Marion shouted, batting his arms away and making an attempt to flee. Just as she escaped his grasp, he raised his arm high.

Slap

Captain Whetstone looked up from her breakfast in time to see Mr. Cartier backhand Marion, who stumbled into a stack of tin plates and other dinnerware atop some crates, sending them clattering to the ground. The ruckus drew everyone's attention. Marion's father stood over her and shook his head. He took a clearly practiced stance, placing his hand disdainfully upon his brow, with the other resting on his hip.

Whetstone shook her head as she slammed her utensils onto the table. She stood abruptly, and threw her chair to the ground as she stomped over to the scene. Without so much as a word, she raised her paw and delivered a powerful open palmed slap to Mr. Cartier's cheek. He crumpled to the ground, both from the surprise of being slapped and from the sheer force of such a large moomin.

"I'll not have ye befoul my breakfast. Treatin' a young woman, let alone yer own daughter like that. Despicable." She spoke at him gruffly as she helped the young fillyjonk up onto her feet. Marion, awestruck and utterly confused by all of the events that had just transpired, simply stood behind Whetstone.

"I won't.. take that… from a brute like you!" He panted as he struggled both to speak and to stand back up.

"Aye, I imagine ye won't. And I don't be takin' nothin' from some fop exceptin' what's in his coffers. Scurry off out, ye bilgerat. I've got a devil of a hangover and I won't be wasting my time on the likes of ye."

"I'll have you arrested! Assault! Assault!" He shouted to the crowd forming around the trio. Much to his chagrin, the group seemed far more interested in seeing a pirate shake down a wealthy man than they were in coming to his aid.

"Guards! Gendarmerie! Somebody help!" The captain mockingly shouted in a pitiful voice. She spat to the ground near the man. "You think the law around here cares? Look around you. The people who carry your crates fer a coin. The folks who you exploit. Whingeing like that only works on folk what got food in their bellies." She stepped uncomfortably close to him, looking just down on him from a head above his height. "Anything left worth sayin', or are we done here?" The man could only look back at her with glassy eyes, stunned into brief silence.

"That's what I thought." Whetstone began to walk back to her table when she heard above the shocked whispers of the crowd, the distinct sound of a leather glove being thrown to the ground.

"A duel. You've thoroughly disrespected me and I'll not have the Cartier name besmirched by a ruffian like yourself."

The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed at the prospect. More folks gathered around, wishing to see what the gathering was for.

"What? Here and now? But I 'aven't even finished breakfast." She stopped only long enough to respond as she continued her stride to her table, not even turning to face him. Her gait was immediately interrupted by another leather glove, this one being tossed directly at the back of her head.

"A coward and a glutton! Afraid to challenge the famed fencing of Jules Cartier! I simply must laugh! Aha! Aha!" He forced out an almost theatrical laugh as he puffed out his chest. It seemed to him the world was a stage, and the thing he feared most was losing the audience. There was hardly a moment he wasn't scanning the surrounding group for approval.

"You'll be wantin' to be careful with what you say next.'' Captain Whetstone growled as she balled her paws into fists, turning to face him once more. "I didn't come to Marseille to kill a rich boy. I came to make merry and sell the scores I took from ponces like you!" She stepped in closer once more, slow and with intention. "Y' have no idea who yer talkin' to, do ya?" Her gravelly voice rumbled.

"From the smell of it, a drunkard. And from the look of it, a buffoon!" His confidence, though shaken, had returned as he began to shake off the slap. He dabbed at his cheek with a pocket square, and straightened his jacket.

"She's a pirate captain, father, don't do this!" Marion pleaded.

"Quiet, Marion!" Jules snapped. "This isn't one of your storybooks!"

"From the papers! Must you embarrass yourself at every opportunity? She's wanted and very, very dangerous!"

Whetstone shot her a flattered, knowing look. "Ha! Did y' hear that one, Jules?" She thumped her chest before tucking her arms behind her head with a cocky smirk. "Very… very dangerous." Her gaze was piercing, albeit smug. She was practically inviting him to hit her knowing full well that he wouldn't allow himself to be seen in such a light.

"A duel! I demand it! Face me or be branded forever a coward!" Jules' obstinations were increasingly childlike.

"As you like it, sugarboy. If I win, yer daughter goes her own way. And you pay off whatever price they got on m' head in Marseille. We fight to first blood, I'm not killing a man in front of his daughter. You let me know the time and place, Cartier. Send someone a'callin' down near this here restaurant. I'll be waitin'." The Captain parted the crowd as she passed. She righted her chair and sat back down, continuing her meal.

"Three days time. When I win, I'll be taking your bounty, and whichever rotten tub you floated in on. Live it up while you still can, Whetstone. You're about to make me even richer."

Captain Whetstone simply waved as he made his exit, her mouth full. Jules departed, entirely forgetting his daughter and the man from Curaçao. Marion, now the sole focus of a murmuring crowd, rushed to the table her would-be savior sat at.

"You complete and utter fool!" She slammed her paws down onto the table just across the captain. "You can't just go around inserting yourself into any old trouble you like!"

"That's a laugh right there." She swallowed her bite. "I seem to recall someone inserting themselves into trouble on my account just the other day. She looked a lot like you, matter o' fact... Took me fer a stroll in the garden in the pale moonlight." She took her last bite and set her utensils on her plate.

Marion slumped into a nearby chair, placing her head in her hands as the previously interested onlookers began to disperse. There were a few disappointed sighs, and life seemed to return to business as usual.

"You've no idea what you've done. Not that you'd care if you did, seems you've no thought beyond fun and fortune." She repeatedly cleared her hair from her face, looking into the table rather than across it to the woman now responsible for her fate.

"It's only to first blood, mate. I'll give yer dear ol' dad a good scratch and a scar to remember me by, and you get to goin' on whatever it is you'd like from then on. You've seen what I can do first-hand. It won't be but a quick bout."

"And I've seen what he can do, as well. He's a liar and a no-good cheat, but a proper duelist through and through. If you win I'll be on the street, and if he wins I'll be married off and you'll be in prison or worse in no small part on my behalf." Her brow furrowed. Her life had capsized and was now in the paws of a scruffy outlaw.

The captain took a small pouch from her belt and laid a few coins on the table near her plate, then slid the pouch over to Marion.

"I'm sorry, lass. I just can't sit idle 'round men like him. When yer out t' sea, aboard and abroad, y' get to thinkin' all manner o' things 'bout the way folks get on… Whole lot that don't make much sense. I don't know to make a social call by now. I don't know nothin' but me own code." She took a heavy sigh, pulling a long smoking pipe from her coat and chewing on the stem. "Take that there coin and put yerself up some place nice a while. It'll be a payday fer us both 'fore it's over, I promise ye that."

Marion sat quietly, gripping tight the pouch of doubloons. She wasn't sure what else to say, let alone what else to do. Captain Whetstone trodded off toward her ship, head full of thoughts and ache. Marion followed her not long after.

"Something more y'need from a… how'd you put it? A 'complete fool' like me?" The moomin turned her head over her shoulder at the woman sulking just behind her.

"You are many things. A rapscallion, a scallywag, a ne'er-do-well, but I fear I spoke unfairly of you in calling you a fool. One of the many things you are now, however, is responsible for me." She sighed deeply. "Whether or not you like it."

"Yer yer own woman ain'tchya? Can go as ye please, afore at least three days are up. I don't be needin' t' look after you." She chuckled.

"Consider it the price you pay for today's events, and my penance for yesterday's. I hardly think it wise to be anywhere my father could reach me at the moment."

"Won't be fur off my tail. Yer welcome aboard as long as you can stomach it!" She slapped her on the back, knocking her forward a bit as the duo made way to The Honeyed Word. "Hardly the worst punishment I've seen in all me days, 'avin a lass like you aboard."

The next three days brewed a strange energy for all around. Word got out about the incident at the docks, likely in part due to Jules' boasting. It wasn't enough for him to duel and beat a lowly pirate, nor befitting of his reputation. Whetstone's wanted posters had enjoyed a fearsome makeover, at Mr. Cartier's request. She now appeared monstrous, though devilishly handsome. Her bounty was attributed to both deeds she had done, and now tales some have told. Even in opposition, the fillyjonk could not be associated with the ills and ails of a true and "ugly" world. He did not just want to restore his reputation, he wanted to cement himself as a hero by defeating a villain. Criers, newsmen, even housewives and barflies were alight and giddy over the upcoming duel. A legendary scoundrel pirate versus a noble and upstanding upper crust citizen.

Word had reached the captain's crew by now, who were mostly uneasy toward their new found glory. Being a famous criminal still makes one a criminal, and being famous makes one a target. They'd watched as their normally steadfast captain had begun fawning over a rich young lady, while showing her the ropes as it were. Their new guest had been enjoying the captain's fineries and with none of the work to earn it. The pair spent much of the three days aboard romping about clad in silk, delighting in drink and distraction alike. If it weren't for the prize of having their charges cleared and paid off by someone with deep pockets, and the captain's usually fair treatment, a mutiny might've been in order. There'd been no talk of plans, and any crew that interrupted the captain were brushed off or turned away. It seemed as though their luck would soon run out if their captain remained lovestruck.

Tensions rose onshore surrounding the Cartier business as well, but as tensions rose, so too did the profits. The money minded men of Marseille had begun buying up as much Cane King rum as suited them. Some stocked up to resell and others to enjoy, but all were buying thanks to the sudden and fervent advertising of Mr. Cartier. He'd sent out servants swinging sample trays to swill all over town. The collective drunkenness among citizens alongside the excitement of recent events made for a city wide spectacle. It seemed duels and drinks drove sales and sail alike.

The buzz surrounding the affair became the calm before the storm on the day of. A party sent by the challenger arrived at the docks in the early afternoon along with a parade of onlookers. The usual liveliness of the harbor was instead abated by prolonged eager silence, joined only by the lapping of the waves and the stomping of boots.

"Captain Whetstone!" A pair of whompers shouted at each ship they passed, waiting a moment before moving on to the next. They looked for her at the restaurant as she had requested, but she never arrived. The challenger's party consisted of two whompers dressed in deep blues featuring ornate silver trim, a large and muscular hemulen clad almost entirely in leather, and a nibling carrying a long red velvet box. Down the docks they shouted, and down the docks more and more onlookers followed shortly behind.

"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried, over and over above the murmurs that had begun to swell. The captain, still fast asleep in her quarters, awoke with a start.

"Who wa- is… wha..whasit you want!" She stumbled to her feet, eyes squinted, an empty bottle tumbling from atop her to the floor. She quickly realized the voice was coming from outside the ship, and fastened a robe around her waist. Marion awoke from the commotion as well, following Whetstone's lead. The pair exited the captain's quarters to the sour faces of an armed and ready crew.

The first mate of The Honeyed Word, an older hemulen woman by the name of Ruth, spoke up from between puffs on her pipe. "I imagine that's fer you Cap'n. They've like to come a'callin' on her account." She motioned to Marion.

"I imagine so, too, aye. Worry not, I ain't steered you lot wrong yet, 'ave I?" Whetstone winked, and made for the deck, Ruth and Marion following just behind. The mood was tense, and not all of the crew were sure of their captain's judgements as of late. She arrived at the railing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to see dozens upon dozens of folk, all waiting on her. The leather clad hemulen, who had presumably been hired muscle, shook his head at the sight of the supposed legendary pirate dressed in a frilly nightgown and robe.

"What do ye want?" The captain shouted.

"Captain Whetstone!" The whompers cried once more in unison. The nibling in the party opened his velvet case to reveal a long brass horn, about three times his size. He set up a tripod and rested the other end of the horn on it. The small creature drew a deep breath before filling the air with a short, but very very loud melody. The muscular hemulen covered his ears, and shook his head once more. "You've been summoned to duel the great Jules Cartier at his manor! We shall escort you!" The whompers bowed.

Marion appeared just behind the captain, wrapping her arm around the small of her back. She was similarly dressed in a silk robe and nightgown. In her other paw, she held a steaming teacup, and passed it along to Whetstone, who took a long, slow sip.

"But we 'aven't even had breakfast!" The moomin protested loudly.

"It's past noon!" The hemulen mercenary shouted, palming his face, and shaking his head once more before storming off. He parted the crowd, grumbling to himself on the way out. The nibling took up his horn once more, apparently announcing the departure of one of their party, much to the dismay of the gathered crowd's ears.

Ruth approached the duo, dropping on the deck just behind them their clothes, and the captain's sword with an unceremonious thud. "Don't be comin' back if ye don't win." She spit to the side.

"When I do come back, we'll be 'avin' words, Ruthie. Strong ones, too, I reckon. Mind yer tongue 'round yer captain." Whetstone began to put on her boots.

"If only ye could mind yers 'round whatever gal ye be fancyin' of late. Wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't fer you. Now the whole of Marseille wants a look at us, and the whole of the world wants the price on our heads. Keep yer promises, cap. Er I'll be keepin' 'em fer you." She headed below deck.

"Whaddaya reckon that means, Marion?" She looked around, puzzled.

"I imagine it was pretty straightforward, but you pirates are a bit hard to understand sometimes. Verbally, I mean."

The captain wheezed and laughed loudly, wiping a tear from her eye. "That we are!" She continued to get ready. "Anyway don't ye be worryin' about her, either. Everyone's a mite worked up I imagine. She's stubborn, but she's a good'un." She tossed her robe and nightgown onto the deck of the ship as she hopped over to the side of the ship to the dock.

The whompers were still in their bowed position, and a large chunk of the crowd had begun to disperse before hearing the captain's boots slam onto the wood. She had only dressed halfway up, boots, slops, a sash, a belt and sword. Her thick fur was disheveled and unkempt, an appearance apparently befitting the crowd's idea of a pirate. Ooh's and ahh's once more took shape, whispers and whistling as well. She began pulling her shirt on as she approached her would-be escort crew, coat draped across her arm. Marion shortly after hopped over, dressed quite unlike she had when she'd arrived. She rushed to the captain's side, attempting to avoid the gaze of the murmuring crowd for too long. The challenger's party parted a path as they beckoned the duo along quietly.

Marseille was silent and empty, shopkeeps shuddered their windows and covered their stalls, passersby rushed indoors, and the captain swaggered through the streets en route to her duel. Deep blue ribbons and brightly colored bits of decor began cluttering their path to Cartier Manor. Though sparse at first, upon nearing the manor proper, the whole of the area was densely decorated. Rugs and flower petals lined the walkway, and whatever surface could have something hanging from it, did. Red roses and white lilies were bouqueted and affixed opposite each other. Even the balconies of houses unaffiliated to the Cartier name had wreaths hung from them. The early afternoon sun baked the clouds in front of it as they gathered, and it seemed as though the sky would open up any minute. The air was humid and filled with the scent of loose flower petals being crushed underfoot, alongside the distant rains.

The nibling rushed ahead as fast as his little feet would carry him, horn in tow. He set up his tripod just outside a bespoke iron gate. Just beyond the gate was a vast open courtyard, filled to capacity with all manner of folk, many of which were dressed in finery.

"I'm a mite hazy, but, is yer dad always this.. dramatic?" Whetstone covered her face as she whispered to Marion.

"Seemingly more so than usual these days. This, I'd say, is less dramatic and more… absurd? Honestly I've given up attempting to understand the man."

"This way, Captain Whetstone." The whompers once again spoke in unison. They led her just to the side as they ushered the rest of the guests, Marion included, in through the gates. The nibling blasted the same tune as before as each made their way into the courtyard.

"So I'm not goin' that way?" The captain said, pointing across the fence.

"No!" The whompers said, cheerfully. Their smiles almost perfectly matched one another, along with just about everything else about them. They seemed as though they were simply pleased to be involved.

"Can y' tell me which way I am goin'?"

"No!" They cheered once more.

The trio stood for a few more minutes as the nibling welcomed more guests with his horn.

"Can I go in now?" The captain scratched behind her ears. Her tone was playful, but she was starting to get impatient.

"No!" They sounded almost the same every time. Captain Whetstone gave up and leaned against the fence, arms crossed. She wasn't worried about being late to the duel, nor really very much about the duel itself. The whole affair was turning out far more posh than she had imagined, and with each decoration and each passing upper crust guest, she became less and less worried. She gave into idle thought for a moment. Her mind chose distractions of all kinds, but more and more her mind wandered back to Marion. Had she made the right choice to interfere when she did that day at the docks? Had she done right by her so far? What would become of her next?

"Ahem"

"Wah!" Whetstone shouted, recoiling from the sudden interruption. "Who'sat!" She caught herself on the fence.

A muddler with very long droopy ears dressed in a most garish fashion held her paw out in front of her. Her hat was massive and had a large feather sticking out from it, along with several other adornments. She wore several pin cushions in various places, and a chatelaine of sewing materials hung from her hip.

"Ahem." She continued to hold out a paw to shake in greeting.

"What? Am I in yer way, or..?"

"Ahem. It's my name."

"What's yer name?"

"Ahem!"

"What?!"

The muddler sighed. "My name. My name is Ahem. As in hemming garments. It's what I do. I'm a tailor." She motioned to her collection of sewing tools and accessories.

"Taylor? But I thought y' said yer name was Ahem?"

Ahem patently ignored her. "Mr. Cartier has requested that you come along with me for the time being. Preparations for the… un-seam-ly events to come."

"...right." The captain squinted. "And will there be more sewing puns?"

"We'll put a pin in that one for now."

"Yer too quick fer me, lass!" She laughed out loud. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Things had taken quite the turn from the serious to the silly, and she was along for the ride.

"Quick indeed." She grabbed the captain by the arm, taking her to a room just inside the manor around the outside of the courtyard. The room was littered with fabric, tools, and mannequins of all shapes and sizes. One of the mannequins featured a fillyjonk-esque head with a familiar mustache made to resemble Jules.

"Rich bastard's got his own uhh… what do ye even call a room like this? Sewing dungeon?" Whetstone fiddled with just about everything in her path as Ahem snapped back and forth with her measuring tape across the captain's moominous form.

"Mr. Cartier has appointed me to make a coat for you. Something a little less stolen and salt soaked. He wants you to look flashy for his big day." She rolled her eyes.

"Big day. Pffft." She blew a raspberry. "Also I'll have you know I bought this one." She said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words.

"Pffft indeed." Ahem pulled aside a curtain revealing a tall and nicely rounded mannequin. Upon it was a coat fit for a pirate, though very well made and quite fancy. It was entirely black save for the trim, cuffs, and pocket covers that were a deep dark red, with shining gold buttons and an interior lining of red and gold paisley. A cutlass crossed with a rose was embroidered on the left breast. She snatched it off the mannequin and draped it over the captain's shoulders. "Go on, see how it fits. Your measurements seem almost exactly what I thought they'd be."

"It's quite lovely!" She put the coat on, pulling the sleeves over her arms. She jumped and jogged in place, bent down to touch her toes and stretched her arms. Then she mimicked punching, drawing and swinging a sword, and climbing the riggings of a ship. She pretended to draw her pistol with a flourish and blew the smoke from its imaginary barrel, and then curtsied meekly. "Fits great! Oh, one more thing." She walked up to the Jules mannequin and planted her feet. She drew her arm back and delivered a hearty slap just as she had the first time. "It's perfect, actually." The head of the mannequin tumbled to the floor.

"Three days is hardly long enough to craft something perfect. Let alone an entire ensemble that turns a ruffian into a posh pirate renegade as Mr Cartier suggested. So you'll have to make due with only the coat I'm afraid."

"Wait, three days? He asked y' to make a coat on the day that I slapped 'im?" She let out a single loud laugh. "I musta knocked something loose! How'd ye get m' measurements, anyhow?"

"Followed you around."

"But I hardly left m' ship after that business, how'd y-"

"You left four times, actually. Two of which you brought back food and wine."

"Ha! Typical. I like you, Ahem, yer fun! An' this coat is perfectly made t' measure, most folks miss just how big I am 'round the middle. You've got me thanks."

"You know, I think that might be the first time I've gotten a genuine compliment the entire time I've spent under the employ of Mr. Cartier. Go give him hell, captain." She smiled, pushing the moomin gently on her back towards the door. "Oh, but do mingle a bit first. I don't think Jules is quite done making a fool of himself yet. I'm sure he'll call for you." She began packing things into a large trunk.

Not long after, the strange events at Cartier Manor continued to unfold. Captain Whetstone found herself in the courtyard, and Marion in turn found her as well. Refreshments were being served on trays carried by servants in bright blue vests. The pair sat at a table under a parasol, similar settings littered the yard alongside tents, rugs, and a veritable ship's load of furniture. All of this surrounded a large stage, adorned with deep blue ribbons and flowers.

"That's a fine coat you've found yourself." Marion eyed the embroidery, sitting across from Captain Whetstone.

"Aye? A gift from yer old man I s'pose. Funny seamstress gal made it." She lifted it to show off the liner. "Yer house is massive! Just you lot live there?"

The captain made musings about this, that, and the other, chatting idly with Marion. Time stretched on, and the outing began to seem much less like a duel, and much more like a garden party. With each offered hors d'oeuvre, the captain took at least one of each thing, most of which she tried and set aside without finishing. She did, however, finish each flute of champagne that was brought by.

The captain held a glass at eye level, staring at the champagne within, boredom getting the better of her. "Marion, how do ye reckon they get the bubbles in th–"

"Welcome, all!" A voice boomed from the stage, commanding everyone's attention. "Today marks a momentous and fateful occasion." Jules' theatrical manner of speaking finally suited the situation.

He had chosen an outfit of deep blues and bright whites, with silver buttons. Each article bore a motif of white lilies, trimmed with shimmering silver. The calves and sleeves of his outfit were tight and fitted, while the rest was loose and flowing. All of it was made of a shiny satin exterior, and he wore a large and gallant cape upon his shoulders. It was no doubt the work of the same tailor of Whetstone's coat. His hair was slicked back, and his mustache was waxed into perfect, symmetrical points. Behind him stood a short and portly older moomin, with a curly powdered wig. He was dressed similarly to Mr Cartier, though much simpler and with a brooch bearing the symbol of the King's navy.

"Today, we bring a close to the scourge upon the seas. I, Jules Cartier, am to end the career of a pirate that has so long plagued the open waters." Not a word left his lips without some manner of posing added to it. Bravado seemed a natural calling for him. "But I, ladies and gentlemen, am no brute! We duel today only to first blood. I have called upon the aid of Governor Woodes Rogers, an experienced pirate hunter, to take down alongside me the infamous Captain Whetstone!"

Gasps were shared by the crowd, most of whom had likely never heard of Rogers nor Whetstone before the last few days. Jules was building drama for a performance, and the audience was absolutely enraptured.

"Should your hero prevail today, Miss Whetstone will voluntarily turn herself in at my behest. The streets of Marseille will no longer be subject to her whims, and its surrounding seas shall stand as an affront to all pirates who would dare approach!"

Rogers, the moomin standing behind Jules, stepped forward. He unfurled an almost comically long document and cleared his throat. "Captain Whetstone, of her own free will, submits heretofore under the crown and will be granted clemency for all acts perpetrated during her stints as a pirate, and shall be pressed into service of the king's navy, or be jailed at once and in perpetuity remain. Here listed are her many crimes, and associated parties-"

"You needn't continue reading Mr Rogers. They can see how long that page is." Jules interrupted.

"Am I going crazy?" Marion whispered across the table to Whetstone. "I mean I know it's been three days. But it's only been three days. A garden party is one thing, but to organize all of this?" She rested her head in her paws for a moment.

"I don't even think that there's the real Woodes Rogers." She squinted at the man from her seat. "Last I heard it, he were bankrupt or some such. Sued by his own crew. Ought t' be down n' out, not out n' about putzing around France." She searched her pockets for her pipe, remembering that she wasn't wearing her old coat. "That page he's got is like as any t' be blank I'd bet."

"Captain Whetstone, to the stage if you would!" Jules shouted, finishing his speech.

Marion looked across the table, only now showing her fear. "Be careful up there. He's quicker than he looks."

"It'll be over 'fore ye know it, lass. If yer dad wants to put on a show fer these folk, then I say let's give 'em a show." She picked up her champagne flute, and swaggered up to the stage. She took her place across from Jules.

"The fearsome pirate captain, Whetstone. Ruffian. Ne'er-do-well. Scoundrel and scallywag. You've plundered your way through the seas and sewn chaos among the citizenry, but that all ends today." Jules once again performed for the audience rather than speaking.

"Aye. All that n' more. And none of it could sate the devil inside me." She growled, mostly unconvincingly. She was, at best, unseasoned as an actor.

"You're drunk!" Jules said, tugging on a pair of leather gloves.

"An' yer annoying!"

"Name your second."

"My what?" The captain shot him a puzzled look.

"Your second. Someone you trust to bear witness to the duel. Have you never had a proper duel in your life? And yet how many have fallen to your sword alone? How barbaric." Jules rolled his eyes.

"Ah. Marion'll do it. She's good like that, seems despite yer efforts t' the contrary, you've raised a very capable young woman."

Jules flinched, balling his hands into fists as the captain shouted for Marion to join them on stage. He swallowed his anger, and continued the show. The moomin who may or may not have been Woodes Rogers presented a velvet box, and a servant presented another. They opened the lids revealing one to have within it a set of ornate dueling pistols with pearlescent grips. The other box contained two sideswords decorated with gold engravings upon their blades.

"The challenged may choose the weapons. The seconds shall inspect the weapons to ensure fairness and quality. Once we are all in agreeance, we shall separate ten or twenty paces, face one another, and the duel can begin in earnest upon the signal of each second." Jules delivered his clearly practiced lines to the crowd.

"Well I meant what I said. I won't be killin' a man in front o' his own daughter. No pistols. First blood."

"Swords it is, then. Ten paces instead."

"I ain't usin' one o' yer swords neither. I made this cutlass and ye won't part me from it." She removed her sword from her belt, handing it to Marion, who had just arrived on stage. "You and yer second can inspect that'un."

"Very well, captain. I suppose I should have expected no less from a pirate." His words were intensely venomous, annunciating each word with a pompous anger. He turned to face the audience. "The pirate has elected to use her own, crude blade even within the context of a gentlemanly duel!" This elicited whispers from the crowd.

Jules paid no mind to Marion as she presented Whetstone's sword to him and his second. They looked at it for only a moment and both scoffed, despite its elegance and craftsmanship. The captain and her second both carefully examined Jules' blade, finding no flaw or alterations. They agreed, and each took their sword as they took their place on stage. The crowd was silent, and the sound of thunder echoing in the distance was joined only by the footsteps of the two duelists as they took their paces.

Jules held his sword point up, taking a dueling stance as he measured each pace. The captain had returned her sword to its scabbard, and was still holding her flute of champagne. She took each step as though she were crossing stones in a river, occasionally pretending to lose her balance playfully as she watched the audience.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

With each step Marion's heart raced, she feared for her future, and for her newfound freedom. She'd found a fondness these last three days and had mostly forgotten her anger to her father until she met with him once more on stage.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Jules gripped his sword tightly, eager to rewrite himself as a hero to the people of Marseille. He turned in his position, waiting for the signal from the seconds. The captain turned as well, sword sheathed, glass in hand.

"At your will, Mr Rogers." Marion stood beside him near the rear of the stage, out of the duelists' way. Her voice was shaky.

"Begin!" Woodes Rogers shouted without hesitation.

Jules lowered himself, rushing into a full sprint.

The captain tossed her glass into the air, straight. She drew her cutlass quick as lightning, and with incredible speed and precision, cut the stem from the bell. As the glass descended, she caught it in her paw. The audience gasped, a few even squealed as the base sailed far off into the crowd.

Jules stopped in his tracks for a moment, on guard. It was too late to back out now, despite the impressive display.

She took a long, protracted sip before gently setting the unharmed top half of the glass onto the stage upside down next to her, empty. "I hope y' brought yer dancing shoes." She extended her arm, the point of her sword idly aimed at her opponent.

He rushed to strike first, despite his showmanship he aimed to end the duel as fast as he could. He thrust to the captain's side. She sidestepped, grabbing his wrist with her empty paw, and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. He landed with an anticlimactic albeit quite loud thud on his back.

"That's disappointing, Jules. I thought y' wanted to give these fine folk a show." She spoke at stage volume. She stood over him, the tip of her cutlass resting just above his chest.

"It's to first blood, captain." He gripped his sword tightly, and swept at her ankles. "And I'm not bleeding yet!" He jumped to his feet the moment she was on the defensive.

She back-stepped, narrowly avoiding his swing. The audience roared to life having been in rapt silence during their first exchange. They shouted and cheered, nearly drowning out the following clanging of steel.

Jules ferociously delivered cut and thrust after cut and thrust, he was as well practiced as Marion had said. He'd not met an opponent yet that could hold against his onslaught, and yet the captain was calm and focused, dodging and deflecting each of his blows.

Whetstone feinted high as she had done with Marion, then swung low at his legs, cutting just the fabric of his pant-leg as he changed his stance.

She laughed. "Ha! Got yer daughter with that'un, too!"

He snarled, lunging in and following up with several repeated thrusts. The captain knocked each of them aside. She bound her sword against his and closed any distance between them, using her weight to throw him off balance. Jules fell to the ground once more, but rolled off his back and onto his feet again. He rounded her, swapping sides hoping to gain an advantage. He threatened a cut, but dropped his leg and reached out for a long thrust to the captain's inside line. She had previously been neglecting it and stepping aside, and she wouldn't step aside if she had thought it was a cut. He drove his point home as fast as he could, and then-

Thwap!

Whetstone batted aside his blade by the flat using her paw! She charged in now that he was open, blade raised high. He managed to raise his guard just in time, barely withstanding the weight of an oversized moomin crashing against his sword arm like a heavy wave against a ship's bow. He rounded his opponent once more, returning to his side of the stage.

Jules hated being on the defensive. He hated even more his opponent. He hated that despite his assuredness in his own skill and the effort he put into this display, he had not bested the captain as quickly as he had hoped. His off hand left his hip, abandoning his dueling stance. He abandoned his footwork, too, in exchange for a mad dash. He began throwing wild cuts in front of him as he charged, yelling the whole way. She threw all of her might into one heavy cut, knocking his sword off line once again. He reeled, regaining his composure.

He realized that he could not beat her in a competition of strength, nor speed. He would have to stay calm and search for an opening. "The leg!" He thought to himself. "She may be twice the size of your average moomin, but she's still got shorter legs than a fillyjonk!" He closed in once more, focusing in on waist level thrusts. He began changing his rhythm, repeating the same passing steps in his approach. He'd stab and wait for her to cut, then step and do it again. Biding his time until she went for something trickier.

Whetstone noticed the change in his attitude. He was lithe and by now much more warmed up. It was as though he'd settled into the flow of battle. She held both arms out to her side, as if to say "come at me!" Completely opening up her defenses. He threw a cut to her chest, following up on her opening. She took her sword by its spine at one end, and the grip with the other, and swung up as though she were forcing open a window. He reeled once more as his sword was knocked away, but the captain was wide open for exactly the kind of attack he'd hoped for. He readjusted, then swung for her thigh.

Seeing this, she leapt back once, being caught off guard by such a near miss. She'd kept her cool through most of the fight, but she was beginning to worry that her fooling around might cost her new friend dearly. She leapt back again, escaping his reach. She spun off her front leg. Jules watched, unsure of the captain's intentions with such a maneuver. He saw her rear leg swoop up midway through the spin, and then back down as she completed it, as if in slow motion. At first he was confused, but then he remembered. "Oh no." He thought. "Not like this!"

Her back foot kicked the glass she had left on stage, sending it flying straight at his face. He brought up his sword to block it, or knock it aside, but it was in vain. It shattered against the base of his blade, sending shards flying past it. The collective gasp from the previously uproarious crowd would have sucked the air from the room were they not outside. Even the coming storm stood silent as a trickle of blood ran down Jules' forehead. He reached up and touched it gingerly, examining the aftermath upon his paw.

"I believe that's first blood, Mr. Cartier." The captain flourished with her sword a moment before returning it to its scabbard. She faced the audience, curtsied meekly, and headed off toward Marion at the rear of the stage. Much of the crowd were confused, some even angry. There was cheering and jeering alike, booing and whistling. Jules remained on stage, utterly defeated as the rain began gently dropping.

"Congratulations, Miss Whetstone." Jules said. His voice was much less performative, taking on a sinister tone. The captain continued her stride, merely raising her paw dismissively. "You have won the duel…" Jules rushed toward her. "But you will lose your life!"

"Whetstone! Look out!" Marion cried as loud as she could.

The captain turned to see Jules just behind her, and coming right at her head was the tip of his sword. She threw herself back, headfirst, but it was too late. His sword dug into her face and tore across her left eye, stopping around the middle of her forehead thanks only to luck and to Marion's warning. She shouted in pain, clutching at the wound on her face with one paw and drawing her sword with the other.

"This isn't fair!" The wouldbe Woodes shouted, sprinting away. He stumbled into the table that had the dueling boxes atop it, knocking it over. "You didn't tell me you were going to kill her!"

The audience bellowed with shouts of a similar kind.

"The duel is over! Stop!"

"You lost! Give it up!"

"He's lost his mind!"

Many voices cried over one another.

Several members of the audience shrieked in fear from the sight of so much blood, and several others rushed to the stage in an attempt to stop him from continuing his assault.

"Y' cowardly bastard!" The captain growled, fighting as hard as she could with the use of only one eye. "Marion! Get yerself outta here!" She looked around in a half blind panic.

"Duel or no duel, she's a wanted woman! To the man who brings me her head, you'll claim the bounty and I'll make you the richest man in Marseille!" Jules drew the crowd into a frenzy. Those who weren't tempted by his offer began running to the gate, and those who were tempted began surrounding the stage. They were unarmed but very much outnumbered the two who were now stuck between Jules, the manor, and the gate leading back out into the streets.

Marion rushed in the same direction as Woodes, shaking with panic. She had to act, and quickly. She picked up one of the pistols from the open dueling boxes, pointing it at her father. She tightened her grip, steadying herself. She'd never fired a pistol before, and despite everything, she'd never wanted to kill her father. "Stop! Stop attacking her this instant or I'll shoot you!" She shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, her hair and clothes now soaked with rain as the storm raged on.

The captain backed off from the fight, holding her ground as Marion made her plea. Jules stopped as well, turning to face his daughter. The herd of newly made bounty hunters waited, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

"Make sure you take that one alive." Jules pointed at Marion with his sword, gesturing to his makeshift militia.

Click

Marion pulled the trigger, filled with an array of strong emotions that all burnt up in her anger. Jules paused briefly, seemingly offended. His eyes were wide and mouth agape. The flint struck the frizzen, yet there was no smoke, no flash, no bang. The rain had soaked the powder thoroughly, forcing her threats empty.

The moment seemed to drag on, the clear line in the sand now drawn between Marion and her home life. She screamed, barely able to hear herself as she threw the gun at him, reaching next for the sword left in the box. The captain used this as an opportunity to rush to Marion's side, scooping her up in a bridal carry at full sprint, off stage.

"After them, you fools!" Jules regained focus after his brush with death. He'd gone too far now to give up. He'd all but given up on raising his daughter to be the way he wanted her, but he refused to relinquish even the slightest bit of control, especially to a pirate.

Captain Whetstone ran as fast as she could toward the gate. The path was clear and the only remaining bystanders had just made it through. Jules was the fastest among the duo's pursuers, quickly taking charge ahead of his group. The grass underfoot was slick, and the rugs placed upon it now waterlogged. Thunder crashed within the sky, bellowing throughout the humid air below.

"Come back you coward! Blaggard! Face your fate!" Jules shouted above the racket of the storm as he ran.

The captain stumbled, woozy from her injury, dropping Marion in the process. They both stopped only a moment, with Jules gaining on them. The gate was tantalizingly near, and their hope for escape pushed them onward. The pair righted themselves and passed the threshold, soon to be followed by Jules and his cohorts.

"I have you now, you wretch!" Jules raised his sword, closing in. He chanced a cut at the captain's leg rather than attempting to tackle a woman likely twice his weight.

tst-BOOM

A shot rang out, crushing beneath it for a moment the sound of storm and step alike. Smoke plumed from a covered balcony one floor up, just outside the gate to the Cartier Manor courtyard. Whatever onlookers remained nearby scattered at the sound.

"I reckon I already told ye…" a hoarse voice spoke from behind the smoke. "Keep yer promises, Cap'n. Lest I be keepin' 'em fer ye." A rugged hemulen woman set her spent rifle to the side, lifting a loaded one from a row against the railing she was perched at.

For the briefest of moments the world fell silent as those in the vicinity searched for the object of Ruth's aim. The silence broke with the anguished scream of Jules, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched his arm where he'd been shot.

"Ruthie!" The captain shouted, gleeful and relieved.

"Put some wind in yer sails, kid! Ye promised me no foolishness. Ye get that girl outta here, an' maybe I won't be considr'in it foolish n'more!" She took aim, putting a shot between the wounded Mr Cartier and his thugs. The shot caused a few of them to rethink, running back into the courtyard. She once again set her empty rifle aside, picking up a fresh one. "Avast! I've got 'nuff guns up 'ere to take the lot of ye! What'll it be?" She asked the duo's pursuers, mounting her gun on the railing.

Captain Whetstone and Marion ran as far and as fast as they ever had before. Despite eventually making their escape, the two were in need of leave from Marseille. Jules' ire is doubtless to have stirred all manner of trouble, and he had a wound to prove his opponent's guilt. When they arrived at the docks that evening, out of hiding, The Honeyed Word was no longer moored at the harbor. The surrounding area was lousy with law, searching for the both of them. They spent that night together in a cove on the beach tending to Whetstone's wound, making plans for tomorrow and the tomorrow beyond that.

–

"That's awful, Miss Puukko!" Moominmama had returned from the kitchen to the veranda with a tray set for coffee. She set it down upon the table, having a seat next to her husband.

"Yes, quite! And what became of the two of you next?" Papa asked from his seat across the table. His agreeance to Mama's exclamation was betrayed by the excitement in his voice. He held a love for all things nautical as well as for a good story, and could not hide it.

The fluffy brown moomin scratched at the underside of her snout, eyes fixed on the distance as she reminisced. It was a calm, and pleasantly warm evening in Moominvalley. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and crickets chirped from their hiding places. She puffed on her pipe, exhaling deeply with a contented sigh. She bore a scar across her left eye, and the heavy brow of a long life. Seeing her dressed comfortably, swapping stories on the veranda, you'd hardly believe she'd once been a fearsome pirate captain. Obscurity suited her quite well, as the last breath of a legend long past.

"In my absence, Ruthie 'ad told me crew t' weigh anchor an' make fer somewhere near. I reckon I'd consider her t' be a hero, least by my account anyway..." She took another drag off her pipe. "Trouble were certain to have found them if she hadn't got 'em outta there. That was the last anyone saw of her. Sent some men that-a-way fer to go about findin' her some time later. Not hide nor hair. I think she aimed t' make the rest o' her life a quiet one."

"But you pirates are all flare and bravado! A life of excitement, and er, uh, and freedom! Why would you want to give up that?" Moominpapa gestured in his chair as he spoke.

"Papa…" his wife laid her paw on his arm as if to settle him down.

"It's a fine thing t' be sure, fer a spell. But it's got its rigors. I fear what I mean t' say ain't kind enough fer this valley. It's foul, and it's wretched. Turn folk into beasts and beasts into.. well I hardly even know what ye'd call it. Bastards 'n scoundrels. When ya find a one like the one I were sweet on, well… it's hard t' live a life like that seein' thems that you'd protect with their teeth gritted behind a sword." She dropped a sugar cube into her cup, watching it slowly dissolve beneath the dark waves of coffee.

"And to think I'm the one writing memoirs." Papa mused. "And what happened to Marion?"

"After we made it back aboard me ship, I weren't in a way fit fer sailing. Without a first mate and without their captain and helmsman, the crew had t' band together. They fell in with Marion right quick. She'd read up on sailing her whole life, call to the sea an' all that. Just ne'er put it to practice. Did a good turn at the old bailiwick once more, plundered as many ships carryin' the Cane King stuff 'tween Nassau, Curaçao and near Marseille as we could. She learnt t' be quite fierce in a short while. A force to be reckoned with under my care. We became as tall tales walkin'... We got t' bein' quite close, too. Didn't ne'er get to talking out the particulars though, I'm afraid."

She stopped for a moment, enjoying the coffee, company, and relative peace and quiet. Ever since she'd moved to Moominvalley she'd known more peace than she ever had. Even in her own childhood home, there were always storms and turmoil. As no more than a pup on the seas apprenticing under good men, she knew even further strife and noise. From her start on the seas she thought she could earn the peace she had now, and never did.

"It's funny how misfortune and heartache can get ye where ye need t' be goin'. We coulda stayed tall tales iffin things hadn't shaken out like they did. The thing about it is…" She took one last puff on her pipe before tapping it into the ashtray.

"Whether or not ye tuck it when ye run, if ye made yer tale long enough, someone always catches ye by it in the end. But that's a story fer another time I suppose."

#puukko #moomins #moominvalley #moomin oc #first mate marion #fillyjonk #sator you did an amazing job with the cover i cant express just how much i love it! ❤️❤️❤️#i really hope everyone likes the story it took a loooong time #in case anyone's wondering this is that big project ive been talking about #the one that used to be called sea of stars and underwent multiple rewrites #the sequel is already in the works! so hopefully it shouldnt take as long as this one did #the sequels also gonna be shorter than this. more like an addendum really. then we can take the travel log series off hiatus!#i still dont know how to tag writing stuff #anyway please give this a read if you can. id love to hear what you think! send me an ask! ^^#also expect me to reblog this like a hundred times #Whetstone's whispers

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axolotlclown · 1 month

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Would you happen to have some studies to back up the "more than one coffee means you're addicted" thing, please? Pretty sure I've seen that disproven as a lens to understand addiction through at all

~ 🪴

Hey! So sorry I never saw this anon. It never appeared in my notifs and I'm really bad about checking my askbox.

You have asked a question that falls in line with a field I am very passionate about! I found some interesting articles in my school library. I'm going to go ahead and write this response, but I'm still waiting on access to a few journals. I'll have to convert those ones to PDFs as they are likely behind paywalls.

Anyway, here's my long post where I intend to rant about a lot of different barely related topics. Caffeine addiction is one of those really controversial but historically significant subjects in psychology!

So let me start off with how to read and break down a journal. It's one of those things where if you don't go to college and specifically major in a research related field, no one ever teaches you how to do it. That sucks.

So when you're looking at a journal, the first thing you want to do is background check the author. What school did they go to? What degrees do they have? (For research, they should have a Ph.D. no matter what.) What is their current place of employment?

Often companies, or other private businesses, will commission someone to do some research and fudge the results to make that company look better. We saw this recently in regards to gender affirming care. The United States House of Representatives had proposed legislation to restrict gender affirming care for transgender youth. The Republican sponsor of the bill had presented a single piece of research that he claimed was significant. The research found that transition regret rates were somewhere in the 30% range. (I don't remember exactly and I know that I could quickly look it up, but I just spent the past two hours reading addiction research. I'll find it tomorrow.) Upon looking into the author and the sponsors of this research, psychologists found that the journal the congressman presented was commissioned by a conversation therapy center in Florida. The research held obvious bias, poor peer review, and inconclusive results. The bill didn't pass. I'm not sure they even voted on it, actually.

Anyway, this is why we need to be critical of the research we read. Chocolate, wine, caffeine, gender dysphoria, and autism are notorious subjects that require more scrutiny before reading.

So, caffeine addiction. This is a subject that more than one field is interested in. Before you read an article, you need to be sure what question you are asking. Psychologists are concerned with a more scientific or factual approach. In this context, a psychologist would be researching the concrete effects of caffeine on mood, sleep, and other psychological disorders. Sociologists are more concerned with the overall social consequences of caffeine addiction. They would be asking how mood and sleep affected family, work, and personal welfare. For your question, we're going to look into the psychological aspect. Also, I'm studying psychology, not sociology, so I would feel like an idiot answering those types of questions.

This distinction matters. When I opened my school's EBSCOHost database, I simply typed in "caffeine addiction" to start. I was bombarded with sociological articles and journals about the affects of caffeine addiction on productivity at work and on mood. Strange overlap with psychology. Two problems: some of the top articles had researchers with ties to coffee companies, and all "caffeine addicts" were self-reported. For the latter, this meant that there was no standard for how much caffeine was consumed. Rather than being a concrete article about caffeine consumption, it was more of a survey of public opinion. You want to avoid those unless you specifically want to know about the public opinion. Even psychologists run surveys all the time (they're cheap and easy), but people often lie on surveys, even if they're anonymous.

So I typed in more specific key words and came up with these articles. I'll talk about some without leaving a link, but that's because I had to request the PDFs for sharing. I'll come back to this post and link them. (Let me know if the ones I do link are broken.)

Okay, so I'm going to start off with a journal that interested me, personally. This study actually observed the effects of caffeine on psychiatric patients. This is an important reminder that different drugs influence different brains. Someone with ADHD experiences caffeine differently for a neurotypical person. Caffeine is a stimulant, and ADHD medications are stimulants. Cool. What about other disorders?

Here's the Sparknotes of the study, "Caffeine intoxication was more prevalent in psychiatric patients than in healthy subjects. The amount of caffeine intake was shown to be associated positively with the severity of pathology and inversely with sleep quality."

The study goes more into depth about the different psychological disorders that different patients had. There were 401 patients participating in this study (150 healthy individuals). Overall, continuous caffeine intake showed a decline in sleep quality and a general increase in severity of other mental illnesses.

So what causes that? What is caffeine? Here's an article that looks into studies about caffeine consumption and performance, as well as what the causes of an addiction could be and what constitutes an addiction. This is one I recommend giving a read, as it helps to illuminate a common problem with researching intoxicants.

Here's the big take away: "Although caffeine is widely perceived to have beneficial psychostimulant effects, appropriately controlled studies show that its apparent beneficial effects on performance and mood are almost wholly attributed to reversal of the withdrawal effects that occur after fairly short periods of abstinence (e.g. overnight)."

In habitual coffee users, the increase of mood and performance after consumption of caffeine is caused by the removal of withdrawal symptoms. Grouchy mood and lack of coordination are symptoms of caffeine withdrawal. Where one may perceive positive reinforcement for initial consumption, for habitual consumers, withdrawal symptoms become a negative reinforcement.

So, for people that drink coffee everyday, it's less about getting the positive effects of caffeine, but rather avoiding the negative effects of withdrawal. This can be classified as an addiction. There is now a reliance on this substance.

Something this article also points out is that caffeine is not just found in coffee. It's found in chocolate and most medications these days as well. Therefore, complete stone cold abstinence from caffeine can be next to impossible, making control groups difficult to find. This leads to the varying research and controversy between psychologists.

Okay, but coffee can't be as bad as alcohol or anything right? Caffeine is practically harmless! Let's take a look into an article discussing the health impacts of caffeine. (I'll provide the full text to this one tomorrow.)

In Dr. Saimaiti's article titled, "Dietary Sources, Health Benefits, and Risks of Caffeine," she explores the benefits of occasional consumption of caffeine and weighs them against habitual overconsumption of caffeine.

While occasional consumption can actually improve mood and cognitive ability, these benefits are lost with daily consumption.

Few people drink their coffee black. For those that put creamer, milk (especially oat), or straight sugar or syrups in their coffees daily, they may be overconsuming sugar. This is especially hard on an empty stomach. This is part of the reason you "crash" later in the day. The sugar raises your blood sugar. For most healthy people, this may not be the biggest deal in the world. For others, it could be a key factor in developing diabetes later in life. In general, don't drink coffee on an empty stomach. Have it with a meal. It's also easier on your liver.

Speaking of liver, what does your body do with the caffeine after you drink it? Caffeine follows the same principle as alcohol. Occasional consumption of red wine can help thin your blood and lower your hemoglobin (something that women may be more concerned about as they get older). However, daily consumption of wine can cause stress on the liver and potentially lead to dementia later in life (I say potentially because there has been a correlation, but no solid research as to why. While correlation does not always mean causation, it's important to acknowledge them in the meantime.)

Caffeine behaves in the same way. Continuous consumption of caffeine can put some real stress on your liver over time.

Caffeine is dangerous for those with cardiovascular problems. While this seems like a "duh!" point, many people don't know that they may be prone to cardiovascular issues until an event happens. This sounds like fear mongering, but it's something to take into account.

The article discusses pregnant women as well, but I would hope that's intuitive? Maybe not? If you're pregnant you should avoid intoxication in all forms.

I'll drop this quote from the conclusion of the article for now (I felt weird quoting text that you can't access yet, so I'll come back with more quotes when I can give you the PDF): "the long-term or over-consumption of caffeine can lead to addiction, insomnia, migraine, and other side effects."

The point is, caffeine consumption can be more dangerous to some than others in general, but excessive consumption with lack of knowledge can lead to long-term damage to one's health.

Okay, that study talks about a relatively small niche. Let's get broad. Let's talk about sleep and cognitive performance. (Another study I'll have the PDF for tomorrow.)

In Dr. Gottselig's article titled, "Random Number Generation During Sleep Deprivation: Effects of Caffeine on Response Maintenance and Stereotypy," she looks at the effects caffeine has on cognitive performance during sleep deprivation.

The conclusions of this research makes a very important point: "caffeine preserves simple aspects of cognitive performance during sleep deprivation, whereas caffeine may not prevent detrimental effects of sleep deprivation on some complex cognitive functions."

This article particularly found that while small cognitive functions such as motor ability improved with caffeine, complex cognitive functions such as problem solving and memory declined.

While a college student could read this and understand that pulling an all nighter and drinking 10 Red Bulls probably won't help them pass their test, there's something much more to be said about these findings.

One sleep deprived night won't kill you, and certainly drinking a cup of coffee to get you through the day won't either. But caffeine cannot prevent the damage that regular sleep deprivation does. Sleep deprivation leads to memory loss, worsening symptoms of depression/anxiety/ADHD, increased chances of developing dementia early (this one is real), and a decline in overall cognitive ability.

Rough. But it is a trap. If you have insomnia, caffeine may feel like your only choice to be somewhat functioning throughout the day. Caffeine promotes symptoms of insomnia. It's a vicious cycle if you can't afford proper treatment, and one, that I hope, that will be addressed with time.

So if you have the ability, it's better to prioritize a good night's sleep. I'll come back to this.

For now, why is caffeine addiction so controversial then? Well, it may not be for long. While there was a push to add "caffeine" to the list of diagnosable addiction in the DSM since the 1980's, the inconsistent and inconclusive research has led to a standstill. As we say with Dr. Jame's article, it is difficult to get a control group for caffeine. However, as research for alcohol and marijuana progresses, our knowledge of how to properly study intoxicants does as well.

The long-term health side effects of caffeine are still being studied as well. While this aspect isn't unique to caffeine at all (marijuana, for example, is just now getting approved for research, where before it was illegal), it's still worth acknowledging what we do know, for now at least.

So, coming back to the DSM. There's a new one coming out pretty soon. It's the talk of the town among psychologists right now. Everyone is arguing about what should be in the DSM-6. It'll be crazy when it does come out. Autism, OCD, Gender Dysphoria, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Facial Dysmorphia are just a few examples of disorders that will likely be completely recategorized.

(Unrelated, but Autism Spectrum Disorder is a big one because a lot of psychologists are arguing that it shouldn't be classified as a disorder at all. The reason being is that Autism is so common, that psychologists are theorizing that the majority of the population falls on the spectrum somewhere. Either way, the diagnosis is about to completely change because of this fact.) (Well, all of them are big ones. I could make a whole separate post about it.)

Anyway, the push to make caffeine diagnosable is becoming a promising endeavor as research continues to come out.

One psychiatrist pushing for this is Ronald Griffiths. In his opinion piece, Griffiths recalls his patients experiencing caffeine withdrawal symptoms that led to a decline in the quality of life. One of his patients was diagnosed with breast cancer and needed to stop drinking coffee immediately. This patient struggled with severe withdrawal symptoms that were difficult to manage while on cancer treatment.

Griffiths explains how difficult it was to treat this patient because it wasn't something he could easily diagnose with the DSM-5, something insurance companies use to decide whether they're going to pay for care or not. Add on the bills for cancer treatment, and you rapidly have a distressing situation on your hands.

Joseph DeRupo, spokesman for the National Coffee Association in the U.S. as quoted in this article states, "What we have here is really the opinion of one scientist who is a lone voice against the accepted view of the scientific community."

Lone voice? In barely an hour I was able to find 5 credible articles, all backed by credible researchers, supporting the understanding that American society consumes too much caffeine. You can take a General Psych class in college and the textbook would spend half a chapter going over caffeine addiction and the controversial research around it. Coffee companies piss me off. And most companies use slave labor to harvest their beans and lobby to prevent legislation to prevent it. Guillotine.

Griffiths also claims that "[e]ven people who consume as little as 100 milligrams of caffeine a day—the equivalent of one small cup of coffee—can become physically dependent."

So this ask is pretty old, but I'm guessing it was in response to me saying that you should only drink one cup of a random beverage a day and the rest be water. This keeps you hydrated and helps cut out where the majority of your sugar intake is. I called it the "desert beverage" and that "coffee counts."

It really does. In the morning, one feels tired, foggy, and grouchy. "Don't talk to me until I've had my morning coffee." They would make their coffee out of habit, barely minding the taste of it—drinking to medicate the headache they've already caused.

Life is worth celebrating, and if we can find little things in our day to celebrate, we should! When coffee becomes a habit, it's just a habit. That's sad.

I worked as a barista for a while at a coffee shop that hired people with intellectual disabilities. That experience is what made me switch my major to psychology in the first place. But I saw the joys coffee could bring, and the damage it can do, too. I had a coworker who would come in and throw a tantrum if we didn't immediately stop what we were doing and make him a coffee—and again in two hours before the end of his shift. It's upsetting.

I do remember the joys, too. Our manager would show us a new niche coffee drink from a random country. We would make cubanos like they would in Haiti and talk about the different names they had in different countries around the world. It ruled.

I don't drink coffee every day anymore. But it's always a wonderful thing when I do. You don't need to have an "excuse" to drink a cup of coffee—you don't need to celebrate anything at all. Coffee, tea, wine, soda, and juice should be celebrated as they are. Drinking them out of habit destroys joy. Intentional habits create stable foundations in life. Unintentional habits create monotony and boredom.

Anyway, the sleep thing I said I'd come back to. So if you're having trouble sleeping, here's the hot tip: avoid screens 30 minutes before going to bed. That sounds easy, but how many of us scroll our phones, watch TV, or play a video game right before bed? It's not worth it.

Instead, do something away from your phone that you enjoy. I like to read, but you can draw, journal, listen to some music, practice an instrument, or write something. Doesn't matter, just don't use your phone or laptop. Set a 30 minute timer for time.

If you're still struggling to sleep, you may find meditation useful. Meditation uses techniques that make your brain send beta waves which relaxes you and is the first step to falling asleep. But! If you try to learn some meditation, you'll have to commit to practicing it every night for it to be useful. It's a skill that requires practice.

Anyway, I could make a whole separate post about evening/morning/afternoon routines as that is another one of my passions, but yeah.

TLDR; An occasional cup of coffee is actually great and wonderful, but you really shouldn't drink it every day, especially more than once a day.

PS. I love Red Bull cream sodas more than the God that created them, I swear, but I only drink maybe one or two energy drinks a year. Energy drinks will dissolve your liver faster than hydrochloric acid can. An alcoholic drinking 5 packs of beers a day will look at your liver and be impressed. Also the Panera lemonade should be illegal. That shit is CRAZY. That bitch had more caffeine than a Bang energy drink. It literally killed a man. Wild.

#anon im gonna be so incredibly transparent #before you read this #i spent four and a half hours researching and putting this together #and i still gotta add more sources tomorrow after my school send the pdfs to me #so i didnt proof read it #im tired #i hope it makes enough sense #also sorry if it sounds like i mansplained in the beginning and end #i dont know who you are or what your background is #so i tried to cover my corners as much as i could #anyway #i got a little buddhist philosophy at the end there to #as a treat for me #i hope it doesnt sound preachy #i need a nap bro #sorry for taking so long to get to your ask #i never saw it until now #BUT #i hope it worked as a good starting point if you wanted to look into more #let me know if the links are fucked and ill try to fix them #asks of dante #thoughts of dante #ill tag your little emoji bc i figured that was purposeful #🪴

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junkie-virus · 7 months

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anyways. i have been feeling vaguely unsatisfied with media. mainly queer media . i dont know it all feels the same. of course maybe i could widen my horizons though i dont know where to start but im kind of tired of the halfway-redonating. i can never really fully resonate with any queer media because it only wver focuses on one identity in a way i can’t relate to because mines are heavily influenced by one another . only ever gay/bi. only ever trans. only ever white. only ever allo. etc etc

#ro rambles #i dont know this makes sense but this is my diary im writing in bloodsoaked with my sparkly pink pen and a fuzzy end with a cat bell and ri #bons #also u can literally never ever escape top/bottom bullshit in fandom. its a neverending powerplay #i do enjoy contrast ships but its always one enjoying one being coy or shy or reluctant or whatever.#idk im not even one of those niche high class media people or whatever i just want more trope subversion #or allowing characters to be versatile & dynamic (ha half joke)#not just one note always #idk im alays looking for ways to subvert things and that does lead to me being like “is this even in character anymore? like the obvious ch #oice is obvi because their personality would influence them into making that choice. but u can make it in character hilst making them choos #something that seems unexoected for them. yk.#im rmbling.#because its my blog and i can.#(aggressive)#i encourage recs but if its geaveyard boys or whatever its called dont do it i already bought and tried reading & dod not like it.#dropped it but so desperate maybe ill try it again #i just have a grudge bc its one of tge only rep i have covering like. an okay amount of bases & that i was hoping to relate to #BECAUSE EVERYONE SUGGESTS IT WHEN YOU ASK FOR BOOKS WITH THAT CERTAIN REP #& it dissapointed me #ah well #im talking. im talking .#trying to make my own gay people. settling on that. though character deesign hard….#my thoughts are nowhere near fone but this is liter so stream of consciousness that theres no point #no sense #im just yappin #am a professional #could fo this forever

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perilegs · 1 year

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i don't think i'll ever be the same again (<- saw nishikiyama style his hair with blood)

#i already love ppl covered in blood but did the hot antagonist with long hair really have to take it to a new level like that #this is something ill think of for the rest of my life #like. this had a more drastic effect on me than when i watched scream for the first time and saw a guy covered in 'blood' lick a knife #once again i am aware that im oversharing but i just hope that by some divine miracle people i know dont see this or read my tags #i love treating my blog like a personal diary bc thats what blogs are technically for #yakuza #leevi liveblogs

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orcelito · 2 years

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What If I didn't have a brain of a pessimistic squirrel that takes everything out of proportion and can't deal with any thing

#speculation nation #me getting 4 comments 3 of them being long & detailed and wonderful #(which i want to reply to them so baaad but i dont have a brain rn. tomorrow i will)#but i also lost Two bookmarks (gasp!) and i have 4 comments when my average is like 7 or 8 ish. sometimes more.#and my brain is like 'do people not like it? 😭'#trying to beat my brain back with a stick like a: this is a Long Chapter so people will need time to absorb it #and b: even if i dont have a ton of reception i still have 3 very detailed comments that express how much they love it #those comments r the only thing keeping me sane rn ngl.#this is why people say not to rely on reception for satisfaction with ur own work bc it will never be enough #god i really hope andi can recover enough to return to beta reading soon bc i am losing my mind #might also be the sleep deprivation talking. but The Anxiety is easier to ignore if i have someone there to reassure me #prior to posting. so that i know at Least one person enjoys it.#ughhhhhhngg me planning on A Part being included next chapter that is uhhh #kind of a difficult topic to cover. Essential but idk how ppl will feel about it. im gonna include it but i will be anxious about it.#ngl anytime i have smth that is Uhhh taking any kind of stance with anything or making any kind of statement #it makes me so anxious to put that out there. so many little emails to tell people how i view the world...#just currently dealing with smth i thought was good n reasonable n important that has gotten 0 attention and im just like #i hope ppl dont hate it... i hope that's not why im losing bookmarks....#maybe ppl have just lost interest in the game. or maybe ppl hate where im going with the story.#i CANNOT tell and it drives me insane. little hampster beaver brain needs to Not.#maybe its time to sleep. can u tell by this post that i can barely keep my eyes open rn? i think i probably could tell.#discacc shit #sure lol it deals with it enough

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ethicstownpod · 2 years

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This has a point - bear with me! I turned twenty-two a non-specified number of days ago. I was at work. My colleagues, upon learning this, got me a card and a cake and threw me a party before our DnD game. They put all this together in the span of my right hour shift; I've only worked there six months. My colleagues are some of my favourite people in the whole world.

My flatmate loves tiktok, an app I despise. But every day she saves rat videos, and then shows them to me when I get home from work/class. My other flatmate once hand-drew me wrapping paper of a hideous little cartoon man because he knew it would make me laugh.

My cousin, who’s eight, always asks everyone else if they want to play with his X-box before he does. There’s a girl in my class who always stops people on the way out to tell them she really liked the points they were making in discussions that day. Every discord server I’ve ever been in has a channel for sharing pictures of your pet. I’ve never met a person who doesn’t want to brag about their friends. I love when you make a baby laugh on the bus, so they try to make you laugh in return.

And now the point! The point is that I think people are so good. So unbelievably, fundamentally good. And I want to write people like that. Even when they’re not being actively good, there’s So Much Good inside of them. There are so many wonderful people in my life, I feel I would be doing them a disservice by not portraying just how amazing people can be.

#writing #positivity #ethics town #writeblr #podcast #and for ppl who like reading tags here's a nice story about rhys (january rhys)#the first time we met he asked me what i wanted to do #like as a job #and usually i dont tell ppl or lie bc its embarrassing but i thought 'this is such a nice boy and and ill never see him again #(lolllll) may as well tell him' so i did #and he was like 'wow thats so neat i bet youd be good at that ppl could do with that my friend does that you should talk!'#yknow bc hes adorable #anyway its like 2 1/2 months later were at a mutual friends b-day. weve spoken about like 1 work thing in the interim bc #rhys aint big on discord and i really have no need to be talking to cast most of the time and like we dont really know each well tbh #but he asks me how my thing i want to do for a job is going and for just a second i genuinely think im going to cry #ive never told ANYONE i wanna do this before. so ive never been asked about this before. and more than that this was a maybe three minute #conversation we had amidst a 50 hour w/ 3 hours of sleep weekend during which time many more interesting topics were covered #why and how tf he remembered that will always be lost on me. but i said 'yeah slow but its happening' and he said 'good i hope you do it'#and then i segued wildly before i did cry at someone elses party #anyway ppl are so great #just so so unbelievably great #there isnt really an end to that story the thing i wanna do takes a reeeeally really long time #buuuuut rhys and i are actual friends now (in case you cant tell by the Everything i say about him lol). which is nice

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be-good-to-bugs · 1 month

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AAAAH forever stress is going to kill me one day

#the bin #i hate knowing why i feel so bad and not being able to do anything about it #im scared that ill never ever feel better. its been so long since i felt ok. im worried that ill make friends and still feel horrible all #the time and it wont matter. i cant keep doing this. im so tired of being all alone. im so tired of the constant inescapable dread #im going to figure something out. in a month ill be moved and i can start figuring everything out then #i hate not being able to focus on anything besides how bad i feel. i cant enjoy anything. theres so many shows i wanna watch but i cant #because im so distracted by this. theres so much manga i wanna read and i cant.#literally the ONLY thing that has been able to make me temporarily forget this for any amount of time is dungeon meshi #its so fucking good and it sparks so much joy that it does help but not enough. i get sad again really fast.#well. im trying really hard to manage my stress. i did the math on how much i should be getting. i know that i will have rent at least.#there are 2 weeks that i dont know what my hours will be but assuming i get 13 hours at least then i should have an ok amount for #moving. its possible theyll be worse and its possible theyll be better. im really hoping theyre better. my hours have been SO BAD recently #i dont know why. i know im not bad at my job or anything. i sont think my manager dislikes me either. he does this whenever someone #hasnt been feeling well and hell do it for a couple weeks and i think its him trying to be considerate but i have bills to pay man #technically there is a shift i could pickup but the store has a drive thru so im nervous to bc idk how that works and if im asked to do that #then ill have no idea so ive been avoiding taking any shifts like that #hopefully enough will pop up in the coming weeks and i can get some more hours. i know i can cover moving vehicle cost but idk how much #gas is gonna be so im suuuuper worried abt that. hhhh. hopefully my sister and her boyfriend can get me back the $300 they owe too #honestly idk how they werent able to afford rent but immediately after they were able to afford a 40 hour roadtrip and yimw off work #whatever. it doenst matter.#i wish i could deal with the other stuff messing me up rn but i cant fix the loneliness thing without not being alone and i cant fix that #it doesnt matter how much i tell myself ill make friends eventually or if i believe it or not. i feel bad because ive gone way too long #not hanging out with anyone and my brain cant handle it.#im gonna see if maybe i can play a game with my sister soon. or maybe i couod play smth with my younger sister even #i pkayed roblox with her for a little while. maybe she would want to again. i miss her :(

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dangerliesbeforeyou · 4 months

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Hi! I've read your tags, will you give access to your compiled Google Doc before allowing suggestions or will we just start suggesting and you'll ignore those that you already have? And another thing, will all pop groups from Korea qualify, no matter how unsubstantial their discography is? I've been digging up nugu girl groups and a lot of them only made one or two songs. Thanks in advance and have a nice day :)

heyy anon!

i was thinking i'll probably share the google doc straight away so anyone with suggestions can just search in it to check if i haven't already included it!

& i'd say any group/artist from korea, or who have released music in korean counts, even if that's only a couple songs lol!

& you have a lovely day too <3

#i will try and explain more in the welcome post of the blog but hope this answers ur questions for now!#only thing i'm a bit unsure about is what image to use in the polls...#cos w/ haveyouheardthisband they use a popular album cover #but i dont think that would necessarily work w/ kpop since there are a lot of people that have heard of a group #but only due to their faces u know?#but that opens up a whole other can of worms since groups often have lineup changes ...#i think i'll probs just include the up to date line up to be safe?#(so for e.g. that would be exo with 8 members not 12 (or 9))#but anyone reading this that has a better idea i'm all ears lol!

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swampdrive · 10 months

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Specific gripe but hwrow capitalism really crushes art

#ive been getting back into doing adopt designs to cover costs this month and am going to have 2 do it regularly again #and there is a pretty specific niche of What People Will Buy and What I actually Have Time to Create i have to fall into and its just a bit #soul crushing. like I have so many Ideas for Stuff i want to draw but i know wont be marketable or wont sell well etc. which means i just #cant make it! i dont have time to be drawing whenever i want i have work so i have to foce myself to do it when i Really Dont Want to on #the weekends bc if i dont I wont be able to afford transit to my Real Job and its just ahdbfjdndj soul crushing #like ik i should be thankful people want to buy things from me and that i could probably cut down on drawing stuff to sell since i already #made the budget quota for this month but this is also going to be a continuous issue for the next few months for me and im worried i #wont make enough one month and have to start dipping into my main paycheck and thats just a not good trajectory to take #anyway i wish i could draw more weird little men and weird little robots instead of the easily platable fun outfits and very humanoid #android designs ive been doing. like ppl have told me they wld be interested in other stuff but the main bulk of my followers are NOT which #makes anything weird/out of my preset formula i make a risk for me right now :/#ANYWAY to anyone else who bothered to read this A. i hope youre having a fantastic day bud go drink some water and have a snack #and B. if ur an artist who dabbles in adopts and stuff like that jsyk there is a weird market for outfit designs rn?? from covos ive had #with buyers a lot of vtubers want outfits to have models made off of #weird market but ill take it!

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kenntolog · 17 days

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sukuna realizing your sad because a classmate was flirting with him and ur just all upset because you thought he dont want u anymore. IM SORR I NEED SOME FLUFF

𝝑𝝔 an: hope u enjoy thisssss!!! read more ab cool bf sukuna x loser reader here!!

you’ve been avoiding sukuna and he knows it.

it’s not that hard to see when you’re walking around with a sad face, getting to the lecture hall later than him so he doesn’t find a way to sit by your side, not answering his messages properly, not going to his practice games with lame excuses. and honestly, sukuna is kind of hurt because you refuse to acknowledge that he cares and tell him what is bothering you.

but sukuna isn’t dumb. and it was fairly easy to realise that you were upset with him because you were jealous of yorozu from his group literally throwing herself at him at every chance she got. it wasn’t anything new since she has been bothering him from the first year of university, when they were introduced as classmates.

it seemed like yorozu’s sense of obsession with him got stronger with upcoming spring. she was not leaving his side in the hallways, trying to tag along with whatever he was doing even while he didn’t spare her a glance, she was calling him the nickname he only allowed you to use which pissed him off further and she clung to him like a vice, her grip not wavering even when her dumb friends called out to her.

and in these moments, while sukuna’s mind was filled with questions like ‘how to get away with murder’, your insecurities got the best of you, seeing how sukuna, though visibly annoyed, didn’t seem to push her away completely. so you stopped walking up to him in the hallways after classes to plant his favourite types of kisses on his cheeks and you avoided catching his eyes because it hurt.

yorozu is beautiful, her beauty is carnal and almost every guy in the university drools over her so it shouldn’t come off as a surprise that maybe… maybe you aren’t the best choice for sukuna?

it goes on like this for a couple of excruciating days; jin and yuuji don’t risk asking about why sukuna seemingly only busies himself with practice and why he dons a deep scowl. they suspect that it’s something related to you, but don’t interfere and sukuna is happy they don’t. his mind is constantly focused on trying to get to you and as much as he wants to go to your place and talk things out… he’s scared. and he gives you space, thinking that the situation won’t escalate further.

but it does, when he catches you in the empty hallway, trying to get to your class with the saddest expression he’s ever seen you have. sukuna calls out to you, speeding up his steps and you stop, something hopeful burning in your eyes as you wait for him patiently.

yet, of course, yorozu appears out of nowhere with her wide smile and catches up to him quickly. sukuna sees the hope in your eyes quickly switch to betrayal, your bottom lip trembling and eyes glistening with tears as you turn away and run towards the bathroom. something cracks inside of him. but this time he’s not going to let damned yorozu stop him.

he rips his arm away from her grip, stepping back instantly while she looks up at him as if nothing is happening, “piss off or i will get violent.”

“‘kunaa~ why you gotta be so rude?” she leans her head against his shoulder insistently, batting her eyelashes at him. his eyes only see red when he hears the nickname again and he decides that he’s gonna use a different method this time.

he slowly guides his hand up her arm, feeling her relax under his touch, and weaves his fingers through her hair gently before his grip tightens and he tugs her head back roughly.

finally her face displays something other than satisfaction and that ugly smirk, and he shakes her in his hold while his other hand covers her mouth to stop her from making any sounds.

“don’t ever fuckin’ call me that,” he leans closer to her face. “and if you come up to me anytime again i won’t stop at this.”

she whimpers and nods shakily, trying to pull away before he harshly lets go of her hair, causing her to fall down.

he runs to the bathroom quickly, entering without any care and looks under the cabins to see where you are, but you seem to have found another place to hide while he was busy with yorozu. sukuna runs around looking through empty classes until he finally finds you in the art class, sitting in the corner farthest from the door and sniffling quietly.

“baby?” you jolt in your spot and cover your face with your hands, hurriedly wiping away your tears. he approaches you slowly, his hands itching to touch you, but he understands that you might not want that. “you cryin’?”

“no?” you croak out, sobbing a little more and sukuna feels like getting punched in the face repeatedly. you finally look at him, and sukuna steps closer to stand between your legs.

“‘m sorry.”

“you don’t have to apologise, y’know? ‘s okay if you like her.”

now, that’s crazy. “the fuck? i hate that bitch.”

you give him an unsure look and he sinks onto his knees before you, tugging your hands down from your face before he cups your jaw like he loves to do. you pout at him, still sniffling and trying to avoid his gaze, but he doesn’t let you, gently shaking your head to make you focus on him.

“look at me, baby.”

“‘m looking, ‘kuna.”

“no, do it properly.”

you take a few deep breaths, wiping your nose with your sleeve messily. and lock gazes with him. sukuna leans down, slotting his lips against yours, his free hand resting on top of your head. the weight of it is familiar to you, making you relax into him, your hands wrapping around his arm.

he pulls away, stroking your hair as he looks down at you with a gentle look in his eyes.

“i don’t want her. i only want you and i want you to engrave it into your thick skull or i will do it myself.”

you give him an unsure smile, eyes a little bit brighter now.

“i’m sorry for makin’ you feel like this.”

“i’m sorry for not talking to you about it.”

sukuna nods at you, hugging you close to his chest and kissing the top of your head lovingly, before he tightens his hold on you so much you start punching his back.

“but if you ever decide to run from me again i will kill you.”

“‘kuna, can’t breathe—”

#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #ryomen x reader #sukuna #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader

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zyafics · 18 days

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omg hi!! hope ur doing well i love ur writing btw, (play fake is one of my fav fics ive EVER read!!)

could u do a fic where rafe and reader are like best friends, and they’ve always both kinda liked each other but they dont really act upon it, until rafe gets a buzzcut and reader starts acting like real shy and clumsy around him bcs she’s shocked abt how he could get even MORE attractive, and then he gets linda confused so he asks her why she’s acting so different and then she tells him? make it as smutty and fluffy as u want! 🫶🫶

first off, ily 🥹 and omg, YES!! i've been thinking about this ever since i got your req in my inbox, so here's my very earnest attempt at doing it justice 🩷

masterlist

pairing rafe cameron x bsf!female reader

content (5.3k words) 18+, fluff, smut, soft!rafe to reader only, protected p in v, f receiving oral, lots of banter!, nicknames used: baby and wildflower. — reader type kook, spontaneous, loves adventure, hates silence, loves noises, doesn't exactly like her reality, and friends with topper and kelce, but is only close to rafe!

dedication to @mintforadollar for helping me with the nickname and for @erwinsvow for her lovely fic, which i drew inspiration from and i've been obsessing over for the past two weeks <3

lıllılı Wildflower by 5 Seconds of Summer

"I want to run away."

It takes a moment for Rafe to register your confession and his response is a drowsy laugh. "Buy a guy dinner first."

You let out a groan, slumping against your wrinkled sheets and abundant pillows spread across your bed. "I'm being serious, Rafe. I'm tired of this house. It's too empty and quiet. I can't stand it. At night, I think I can hear my skin buzzing."

Rafe is accustomed to your sporadic calls regarding whatever issues you had with the world. Last week, it was about the insufficient amount of family portraits that frame the halls of your mansion.

"Maybe you just need to change your sheets."

"Stop!" You chastise. Rafe chokes up with another beat of laughter, low and rich with the deep timbre of his voice. The sound temporarily draws you away from your rant, igniting a small ember in your stomach. You brush away those tingly thoughts. "You're not listening to me."

"I think I'm listening to you perfectly fine, wildflower." He reassures, the solemnity of his tone takes you off the edge. Rafe shuffles on the other line, moving to a sitting position against his headboard. "What do you want? Do you want me to come pick you up?"

You cower from his offer, tucking one of your pillows under your chin. "You don't have to..."

"Don't get all shy with me now. You can't act this way when you're waking me up in the dead of night to report about your getaway plans."

"I feel bad."

Rafe sighs, getting off his bed. He knows the outcome of this conversation and rather prepares himself for the short drive. "I'm heading over."

"I could walk."

"It's freezing outside."

"Your house is down the block. I can survive."

"I'm already out the door. Just stay put." Rafe announces and before he's about to disconnect the call, he adds. "I'm serious."

He arrives in record time. Honking his truck with no regards for the nearby neighbors and you pad downstairs with a bag, descending down the driveway to the passenger side of his truck. A little shiver travels down your spine at the cool North Carolina weather.

"God, what did I tell you?" He scolds, noticing your lack of outwear, and reaches for the blanket in the backseats he keeps just for you. He throws it at your face, suffocating your air with a fluffy white fleece. You roll your eyes, covering your shoulders with it as Rafe reverses. "Where do you want to go?"

"Thought I'm supposed to buy you a meal first."

He doesn't bother entertaining your retort with a glance and flicks the side of your head with his fingers. You giggle. "We're not running away."

"Who said you're included in this adventure? I remember it being a one-person job."

Rafe scoffs. "You can't run away. You'd miss me too much."

"No, you'd miss me too much." You tease back, watching his lips pull to an upward curve at your words. It makes your heart flutters, knowing you always manage to get this side of Rafe. To the rest of Outer Banks, Rafe is seen as a precarious, self-absorbed playboy, but to you, he's your best friend.

And a little more.

The truck parks on the roadside of Tannyhill, the silhouettes of the estate surrounded by shadowy oak trees and a deep reflection of the moon on their waterfront view. Rafe doesn't make a move to leave, nor turn off the engine, before he turns to you.

"You okay?" He asks gravely, all humor stripped off his handsome features. You feel the air of your lungs stolen, at the amount of attention he's paying you, and the atmospheric change turns you to a bashful version of yourself.

"Fine." You answer, looking to your lap. "You know..."

Despite your house being a near-identical model to Rafe's, you hate yours. It's nothing about the architecture but rather the emptiness of the hallways. The cold floors sweep with minimalist decors. The echoes in the chambers where you can hear every little whirl in the air conditioner and creaks in the pipes. You'd rather be at Tannyhill.

Rafe doesn't say anything for the next few moments, observing you, before conceding a sigh. "Tell you what. I'll take you out on the Druthers tomorrow. We'll go bright and early, sail out for a couple of hours, watch the sunrise and it'll be something."

You lift your head, eyes lit up. "Is this our escape?"

"We gotta come back, though."

You frown but the offer remains enticing. It's better than nothing.

"Okay, deal." You nod, holding out your pinkie finger. Rafe scoffs at your gesture, but nonetheless, returns it. "Don't look so glum. You get to hang out with me."

"You do realize we have about three hours of sleep?"

You glance at the clock on his dashboard. He's right. But, you don't want to hold it off till another day. "I can go by myself. Just give me the keys for tomorrow."

He rolls his eyes, as if he would even consider that suggestion, and shakes his head. "I'm coming with you."

"Aren't you afraid you won't get your beauty sleep?"

"Shut up and get in the house."

You laugh and hop out of his truck. When you enter through his bedroom, you throw your bag to a random corner and stroll over to his closet in search for one of Rafe's tees to sleep in.

When you settle on something, you strip out of your clothes—in the middle of his bedroom, just as Rafe enters—and exchange it for his shirt. He had little regard for your act, having grown accustomed to you changing in front of him and vice versa.

All Rafe does is pull off his own shirt, because he likes to sleep naked, and turns back to you. Unlike him, you're never going to get used to seeing him naked—the defined muscles of his chest, the toned planes of his abs, all those hours spent at the gym are clearly not wasted.

You flush, realizing you're ogling him longer than appropriate, and lift your gaze to find a smirk curving his lips. "Oh, shut it," you push his shoulders, causing him to laugh. He takes the opportunity to capture your hand, pulling the both of you onto his mattress, and you yelp.

Rafe changes your position so you're facing him, an arm sprawls over your waist, and there's about a couple of inches of space between the two of you. Here, in the low streams of the moonlight glistening through the veiled curtains and the faint aroma of his cologne on his pillows, you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

You say nothing. He says nothing, You stare into his cerulean eyes, knowing all this little emotions you're feeling all over—the light pricks on your skin where he touches you, the lapse in your breathing from how attentive he is, and the sharp incline of your heart rate pulsing through your veins—is because of him.

His voice is low when he says, "you know you're my best friend, right?"

You couldn't find it in you to answer. You just nod.

Rafe swallows hard, not having the ability to string together the next sentence. Instead, all he does is nod along, leaning forward to place a light kiss on your forehead, before falling asleep.

The next morning, just an hour before the sunrise, Rafe and you head to the ports to board the Druthers. Despite the lack of adequate sleep, you were giddily and strumming with high energy. He holds out his hand to guide you up the stairs, afraid your enthusiasm would cause you to miss a step.

When the Druthers is far enough from shore, it pulls to a halt, gently bobbing on the ocean waves of the tame morning. You settle on the deck and Rafe slides into the spot next to you. Here, you have the perfect view of the sun slowly rising from the horizon, painting the sky in a palette of red, orange and yellow.

You're grinning. You're feeling much better, especially after your melodramatic episode. Your head rests on Rafe's chest, observing the skyline until the sun reaches its acme, while he watches you. Something about you, happy, content, and with him brings a warmth no one can replicate.

"We have to go swimming." You announce suddenly, twisting your head to look at him with excitement bubbling on your features, doe eyes pleading with a want.

His expression is flat, trying to contain his emotions. "It's seven in the morning."

"So? When has that stopped me before?"

"It's freezing cold."

"That's your excuse for everything." You scoff, before tilting your head in a challenge. "Are you scared of a little water, Rafe Cameron?"

There's a twinkle in your eyes, something about the way you talk to him, he would never allow from anyone else. It's just you. He had to look away, pretending to shake his head from the idea but knowing, at the end, he lost.

With a long dip into the ocean, you swim around the Druthers with light splashes thrown in his face, causing Rafe to chase after you for your little stunt. When the pair of you returned to the boat, dripping wet on the floor deck, laughter exchanging at the break of dawn.

"You cheated!" You accuse, grinning.

"I did not. You're just slow."

When you change out of your bikini and Rafe changes out of his swim trunks, you return to the cockpit where Rafe dons a new attire: khaki pants, a polo shirt, and his backward baseball cap. The air shifts, a more solemn expression on his face.

"You had enough now, wildflower?" He tips his head to your direction, as you approach him. "Ready to return back to the real world?"

You groan. "What's so special about that place?"

"Nothing that matters to you," he declares, "but I have a couple of errands I have to run today. I have to get back, but I won't leave until you're feeling better."

"Hm." You consider your satisfaction. Standing before Rafe, you watch as his lips curl in amusement at the way you're mauling through the finer details. The itinerary of your day and whether it was enough. When your eyes lock with his, you offer him a sweet smile, albeit a little reluctant.

"What?"

You don't answer him, reaching for his hat and taking it off his head, before plopping it over your own as a keepsake souvenir. "Now, I am."

—

After spending your afternoon with Topper and Kelce at the Country Club, distracting them from their tee time with your commentary about their swings, Rafe finally arrives to join you.

But it's different.

When Rafe said he had a couple of errands to run, you didn't ask for their specifics. He just said he'll join you later and you were content with that assumption.

You should've prepared yourself.

Rafe got a new haircut; a buzz that took away his dirty blond locks and a clean fade on the sides. For some reason, it makes your heart accelerate. Your breath shortens. Rafe has always been attractive before but now, you couldn't even look at him.

When he tries to approach you in greeting, you dip out of the way and return to Topper and Kelce. However, in the middle of your path, you nearly tripped over some hazardously-abandoned golf club one of the boys threw out, but Rafe caught you. A hand on your elbow, his brows drawn together in concern.

"You good?" He asks. You can't help but let your eyes stray up to his hairline, finding it voided of the curtain bangs it previously occupies and the strands you like to mess with. Your gaze instantly drops to the ground.

"I'm–I'm fine." You stutter, heat rising to your cheeks from the embarrassing fact that you couldn't even make a clean getaway. Rafe helps you find your balance and you slip out of his grasp as you excuse yourself back to the other Kooks.

That's how the rest of the evening went. Through another round of golf and a dinner at the restaurant inside the Country Club, you try to ignore Rafe to the best of your abilities. It was a difficult task but a necessary one. Your emotions were fuzzy and harder to control. You couldn't even look at your best friend without flushing or revealing everything on your face.

You thought you could wait it out till you get home.

"Come on, wildflower." Rafe grabs your wrist, just as you're about to join Topper in his car, and you turn to face his contempt expression. Annoyance written over his features. "I'm driving you home."

"No, it's fine. Top said he can give me a ride—"

"We live nearby each other. There's no point for Top to do all that. Right?" Rafe cuts a hard look to the blond in the driver seat, to whom easily backs off with two hands raised in surrender. Coward. Rafe turns back to you. "Let's go."

You end up in the passenger seat of his truck. On the long drive back to Figure Eight, you were uncharacteristically quiet. Often, you would fidget with the stereo, messing with Rafe's presets on country and rap stations, to which he always has to swat your hands away. Today, you sat obediently in your seat, hands tucked between your thighs, looking anywhere but Rafe.

"You're not going to listen to music?" He asks, trying to cut the silence. You shake your head.

"I'm not feeling it."

You try to count the seconds. You try to distract yourself by looking out the window and listening to the chirps of crickets coming out, but all you can focus on is the sound of yours and Rafe's breathing. The acute awareness of something in the air. The amount of space between the two of you. The way something deep in you changed about him.

It isn't his fault. Whatsoever. It's all yours. All those times spent at Tannyhill, stealing his shirts to wear to sleep, cuddling up in his bed after sneaking out of your estate, running around with Rafe doing god-knows-what. You developed something for him. A crush. An inkling.

You always told yourself you could control it. It's natural for best friends to like each other at one point. It'll fade away eventually.

But, unfortunately for you, that isn't the case. it got worse. It grew more desperate. With each inching territory into something else means a larger consequence it can have on your friendship.

You can't lose him.

"Hey." Rafe calls out, his voice softens considerably from the aggression he used with Topper a while back. You don't turn to face him, despite that being his sole objective, and you respond back with a light hum. "Am I driving you home or Tannyhill?"

To you, those are the same things. Home is where Tannyhill is, where Rafe is. But, you knew what he was referring to.

"Tannyhill." You answer in a chipped tone. "I forgot my bag."

"Of course, you did." He teases, trying to break the tension with some lightheartedness. It doesn't work. You don't answer, too lost in resisting the urge to look at him.

Rafe sighs when you refuse to acknowledge him and turns back to the road. That's when you spare a glance from the corner of your peripheral; just a small peek.

And there he is: Rafe with the fresh shave that is such a strange yet welcomed sight. It brings out a clearer definition of his handsome features, the planes of his sharp profile, the cut of his jawline and the wrinkles around his eyes you always adore. It's too much for you.

You can't let him know that.

He's your best friend.

When he reaches Tannyhill, you leap out of the moving vehicle and race up the porch. You take the hidden key from under the mat and turn the lock, slipping into the familiar foyer and up the large stairwell.

Racing against an internal clock, once you enter the bedroom, you search for your bag, but you can't seem to pinpoint its location. When you manage to miraculously find it underneath the covers, you throw it over your shoulders and sprint to the exit.

Only for Rafe to block it.

"Why are you in such a rush?" He asks, his brows furrowed together as he examines you. You quickly drop your gaze to the ground, pretending to be interested in the patterns on the marble.

"I just..." You stammer for an excuse. "I just got to get home."

"Why? You hate your house."

"I don't hate it." You lie. The conversation tips into an awkward tension—the exact thing you were trying to avoid. You think you need to spend a day, or two, or a whole week, to collect yourself and force yourself back to normal. Back to when you can look at him without revealing everything on your face.

"God, what is it? You don't like it?" Rafe laughs with an ounce of nervousness and the sound takes you back. You look up, finding him running a hand over his buzzcut. "It's my hair, isn't it?"

He didn't know why he decided to buzz it off. He just did. He didn't care if his father didn't approve or if Wheezie would make fun of him for the sudden change in appearance. That didn't matter to him.

But your opinions did.

"What?" Your lips part. Were you that obvious? "I never said that."

"You didn't need to. This entire evening, you've barely looked at me."

He's right.

"I was busy."

"Playing golf with Top? You hate that shit." He retorts, dropping his hand to his side, clenching them into whiten knuckles. "And when we were at the restaurant. You were sitting with Kelce. Why the fuck were you sitting with him instead of me?"

You swallow hard. Your throat is tightening with all the words you can't reveal.

"Maybe I just want to change it up. I am friends with them too—"

"But you're my friend first."

You scoff. "Possessive much?"

"Very." He answers nonchalantly. Your heart skips a beat. He can't say that; it's not fair. "And knowing you for so long, I know what you're telling me is complete and total bullshit."

His hand slides under your jaw, lifting your gaze to meet his, and you can't help but feel your walls crumbling. You're afraid. You're so afraid.

"Come on, wildflower." He murmurs softly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. "Tell me the truth."

You have always been able to do that. In ways. When Rafe asks something of you, you're always able to tell him straight. It's one of the qualities he likes about you. Now is the first time you're going against your nature. Because it's too close, too real, that it can change everything.

Your throat grows dry and you lick your bottom lip, causing Rafe to glance down.

"I..." You begin, trying to string together a coherent sentence that won't damage everything. He raises a brow, waiting. "Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you."

You close your eyes after the confession. Your heart is in his hands.

All the air in the room stills, as if the air conditioner turns off and you're all left with a tense, palpable silence. You can't bear it. At least, at your house, you can blast your speakers on full-volume to create some level of noise and block it out. Here, all you can hear is the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"Say something." You urge.

"Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you too."

Your heart drops. You think he doesn't understand. He thinks you can't stand him physically, especially after his haircut, and this is a similar sentiment shared by him about you.

He doesn't feel the same way.

"Oh."

You open your eyes, trying hard not to cry. You can feel them swelling with hot tears but you blink fast, trying to not let Rafe see.

He immediately recognizes the look, drawing back his hand. That’s not what he meant. "Don't cry."

You're not doing a good job at hiding anything today. "No, it's okay," you say with a crack voice, "you don't have to—"

"No, fuck," he swears, "what I mean is that, sometimes, when you look at me, I just—" He couldn't explain himself, not in time, not in the way he wants, that he covers your eyes, flooding your vision with darkness and heightening every other sense.

Rafe releases a deep exhale, collecting himself. "Those eyes..." He mumbles, the resonance of his voice so close, it's as if he's right beside you. You feel his breathing fanning against the curve of your neck, raising goosebumps. "They drive me fucking insane."

Then, he kisses your neck.

The act jolts you by surprise.

"Everything about you drives me insane." He confesses against your heated skin, the vibration of his words sending straight tingles through your body. "I can't go a day without thinking about you. About wanting you."

Not just as a best friend, but as a whole. Everything about you he needs. In his life; forever. Sometimes, he can't believe you exist.

You're overwhelmed with all these new emotions. Your heart is swelling. "Rafe..."

"You're my best friend, right?" He muses, delivering kisses up the column of your throat to the underside of your jaw, and making his way closer to your lips. "But you're also the only one for me."

Before he gets to your mouth, you grab his wrist, the one holding you blindfolded. He stops in place—afraid this is your time to reject him.

"Rafe." You breathe out. "Can I see you?"

He slowly removes his hand, allowing your vision to flood back with his presence. This time, the sight of Rafe doesn't push you into overdrive. There's a new sense of clarity and calm, an elated comfort you don't share with anyone else.

You take your time drinking him in. From his face, to his lips, to the fresh haircut you're feeling entirely too grateful for. You do it all without fear.

"What?" He demands, his insecurities skyrocketing through the roof. "Don't like it?"

"I love you."

His heart lunges in his chest. He couldn't believe the words coming from your lips. When it completely registers that this is not some sweet, wet dream he's going to wake up from, his hands reach forward to cup either side of your face and he finally kisses you.

His force pushes you back against his bed and you land on the mattress with a soft thump. You laugh into his mouth and Rafe grins against your lips.

"Eager, much?"

"I wanted to hear you say that for so long." He admits, his hand travels down your waist to grab your hips and pull you closer. Rafe deepens the kiss, swallowing the little sounds you're making, until you have to pull away to catch your breath.

You can't believe this is happening.

"I didn't know you were such a good kisser."

"Yeah? You wanna know what else I'm good at?"

Your eyes drop to his pants, seeing the subtle outline of his erection straining against his zipper, and he chuckles lowly. "You want it tonight?"

You nod timidly. Your eyes dropping to your lap again, but this time, Rafe doesn't allow you to do such things.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to his. "Don't do that, baby. You know how I feel about you getting shy from asking what you want. Use your words."

The new nickname is making you lightheaded. You can't believe this is real. "I want you, Rafe."

Sweetest goddamn words he ever heard.

He tips his head to your clothes. "Take it off."

"You first."

He laughs at your competitiveness, always trying to challenge him, but he doesn't resist. He pushes himself off the mattress, pulling off his shirt and removing his pants. All that is left is his boxer-briefs, which reveals the outline of his bulge. "Your turn."

You take off your shirt and your shorts and decide, last minute, to go the extra mile and unclasp your bra too. It falls over your shoulders and you throw it out onto the floor.

Rafe takes his time, staring at your tits. He has seen you naked before, the consequence of your intimate relationship that pushes the boundaries into blurred lines and the inevitable collision of morning showers in his ensuite and drunken exchanges after parties.

But this time, it's different. This time, it's a sight that's intentional—just for him.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?"

You gawk at him, the words send a thrill down your spine. "Do you know how long I waited for this?" You gesture back to him, at his naked frame, and he smirks.

"You got an eyeful last night."

"Oh, shut up," you use your leg to kick him, but Rafe catches your ankle in the process. Your eyes widen as he uses the opportunity to spread your legs apart, sinking between your thighs. His gaze finds your soaked panties.

His thumb traces across your panties, drawing out your wetness against the fabric and collecting your arousal. You whimper, aching into his touch.

"Rafe, please." You beg. His eyes lifts to find yours in a self-satisfied grin. He loves knowing you're this desperate for him, only him, that his fingers hook under the band of your panties.

"Lift your hips for me." He commands and you obey. He pulls off your panties and hauls you to the ledge of his bed. With that, his fingers caress your wet slit, drawing out a low moan from you. "Fuck."

He has imagined that sound a thousand times over, but it's incomparable to the real thing. To know you're feeling this way because of him. He feels himself growing harder, straining against the thin fabric and begging to be inside of you.

But he wants to pleasure you first.

Rafe lowers himself and covers your clit with his mouth. He proceeds to suck, his fingers grazing your entrance before plunging a thick digit inside.

You tip your head against the mattress, reveling in the feel of his tongue against your swollen nub, the way he thrusts into you with a steady pace and the additive finger. Your legs drape over his shoulders, closing him in.

"Fuck, baby, you taste so sweet," Rafe mumbles against you, the vibration of his words stirring something inside of you. "I can't believe I haven't been tasting you every single fucking night."

You draw out with a breathy moan, feeling yourself clench at his words. "We have all the time now."

"I bet I can make you come on my face fast, though."

You don't get a chance to entertain the response before Rafe sucks harder, pumping inside of you with a determined speed that causes you to arch off the mattress and claw at his sheets.

"Shit," you whimper, squeezing your thighs together at the intense pleasure, forcing Rafe to use his free hand to push your legs apart. You feel your climax rapidly approaching. "Oh, god, oh, god."

You come on his face, as promised, and you slump back against the bed, catching your breath. Rafe removes his hand from your cunt, the emptiness causes a little whine.

"What?" He looks at you.

"Nothing," you mumble, "I just want you inside me."

He laughs. "God, you're needy," he teases, causing heat to rise to your cheeks. "Don't worry, baby, you'll get it soon."

He goes to his nightstand and pulls out a condom. Just as he's about to tear it open, he glances down at you, extending the small square. "Want to do it?"

You nod, pushing yourself upright and taking it from his hands. You rip it open, as Rafe removes his boxers, and his cock springs free, red and swollen with a bit of precum. You smile, glancing up at him with your doe eyes. "Is that because of me?"

"Shut up."

You giggle, rolling the latex over his length, taking your time to admire his size. He's big and perfect, the tip of his cock dripping with his precum that you almost wish you could take him inside your mouth instead. However, despite the recent orgasm, your body wants him inside.

"Lay back." He commands thickly. "Spread your legs."

You do as he says, throbbing from the control he has in the room. Rafe sinks his knees into his mattress, approaching you as he pushes your thighs apart and lines his tip against your entrance, causing your breath to shorten.

"Come on, wildflower, breathe with me."

You nod shakily, closing your eyes for a moment to inhale a calming breath before he plunges deep inside you, filling you to the hilt. A gasp escapes you, his girth stretching you out, but it soon fades into a pleasure unlike any others.

"God, you feel good," he mumbles, lowering himself to your mouth and capturing your lips into a hot kiss. Your hand drapes over his shoulders as he begins to thrust inside of you. "Too fucking good."

You feel perfect. All of this is too perfect. The way you press against him, your fingernails scraping his back, the way your pussy grips him with the ideal amount of pressure, and the way your lips sync with his as if you were made for him.

The air fills with your whimpers and mewls, increasing in volume with each thrusts that enters and leaves you, while Rafe is heaving in breathy grunts and moans. He pushes your legs back, forcing the new position to grant him deeper access into your sweet cunt.

He's hitting new spots you didn't know were possible. It's making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your cries coming out with desperate pleas, that he had to cover your mouth with his to swallow all the noises.

When you feel yourself reaching a familiar high, the buzz tingling between your legs, you grip his shoulders tight. Rafe feels your walls fluttering around him, and he quickened his pace, sweat breaking across his forehead.

Your breath is heavy, your heart is racing, and as you ascend into your peak, you moan out Rafe's name with such euphoric satisfaction, he comes with you, emptying into the condom.

When he finishes, he falls into the space next to you. His breathing is rough, trying to catch his own breath, that you can't help but turn your gaze to his, examining him under this new light.

Rafe catches you staring, the way your eyes lift to his hairline, and he reassures with a soft brush against your jaw. "It'll grow back, I promise."

"it's not that." You declare, dropping your gaze down to his face. You still can't believe the embarrassment you still feel by how attractive he is. "I like it."

"You do?"

"Why else would I hide from you?"

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. His hand drops to your waist, pulling you closer to him until you're skin-to-skin, your breasts pressing against his chest.

"You couldn't tell me the whole time?" He mumbles, kissing your nose. You giggle.

"If I did, we wouldn't be here having sex."

He takes a moment to consider your words, before finding some merit in them. "Fair." He declares, just as his eyes find yours again. This time, he can look at you, knowing you're his. "I guess next time I get a new haircut, I can propose, huh?"

Your heart drops. Your smile fades from surprise. "What?"

He laughs at your expression. "You think I'm letting you go after this? It's either us or nothing."

Maybe reality isn’t too bad.

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

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rubywithecat · 1 month

Text

Tokyo revengers boys when you ignore them after one night stand (pt.1)

Mikey

-he almost doesnt recognize you

-when he senses the familiar scent when you passed through him, he couldnt help but turned his head

-"Hey wait" he called out. "do i know you?"

-U frozed. "I dont know you..." u lied. He walked to face you and looked you carefully. U broke the eye contact and excused yourself.

-he grabbed your hand which made your body gravitated toward his chest

-"your a bad liar" his lips nearly toucing yours. "plz dont ignore me. ive been searching u everywhere"

Ran Haitani

-He thought he would just forget you as like he does for many women who he had slept with

-But something about u made him craving u more, maybe cuz of ur innocence (u were a virgin)

- U were going to ur class when u heard a smiliar voice, u quickly hide when u caught a glimpse of him

-he was on his phone and he seemed to like noticed that u hide, he smirked

-"Rindou, I will call u back" he closed his phone and walked toward where u were

-ur heart was beating so fast and u just prayed he would passed through and closed ur eyes

-"Found ya" he whispered, loud enough for u to hear. "U who snaked away from me after i gave u ur first best night ever. Don’t u think it’s a lil bit unfair to me?” he grabbed ur waist as if he could read ur mind about escaping

-"u cant run away from me second time, Miss"

Chifuyu Matsuno

-He tried to forget about what happened that night and didnt even think he could meet u again

-when he saw u at the mall, he was about to call u out but he saw u with a kid, he thought its ur kid

-he didnt try to talk with u anymore cuz he doesnt wanna be a threat to ur marriage or smth

-u also saw him but u were too nervous to go and talk cuz u liked that guy so much “what if he doesn’t remember me? I would just embarrass myself” u whispered to urself

-as u guys parted, u were sad and hopeless

-"hey (kid name), i need to use toilet. dont go anywhere before i come back,okay?' u bent down to the kids height and smiled.

-"Yes” he replied cutely. "Good boy." u told him and go to toilet quickly.

-just a hen u come back, u saw him talking to a guy so u rushed quickly.

-"how old r u?" u could hear slightly. "i am 8" ur nephew answered.

-"what did i tell u (kid name)?Dont talk to random--' u scolded him before realizing that guy

-"he just saved me from some bad guys who tried to steal our shopping bags" ur nephew answered.

"Oh god" u sighed and turned back to him, but dont dare to look at him. "Umm... thank u for saving my nephew..." u said awkwardly.

-He was stunned but he felt relieved and glad that he wasn’t ur son

-U were about to walk away when he started to talk, "Im sure we met before, right?"

-U looked back at him and he was smiling at u and it was not a question. He remembered u and will not let u go anymore

Hanma Shuji

-From the moment he saw u, he couldn’t lie to himself that he fell in love with u

-Whenever he fcks someone he always think about u

-He was pissed that u left him after s*x without even leaving ur number

-He tried his best to forget u

-u didnt expect to meet a one night stand u met last year at the club u work

-Ur not like a stripper or anything like that. U work as a waitress there as u have no choice to pay for ur collage

-U quickly covered ur face as he walked passed through

-"maybe he wont even remember me at all. It was long time ago" u relieved. But then he stopped.

-"Hey" he called u. "Wtf- plz don’t remember me" u mumbled. U dont wanna invlove in gang things so its best to stay away

-"Do u know where are vip rooms?" he asked u

-"Uh— it’s at ur left, sir" U didnt dare to look back and just answered nervously, hoping he doesn’t see ur face

-U stared at u from behind for a sec and then walked away, smoking.

-“U see that girl over there? Bring her to my room” he ordered the waiter

-“Sir, I’m afraid she’s just a waitress and doesn’t do that kind of thing ya know…” the waiter answered, afraid “I- could suggest u the best beautiful stripper in our club. I’m sure u will be satis—“ before he could finish his word, he was punched to the ground.

-“Useless shits” he mumbled as he looked down and wiped the blood strain on his ring “Bring her to me” he said and left as he threw sone cash to the waiter face.

-U entered the dim light room, written “VIP” cuz ur coworker begged u so u empathized him

-“Were u searching for me?” U said impatiently and faked to be confident when u were trembling inside. “Look, just to be clear, im not interested in sleeping with u. I just come to tell u that so plz leave me alone and my coworkers, sir”

-Hanma just laughed helplessly as he finds that cute and as u were about to leave, he tightly hugged u from behind and kissed ur neck, leaving a mark

-“Who said I care whether ur intreated or not?” he smirked. “U were already mine. Don’t u dare run away from me… please?” His voice changed. It was the first time he begged for someone and u also feel that part of u just can’t resist him

—

A/N: Hi! Welcome back y’all! <3 So, I have been disappearing for a long time cuz of final exam and now it’s over so I can finally write back and have a lot of ideas that I wanna share with u guys. <3

Sorry for not being able to respond the requests but now that I’m free, I will be open to ur requests again! :*

And I hope u guys like this one and any supports are very much appreciated, loves <33

—

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev smut #sano manjiro #mikey x reader #ran haitani #ran x reader #ran headcanons #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu fluff #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma headcanons #hanma shuuji x reader #ran haitani x reader

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mvrtaiswriting · 11 months

Note

Hey! Someone suggested your blog for one piece and I decided to check it out!

I’d also like to make a request

How would the monster trio(+katakuri if you wanna write for him) be with a s/o who always looks at them as if asking them for permission to beat some one up (you can add anyone else if you want) f!reader or gn! Reader whichever one

Headcanons pls<3

Have a great day!

Monster trio + Ace, Law and Usopp with a s/o who looks at them before fighting someone.

hullo, thanks for requesting this! i unfortunately dont write for katakuri but i added law and ace to the mix, i hope it's fine! enjoy this lil headcanons, i loved writing these!! also, using this as a chance to restate that requests are open!

warning: none. gn! reader.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

Luffy: All it takes is a glare. It doesn't take long for Luffy to recognise the sparkle in your eyes. He feels it too; the tension building in your muscles, the adrenaline rising up in your veins making your heart beat ten times faster than usual. Lowering his straw-hat to cover his eyes, Luffy simply chuckles in response. He knows your potential and he is curious of the limits your able to reach and break. He takes this as a good opportunity to train and test your powers; nevertheless, he is watching your back and ready to step in.

Sanji: Sanji smirks and lights up a cigarette, making himself comfortable and untying his tie. He knows well that whoever crosses your path is in real danger - and he brags about it whenever he has the occasion to. He is overly proud of you; plus, winning a fight would always guarantee a special treatment from him. Preparing your favourite meal, smothering you in kisses, an endless ramble of praises. He enjoys the fight, making sure you don't get hurt as he meticulously observe your combat moves.

Zoro: Zoro tries to make you back off. Despite his love and respect for you, he would rather let you stay away from the battlefield. He is aware of your combat abilities, he just thinks it would be easier if you'd let his swords deal with it. Nevertheless, it's easy to convince him if you buy him an extra bottle of booze. After all, despite his protective instincts, he enjoys a partner who can fight and protect themselves. Seeing you go feral and win a fight always tickles his senses.. so you might be in for a good, particularly nasty training session afterwards.

additional characters:

Law: Law definitely doesn't approve your conflictual nature. Although he is a little trouble maker himself, he prefers approaching things, and fights, in a more methodical way - having a precise strategy, and more importantly, a reason. Getting caught up in a worthless fight would mean catching the marine's attention, and that would be dangerous. When he sees you joining the battlefield regardless, he sighs and stands back. But if you manage to get hurt.. be ready to hear him grumble under his breath about irresponsible you were as he medicates you.

Ace: You and Ace would meet looks, the same impulsive idea running through the synapses of your brain. He nods in response, a clever smirk drawing on his lips as he transforms the ramble in a challenge.

"First one to land a punch wins."

Usopp: Tries to discourage you from it. He knows you would be perfectly able to win the fight - but he also knows he would struggle to help you. Your fearless nature worries Usopp, and sometimes it makes him wonder how the two of you get so along. Dangerous situation fuel you, whilst he prefers running from them. Usopp would never give you the permission to battle someone if the situation permits a safe escape - a long, frustrated sighs is the only slightly positive answer you could receive. And when you jump head first in the battle, he whines and snorts, ready to snipe the enemy if the situation escalates.

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h4m1lt0ns · 3 months

Text

HEARTBREAK SYNDROME.

episode eleven :: “REDBULL FANS”

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴various drivers x y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔musical releases resume and so does the drama.

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ face claim ﹔ wonyoung jang (28)

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕ excessive cussing, none.

ylnestate

♡ liked by lewishamilton, carlossainz55 and 18,450,948 more.

ylnestate U&U no. 44 will be released tonight at midnight. ‘Grandstand Girl’ is the 44th mini album by ﹫y/n and features artists like ﹫theweeknd, ﹫justinbieber, and ﹫champagnepapi. All songs (apart from Trust Issues) were produced and written by Y/n in the past couple months as she’s currently working on her biggest record yet, so stay tuned for that 😉⭐️!

tagged: theweeknd, champagnepapi, justinbieber.

1,492,592 comments.

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→ username u&u stands for undecided and unreleased, y/n usually drops u&u eps right before an album when she has songs that don’t fit the genre/make sense with the rest of the album. they usually consist of 2-6 songs and this one is ep number 44! hope this helped 💗

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y/n

♡ liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 11,393,159 more.

y/n SEBASTIAN VETTEL PLEASE COME BACK 💔 adopted another papaya fucker and a williams kid ft. fernando rizzlonso and sir lew 🩷

993,593 comments.

y/l/nestate more kids?

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→ mercedesamgf1 so cute isn’t he 😍

→ username ADMIND KAKFJSKSK

username lewis graduated from a bank cause that face card can’t decline.

username how does he *just* look like that ????!,!,’ 😭

username FERNANDO RIZZLONSO.

fernandoalo_oficial in slayzuka

→ username IN WHERE????

username YESSSS OSCAR AND LOGAN 🔥🔥🔥🔥

username aRE WE GONNA IGNORE HE COVERING MAX’S FACE WITH A ROSCOE STICKER???

username WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETRE 🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

landonorris new brothers unlocked

→ logansargeant hello brother

→ landonorris hello, i hope you know you’re my step brother bc i don’t share y/n 🙏🏼

→ oscarpiastri what about me?

→ landonorris read the terms and conditions, same rules apply to every adopted kid AFTER lando norris 🫶🏻

→ logansargeant ok

→ username PLS

→ username TERMS AND CONDITIONS 😭😭😭

yukitsunoda0511 why does lewis get the good photos

→ y/n he was literally just standing there and he looked good

→ georgerussell63 not fair u always catch the rest of us off guard

→ y/n i caught him off guard too, maybe he’s not the problem 🤭

→ charles_leclerc I’m-

→ lewishamilton ﹫y/n thank you love 🖤🥰

→ username pls don’t flirt with my gf

→ username she will leave us for u in a heartbeat sir PLS stop 🙏🏽

username casually posts after ep announcement, no one like you, y/n y/l/n.

mercedesamgf1 pls bring lewis and george back, we need you three in the office rn 🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀

→ y/n on our way rn 🏃‍♀️

carlossainz55 you adopted oscar???

→ y/n yeah.

→ carlossainz55 oh.

→ y/n if u have a problem with my son u talk to me 🤨

→ oscarpiastri thanks mum

→ username … is the beef squashed now??

→ username i mean.. i hope

#☆ — ¡h4m1lt0ns!˚⁎⁺˳ .#f1 x y/n #f1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x reader #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #pierre gasly x trader #george russell x reader #fernando alonso x reader #mark webber x reader #oscar piastre x reader

943 notes · View notes

queenimmadolla · 5 months

Note

its maisie again

girl you arent getting any sleep ever cos on me

younger penny and wayne being in an absolute mood with reader because they saw her cheating on daddy…with santa claus 🎅

𝐈 𝐒𝐚𝐰 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬

(dad!eddie x mom!reader)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst and fluff, mentions of infidelity (no cheating), misunderstandings, implied sexual activity, hurt and a lot of comforting.

𝐚/𝐧: this started off as a little drabble and got way too long because, i dont know, i love them. nonetheless, i hope you all enjoy reading this. and as always, reblogs are appreciated and let me know how you all liked it (if you didn't, simply move on). merry christmas and happy holidays to you and your families! ♡ ♡ ♡

wc: 7.5k

“Penny…Penny…”

Your little girl stirred in her bed, a small groan escaping her.

“Penny, wake up!” Came another hurried whisper and finally the seven year old squinted her eyes open. She was scowling as she pushed herself up on her elbow, a fist rubbing her eye and pushing the curls out of her face.

“What?” She snapped at her little brother, the toddler perched on her bed next to her. He didn’t look remotely apologetic or sheepish for venturing into her room and disturbing her from her slumber. No, he looked nervous, clenching his tiny hands to his pajama covered chest.

He didn’t answer her right away, shifting uncomfortably in place with his big eyes on her akin to a puppy who had knocked over a vase and was now begging for sympathy.

Penny knew her brother needed a little more prompting so she sighed and sat up, hands in her lap.

“What is it, Waynie?”

He was quiet for a few more moments. Then, “....Sowwy.”

She also knew he hadn’t woken her up for no reason, “It’s okay. Did you have a bad dream?”

Wayne shook his head, short curls tossling.

“Nuh uh. I hadta go peepees so I gotted up and afta, I hud mommy in the kishen–”

“She was probably washing dishes, Waynie.”

Wayne shook his head again, this time with more urgency, “No, Penny! Mommy was talkin to Santa.”

Penny sat up straighter, any lingering sleep withering away as she became instantly alert and concerned. “Santa?”

Wayne nodded slowly in confirmation.

“But–But it’s too early!” Christmas wasn’t until next week, “What is he doing here? Does he make special visits? Are we in trouble?”

Penny let out a small gasp after the last question, horrified at the thought of Santa Claus coming to their home to tell their mommy and daddy how naughty they’d been.

But–but they hadn’t been! Penny had been a good girl!!!! . . . Mostly. And Wayne, too! But from the way Wayne was looking at her, he also must have had his doubts.

“What were they saying?” She demanded and he held up both of his hands and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears.

“I dunno! I camta waked you up.”

Well, Penny was going to get her answers. She flung her blanket off and hopped out of bed in her nightgown while Wayne climbed down after her, snug-footed covered feet landing on the carpet.

“C’mon,” she encouraged as she quietly padded over to her door and slowly turned the knob, holding her breath as she pulled the door open. When it didn’t creak, Penny let out a sigh of relief and crept out of her bedroom, down the hall with her little brother toddling after her.

Her eyes nearly flew right out of their sockets when she poked her head around the corner to see her mommy and Santa Clause standing in the middle of the living room, right by their christmas tree!

She hid against the wall, turning her head to gape at her brother who had a look of I told you so on his face.

They both peered around the corner once more to get another look at the scene, spy. Santa’s back was to them, but they could see their mommy’s face. She was smiling and had her fingers pressed to her mouth.

“Are you sure it looks okay?” Santa asked you, and you nodded, eyes roving over him.

“It looks great–much better than last years. I’m glad we tossed that one.”

“Is it, though? Because I still feel stupid.”

Then, to your children’s surprise, you wrapped your arms around Santa’s shoulders. And if that surprised them, then Santa placing his hands on your waist to pull you even closer should’ve sent them into shock. You only did that with their daddy!

“Well, I don’t think you look stupid. In fact, I find the whole thing kind of…hot. Coming down the chimney, leaving presents that’ll have those kids smiling for weeks, doing this to make them happy–it’s all so very attractive.”

“In that case, Santa’s not here just to make the kids happy.”

Penny and Wayne did not like the way Santa said that. Not one bit. It got worse.

“I think you should save that talk for Mrs.Claus, Santa.” But you were looking up at him through your lashes, a coy smile on your lips.

“What Mrs.Claus doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”

Then Santa pulled you in, white gloved hand moving to cup the back of your head as you kissed him.

If your kids were shocked when you and Santa displayed affection, Penny and Wayne were ready to faint as you kissed Santa Claus!

Penny knew she had to get Wayne out of there, trying to quietly usher him back to his room but the toddler accidentally hit his elbow into the wall.

“Did you hear that?”

Penny and Wayne made a run for the nearest bedroom, Wayne’s. They scrambled under the blankets, settling and shutting their eyes just as the door opened, casting the yellow hue of hallway light into the room. They kept their breathing even as steps neared.

“Why is Penny in here with him?”

“He must have had a bad dream, he gets her sometimes. I’ve found them asleep in her bed a few times before.”

“Oh, that’s cute as shit.”

“I know–wait, get out of here. One of them might wake up and see you!” They heard their mommy hiss.

“Oh, crap!” Then heavy footsteps retreating from Wayne’s room just before their mommy’s loving touch tucked them in. Penny felt her press a kiss to her forehead before she could tell her mommy was leaning over her fake sleeping body to kiss Waynie, too.

Then your soft footsteps retreated and the door was quietly shut.

Wayne, the amateur, quickly turned to Penny and tried to talk but Penny shushed him and remained still for a few minutes. When she was sure her mommy wouldn’t be coming back, she spoke.

“Oh my goodness.”

“Bad wuds.” Wayne whispered, thinking of the swear jar on the kitchen table. And he couldn’t even go get it and have Santa put a dollar inside.

“Santa’s potty mouth is the last thing we gotta worry about.” Penny whispered back, staring up at the glow in the dark star covered ceiling as she replayed the image of her mommy kissing Santa Claus.

“Whudabout daddy?” Wayne asked, turning onto his side to face his big sister, little hand pressed between his pillow and his cheek.

Penny came to a grim realization, “We gotta tell ‘im.”

The next morning, when your kids came into the bedroom to wake you, they didn’t jump on the bed and lacked their normal enthusiasm.

Penny simply shook Eddie’s arm until he stirred, which pulled you out of your own sleep as you were laying on his chest.

“Good morning,” he rasped out, squinting through one eye at them with a smile.

Their reply were quiet mumblings of good morning. And when you leaned over Eddie, beaming at your babies, they didn’t smile back.

“How’d you guys sleep?” You asked, conjuring up the image of your babies cuddled up in your toddler’s new big boy bed. You’d wanted to fall to your knees and coo over how cute they were.

“Okay.” Then Penny just walked out of the room while Wayne lingered, watching her go before his eyes nervously returned to the two of you, who now looked confused.

“Hungwy.” Was all he said before he hurried after his sister.

When they were gone you pushed yourself off of Eddie and got out of the bed.

“That was weird, right?”

Eddie nodded mid-yawn, “She’s probably just tired still. You know how grumpy she gets when she doesn’t get enough sleep.”

“Takes after you.” You teased, just barely dodging a pillow tossed your way as you walked towards the bathroom, “Hey!”

After quickly washing up, and whacking Eddie awake with the pillow he’d thrown at you when you’d come out of the bathroom to find he’d fallen back asleep, you got started on breakfast.

Normally, your kids would be in the kitchen eager to help you, but Penny and Wayne remained perched on the couch, watching Looney Tunes cartoons.

“Is it a funny episode?” You called from the kitchen as you pulled the eggs from the fridge.

“They’re always funny.” Penny’s answer was blunt, she didn’t take her eyes off the TV.

“I’m not too fond of the earlier re-runs, never really found them all that funny until Bugs Bunny stopped looking weird.” You stated, trying to keep the conversation going. Maybe once you got them going, they’d come to be your little helpers.

No such luck.

They remained quiet until Eddie came striding out of the bedroom. The TV was all but abandoned as they jumped him with squeals of daddy.

Eddie bent over so Penny could climb onto his back while Wayne tried to swing and hang from his arm.

“I missed you, daddy.” Penny stated, arms wrapping around his neck from behind and she nuzzled her head against his.

“You missed me?” Eddie’s grin was clouded in confusion. He’d been a way for a solid week, three weeks ago. Corroded Coffin had opened up for some band they didn’t care for (and probably wouldn’t be associating with again, if the fight Gareth had with the guitarist was any indication).

But he’d been back since then.

“Yeah, I missed you a lot. Even Waynie did–huh, Waynie?”

Wayne didn’t reply, too focused on trying to hang onto his dad’s arm without falling. Eddie gently lowered him until his covered feet met the ground, and Penny was next.

With his legs back on solid matter, Wayne’s attention shifted to you. He ran over laughing, last night’s events

forgotten, due to a short attention span, while he wrapped his arms around your legs, chin resting on your legs with his head angled up at you.

That beaming little face warmed you right up. You abandoned the pancake mix to pick him up and he nestled against you, arms around your shoulders and legs wrapped along your rib cage.

“There’s my little love bug.” You sighed out in content, giving him a gentle squeeze. Your son giggled and tried to squeeze you right back so you entertained him, pretending to choke at the strength he didn’t possess which only made him laugh harder before you shifted him onto your hip–a mission in itself with how heavy your baby was getting.

“You wanna help me make breakfast?”

“Yeah!” He chirped enthusiastically. You turned your head to Penny who looked away a fraction of a second too late. With a harrumph, she stalked back towards the couch and didn’t spare either you or Eddie a second glance.

The two of you shared a confused look before Wayne was demanding your attention. He pointed at a wooden spoon on the counter and grunted.

“The spoon?” You asked, hand hovering over it as you waited for his confirmation. Wayne was getting better at words, but he still hadn’t mastered them very well. More often than not, he only spoke full sentences when he felt pressured to and sometimes that was too much for him, made him nervous. It was something you were working with him on and you’d noticed he spoke easier around certain people, namely Penny and his namesake, his grandpa Wayne (though to be fair, he and big Wayne didn’t talk much, just vibed in peaceful silence together, having to exchange very few words to understand each other).

He didn’t respond right away, just brought his fingers up to his mouth and stared at the spoon so you jostled him softly to bring him out of his head and it worked. Wayne grinned at you and nodded his head so you picked the wooden spoon up and handed it to him only for him to grab it and hold it out to his dad, practically stretching right out of your arms to do so.

Eddie gasped, closing the distance to take the spoon and his son right out of your arms.

“Are you telling me to get to work?” He asked, eyes narrowing at the toddler. Wayne laughed around his fingers, head bobbing as he nodded and Eddie let out a playful growl, lowering his head until his temple was pressed against his son’s.

Wayne didn’t find his dad remotely scary, not even a little intimidating. He only laughed harder with it trailing into a joyful sigh. The toddler pressed his forehead firmly against his dad’s to call his bluff.

Eddie gave in immediately, head falling back as he sighed in defeat before perking up, “Fine. You win. Again.”

Wayne was practically glowing with how hard he was smiling and it brought one to your own face as Eddie turned to you, cutie nestled against his chest with a tiny arm thrown over his dad’s shoulder.

“Where do you want us, baby?”

“Egg duty.” You flicked your chin in the direction of the carton of eggs, on the counter near the stove and empty pan.

His mouth dropped open in mock disbelief, “Your lack of trust in my cooking abilities is hurtful. You never let me make pancakes anymore.”

You scoffed, picking up the scraper you’d been using for the mix.

“Last time you were trusted with that, you put way too many chocolate chips in. Three out of the four of us were laid up on the couch with tummy aches for the rest of the day.”

Eddie pursed his lips as he fought a smile, eyes darting away to avoid your pointed look. The memory of him, Penny and Wayne groaning on the couch with bulging tummies and promises to never touch a pancake again was a fond one to look back on now that he wasn’t suffering.

“That was one time. Four times–baby, we all make mistakes.” He tried to reason, a boyish grin on his face. Eddie knew he wouldn't be winning this one and he was fine with that, he just liked to argue with you, loved the banter you threw back at him. His witty wife.

“You’re absolutely right, and you can mess up all the yolks you want. Except for Wayne’s.” He wouldn’t eat it if his yolk was broken in the cooking process, which was insane because you or Eddie cut his eggs up for him before serving him. It was almost like he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to them, knew when he’d been given an egg that’s yolk had been broken prior to being plated. After thoroughly testing his abilities, you both knew there was no way to fool him.

Eddie held up the wooden spoon in the hand that wasn’t holding Wayne.

“The f–,” quick glances were spared at the toddler on his arm and the little girl seemingly ignoring them on the couch, “-ffffreak am I supposed to do with this then?”

You placed your scraper down and picked up a nearby spatula, swapping the wooden spoon for it.

“Go crazy.” You teased, leaning in to give your husband a quick peck and cheek pat before you returned to your task.

You could hear Eddie talking to Wayne–or rather, narrating everything he was doing for him–and subconsciously, you offered the wooden spoon to your empty side, blinking a couple of times once you realized what you were doing and why the wooden spoon was out in the first place.

It was Penny’s favorite thing to use when helping you cook. She wasn’t at your side, at her usual place.

You craned your head to get a look at the couch, her curls barely visible from the top as she sunk into it. Maybe she was just outgrowing family cooking time.

You felt your throat get thick with something, eyes glazing over but you didn’t want to cry over breakfast and guilt her into helping you if she didn’t want to. So, you swallowed your disappointment and went back to stirring the mixture on your own.

As if she no longer felt your eyes on you, Penny got on her knees and craned her body around to peer over the couch, eyes filled with longing as she watched her family in the kitchen. She wanted nothing more than to join you but she couldn’t because she was mad at you. You all looked so perfect and happy but nothing really was. You kissed Santa.

You were only supposed to kiss her daddy. And Santa wasn’t her daddy.

You betrayed her and her daddy. You did a bad thing so you had to be punished, Penny wasn’t going to play with you, hug you or give you kisses ever again. It was a difficult decision for her to make, but there was no other way!

She turned back to the tv, its vibrant images ignored in favor of a head full of thoughts much too complicated for a child to understand. This was how it was going to be now, and something in her chest felt very heavy at the realization.

Penny refused to partake in any activities, locking herself in her room whenever you brought out something to do, be it baking christmas cookies as practice for the ones she and Waynie were supposed to make Santa, or helping with last minute decorations. She sat away from you and Eddie during the Christmas movie marathon, silently stewing in her misery–refusing to even look at you.

The day they were supposed to go see Santa at the mall, Penny made sure to stuff herself on her leftover Halloween stash of candy so she’d throw up, effectively keeping her family–namely you and her daddy–away from Santa.

There’s always next year. You’d chirped, helping her change out of her ruined clothes as she pointedly stared through you.

You’d obviously caught onto her change in demeanor, it was a major concern. Your spunky, outgoing little girl had become an overnight introvert, withdrawn. When you tried to talk to her, she brushed you off or claimed exhaustion, escaping to her room to avoid you. At first, you thought it might be something that happened at school.

A quick talk with her teacher after picking her up had confirmed her behavior at school had also taken a nosedive that week. She’d gone from playing with all the other kids during recess to sitting on the swingset alone. Her classroom attitude had dulled, she hadn’t raised her hand, talked to the kids at her table, nothing. The only other child her teacher noticed her interacting with was her friend Isabel. Miss Ripley said it appeared Isabel was comforting Penny.

The car ride home after that interaction was spent glancing at Penny through the rearview mirror and nibbling on your lower lip as you worried.

Was she just sad? Was it something else? Was your baby depressed? It wasn’t a warming thought, still, it was a possibility. You remembered the Charlie Brown Christmas special you’d all watched as a family the night before. The same sullen demeanor Charlie Brown displayed mirrored Penny’s behavior as of late perfectly. She either seemed a million miles away or looked like she wanted to be a million miles away.

One would think as Christmas neared, she’d be filled with excitement, sharing in the joy with her little brother but no. When Eddie talked to her, she’d perk up a little but anytime you tried to approach her, she shut down. Blunt answers and no excited chatter about the final week of school before Winter break. Nothing. She wouldn’t talk to you and it was really starting to worry you and Eddie.

In the end, after a long conversation between the two of you, you’d decided if this persisted past Christmas, you’d take Penny to see a child therapist, at least once, to make sure your baby girl was okay.

You had a feeling, mother’s intuition, that Penny was struggling with something big, even if just to her. You just had no idea how truly troubling the subject was for her.

Penny had grown more upset with you as time went on, but mostly, she was sad. At first, she was sure she had to tell her daddy about what she saw–but what would happen after?

Grown ups were complicated, she knew that much. Her friend Izzie’s parents had gotten divorced and Izzie said that meant she had two Christmases and two houses and two bedrooms along with a new step daddy. Even though Izzie didn’t seem all that upset about it, and raved about her two houses, Penny didn’t want any of that.

Penny didn’t want two Christmases. Penny wanted one Christmas. Penny wanted one house, one room, one family and one mommy and daddy. She didn’t want things to change. If she told her daddy, she knew everything would.

So, she couldn’t tell him. No way.

But she had to fix this. She had to!

And there was only one other person she could talk to, only one person who could fix it. Even if she was mad at that person, too, even if she had already tried her hardest to avoid having to be in the same room. She’d do anything to keep her family. Penny knew exactly what she had to do.

That’s how she found herself tucked into her bed, her blankie clutched to her side and fighting sleep on Christmas Eve.

You and Eddie had put her to bed hours ago, but she couldn’t sleep risk falling asleep or she’d miss her only chance at keeping her family together.

As the minutes ticked by, and the low glow of the Christmas lights lining the neighbor’s houses kept the pitch black from shrouding her bedroom, Penny’s eyes grew heavy. Snug like a little bug in her warm blankets, the sandman was calling.

Eventually, Penny dozed, chest rising and falling with her breathing. She dreamt of bright and colorful lights, chocolate chip cookies, and the comforting embrace of your arms.

She was pulled from them when she heard a dull thud. Her big brown eyes flashed open and she shot up with a start. For a moment, she had no idea where she was, nor even a sense of self identity as she wiped the drool from her cheek and smacked her lips together.

Her mouth opened wide as she yawned, hand reaching up to scratch at her head before falling onto her blanket covered lap. Just as fast as she startled awake, Penny fell back onto her pillows, nuzzling in as she prepared to go back to sleep.

And then her brain finally kicked into gear, reminding her of her task and she let out a gasp as she threw her blanket off of her, grabbing her blankie and rushing for her bedroom door.

It was yanked open in haste as her heart hammered in her chest, fearful she’d missed her chance to keep her family whole just because she’d fallen asleep.

Penny hurried down the hall, her footsteps surprisingly quiet. Before she even breached the doorway, she heard rustling.

And not just any rustling, it sounded like items were being placed under the tree in the living room. Presents.

This was it. This was her only shot.

Tentatively, she stepped out of the doorway and into the living room, mouth parting as the man in red came into view. Santa Claus.

For a moment, Penny was starstruck. The man she watched so many movies about, had heard so much about, who knew when she’d been bad or good, was right there. And he just so happened to be the man who kissed her mom. But he could fix it.

Without even thinking about it, she padded closer, until he was just a few feet away. Still, she couldn’t force herself to speak, couldn’t squeeze out so much as a peep as he placed another gift under the tree.

But she had to ask him.

Gulping down her fear, she finally spoke.

“Santa?”

Penny watched as Santa fell over over with a yelp, a few presents he had stacked near him toppling over him as he quickly squirmed onto his back, pushing himself up on his elbows.

She held her blankie to her chest, squeezing it tightly as she grimaced on his behalf. That looked like it hurted but Santa did a bad thing so it was okay.

They both stared at each other with wide eyes in silence and Penny noticed his beard had a stain on it. Icky.

“Wha-” Santa held up a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was much more gruff, “Penny, what are you doing still awake?”

Penny gasped, mouth falling open.

“You know my name?”

“Sure, I do. I know the names of all the children in the world. And…grown ups. Yes.”

Penny’s brows furrowed in thought, “Oh, yeah.”

Did he know she throwed up so they could stay home instead of seeing him at the mall?

Eddie carefully and slowly pushed himself up, adjusting the annoying padded belly belt thing he had to wear in a discreet manner so Penny wouldn’t notice his stomach was almost completely on his side.

Two years of dressing up as jolly ol’ Kris Kringle to shove the accumulated gits under the tree after Penny had almost caught the two of you putting the gifts under the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, and Penny finally caught him in the act. He owed you twenty bucks. But what was she doing approaching him?

Eddie had entertained a scenario where she did catch Santa, but he’d been banking on her being sneaky about it, running back to bed to pretend she’d been asleep during Santa’s stop at their place. He’d expected to hear about it for the first time in the morning, while she was bragging about it. He never thought she’d just saunter right up to him–but Eddie was good at staying in character.

He didn’t suffer as a theater kid for the first two years of his high school sentence for nothing.

Once he was sure his costume was secure, he was able to move onto one knee as he regarded her, “You know, it’s far past your bedtime…”

He watched her eyes flicker to the floor before her big, beautiful eyes were on him again and filled with guilt.

“I know. I’m sorry, Santa. But I really needed to talkta you. I know you are a very busy man and you have to go to a kagillion houses, but I promise it’s important and I’m not ‘sposed to swear but I swear ‘cause that’s how important it is. Please?” The guilt in her eyes gave away to a sense of urgency that filled Eddie with alarm and he straightened as she leaned forward, eager to say whatever it is she needed to say. He had a feeling it would explain her behavior.

“I can make all the time in the world for anything, Penny. It’s a little trick of mine. Go on, ba-dear.” Dear sounded like a term of endearment a guy old enough to become a legendary figure for consumerism and myth would use, right? Yeah.

This was it. Penny got her chance and even though she was shaking in her fluffy socks, she persevered.

“I know it’s about to be Christmas, but-but I was wondering Santa, uhm–I was wondering if it would be okay that I could get something else for Christmas this year. In-Instead of my presents. I don’t want any toys this year, you can give them to the other kids. I just only want one thing instead.”

Eddie’s whole body stiffened, panicking at the idea of Penny freaking approaching Santa Claus to make a special request–and c’mon was he supposed to say no to her while dressed as Santa Claus–that she’d be disappointed to not see under the christmas tree because there was no way Eddie would be able to run out and get it, if he could even afford it.

“What is it you want?” Eddie was so tense he was clenching his asshole.

“I was wondering if….if my mommy and my daddy could stay together.”

Eddie was absolutely bewildered, soul damn near leaving his body before crashing back down into place. “I–I beg your par–hmn?”

Then, his little girl raised her chin, filling herself with bravado as she held his gaze, “I saw you kissing my mommy.”

Shoot him. Get a shovel, beat him with it, because it was all starting to make sense.

His eyes slipped shut as he chided himself, the fear he’d had regarding the unknown disappeared, replaced with an intense relief as he mentally beat the crap out of himself. Penny was withdrawn because she’d witnessed him kissing you, while disguised as another man, and it was tearing her apart.

Eddie couldn’t begin to imagine her emotional anguish all because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and he couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth.

He felt like shit. Eddie had to fix this.

“Kissing me—? Oh, Penny. You’ve got it all wrong. The only person your mother kisses is your father.”

The pinch between Penny’s brows returned, “But…It looked like you.”

“What? This?” Eddie glanced down at the red suit, pulling at the red jacket. “You don’t think I go down all those chimneys without getting filthy, do you? No, I get plenty dirty and your dad–a great deal of dad’s around the world, actually–had a new suit waiting for me. It’s usually every block or so that I’m replacing my suit. Yes, your dad must have been trying it on, making sure it would be perfect for me. I appreciate when they do that, otherwise, certain things might be riding up with each chimney I have to go down.”

Eddie watched as Penny’s features began to soften, her puzzled expression wavering before she giggled, imagining Santa getting a wedgie.

That didn’t explain…“How come he was wearing a wig like your hair?”

The two stared at each other in a brief silence again.

“Now, that, I can’t explain. I don’t know! He’s your dad, you should know why he’s so weird. You tell me.”

“He is weird.” Penny agreed, shoulders sagging as the weight of what she’d seen was lifted from her, because she hadn’t seen her mommy kissing Santa Claus. Penny saw her mommy kissing her daddy while he was making sure Santa’s clothes would be good enough!

“An odd creature, indeed.” Eddie agreed, happy to see his little girl was starting to come back to life, so to speak. “But he’s an odd, weird creature who loves you, your brother and your mother very, very much.”

All Eddie wanted to do was reassure her of his love but the corner of Penny’s lips turned down and her gaze turned watery, brown eyes shiny with distress as her head bobbed in agreement.

“Penny…” He mumbled, reaching to grasp her small dainty hand in his his gloved one as she whimpered and a hot tear ran down her cheek. Saying her name only seemed to make her more emotional, tears leaking from both her eyes as her lip trembled.

“It–It–hurted my feelings ‘cause, cause my mommy loves my daddy so much. She always says so, so it hurted that I thought she kissed someone else because–because–because she looks at my-my daddy with hearts in her eyes like in the car–cartoons.” Penny stuttered out, breath hitching as she cried and Eddie’s heart clenched.

He knew she was upset, obviously but he hadn't realized she was this upset about it. Working herself up in her head. His little girl was willing to give up presents, material things, to ask if he and you would stay together instead. That’s a huge fucking deal for a kid.

Eddie had never had a big opinion on his parent’s relationship. He’d been a little younger than Penny when his mom died and the only thing he knew for sure now, was that she deserved better than his dad. With the few memories he had of her, and from what Wayne told him she was like, he wasn’t sure why she even stayed with that deadbeat. Eddie certainly didn’t have a moment where he was willing to barter off toys he wasn’t going to get in favor of his parents staying together. If anything, maybe little Eddie would have asked for his mom to grab their stuff, and him, and leave his dad behind.

Penny had a better family life, you and Eddie made sure of that, and she was apparently willing to do anything to keep it when she thought she was about to lose it.

Eddie had to blink back the wetness at his own waterline as Penny continued.

“But–But it hurted my feelings to be mad and mean to my mommy more ‘cause I love her so much and she’s a good mommy! She cuddles me whenever I want and takes care of me when I’m sick and takes me a bath and makes me warm food and–and–and she plays with me and uses funny voices and kisses my–my owies and she says she loves me and she didn’t do nothing wrong!” Penny was full on sobbing now, dropping her blanket so she could free up her fist to rub at one of her wet eyes.

Eddie didn’t hesitate, he tugged her forward and she went willingly, throwing both arms around him as she cried into the fluff lining his jacket. Eddie held her to him tightly, his own eyes squeezing shut. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

So, this whole time Penny had been intentional with her behavior, purposely being cold to you because she thought you had kissed Santa Claus. But being upset with you, and treating you as she’d been, had also hurt her feelings because of how much she loved you.

Penny got mad at Eddie a lot, he liked to tease her a lot, and the emotion was never really directed at you. Even if you were punishing her with a deserved time out, she was more hurt than mad at you. And regardless of the punishment she’d run right back to you after stewing in her emotions, to make sure you still loved her even if she had been a little bad. You reassured her every time that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to get you to stop loving her. Eddie was sure Penny just liked to hear you say it.

What a mess. Next year, he’d force Uncle Wayne to be Santa. Just so he could be sure this wouldn’t happen again.

Eddie held Penny until her sobbing died down. When she started hiccuping, he pulled back and cupped her face in his hands, gloved thumbs catching the remaining tears and ridding her cheeks of them. Her big, sorrowful eyes were framed with long wet lashes. Reminded Eddie of a wounded puppy.

“Penelope, your mom loves you. Just as much as you love her and probably more.” If your I love you times infinities during an ‘I love you’ exchange with the kids (and Eddie) were proof, “What you thought you saw hurt your feelings, but your mom wouldn’t hold anything against you, especially if you were upset. All she wants is for you to be happy and feel loved. That’s what she asks for every year for Christmas.”

“Really?”

Eddie hummed in confirmation, caressing her cheek one last time.

“I miss her.” Penny admitted, wiping her eyes again as Eddie picked up her blankie and offered it to her.

“It’s a good thing you’ll be seeing her in the morning, isn’t it?”

Penny nodded and Eddie finally stood up, hands at the base of his back as he stretched and it popped.

“Let’s get you back into bed.” He held a hand down to her and she was about to slip her hand into his when she remembered something. She hurried over to the couch, dropping onto all fours to retrieve something from under it.

Eddie’s eyes widened when she pulled the fireplace poker out. Penny put it back into its holder by the fireplace they rarely used and returned to his side, immediately slipping her hand into his hold while he continued to stare at the poker, dumbstruck.

“Penny…uhm, what–what was that?”

“It’s a poky for logs, so daddy doesn’t burn his hands ‘cause he does whenever we use the fireplace.”

Okay, well, that wasn’t his fault. He had more control when he used his hands, the poker (stoker, whatever) just pushed one log further in but didn’t prevent the others from being nudged out.

“What, perchance, was it doing under the couch?”

Penny looked guilty, the tip of her sock covered toes stroking along the floor as she avoided meeting his eyes.

“...I was gonna kill you if you said no.”

“O-oh.”

Eddie felt a mixture of emotions at that revelation. He was greatly amused that she’d simply decided if the man in red who she thought ruined her family wasn’t going to fix it, she’d just get rid of him. He was also a little scared for his own life, and shocked that he might have been subjected to her beating him with it, had he said no or refused to talk to her in the first place.

“Okay...” Was all he could say before he led her down the hallway, still a little stunned.

Penny was exhausted.

When she climbed into bed, Santa tucked the big blanket in around her exactly how she liked and made sure to flare the bottom out so her feet didn’t feel trapped. He really did know everything.

“Goodnight, Penny.” He whispered, a hand stroking over the top of her head, mussing the curls there. For a moment, Penny thought he was gonna give her head a kiss ‘cause he leaned in then stopped. Penny was glad, that would be weird.

“Goodnight, Santa.”

And because Eddie couldn’t say it as himself, “And remember, your mom and dad love you.”

She beamed at him as he began to close the door, and when it was shut, Penny snuggled into her blankets and pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

She’d done it. Penny had planned to save her family, only to find out her family never needed saving. She was never going to lose it. Her mommy loved her, Waynie and her daddy and not Santa.

Penny was really glad she didn’t kill him.

She let out one big yawn, and promptly fell asleep.

—

After all the presents were under the tree, and he’d gorged himself a little on the cookies you and Wayne had made, Eddie made a big stink out of ‘leaving’ the house up the chimney (used the fireplace poker Penny had planned to take him out with to make a little bit of a racket), then he took off the heavy boots and quietly tiptoed to the master bedroom.

He sagged against the door once he made it. Jesus Christ.

What a night.

Eddie made quick work of getting out of the suit, stashing the costume in the back of the closet.

He didn’t bother throwing anything on, in fact, he slipped out of his boxers, too.

He watched you for a few moments, sleeping on your side, with your elbow propped on a pillow and your chin in your palm. You’d tried to wait for him.

Eddie’s lips twitched into a smile as he climbed into your side of the bed, slipping in behind you. He wasted no time, body pressing up against yours as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, lips trailing wet kisses from your pulse point, down to where your neck met your shoulder.

You stirred, letting out little groans as you tilted your head to the side. Always so pliant for Eddie, even when you were trying to break free of sleep’s hold.

“Eddie?” You slurred out. He hummed against your skin, tongue darting out for a taste.

That particular spot had your toes curling, but as your mind escaped the sleepy haze, you recalled what his mission for the night was.

“How’d it go?” You asked, shifting around until you were facing him. Once you were re-settled, he pulled you flush to him. If you weren’t awake before, the feeling of him semi-hard, pressed against the space between your pelvis and lower stomach certainly did the job. You hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing anything on his lower half.

Eddie momentarily debated on giving you the rundown of tonight’s emotional events but decided against it. If you knew, you’d just beat yourself up. You never gave yourself the grace you deserved. Besides, he was positive Penny would be back to her happy, mischievous self in the morning. And after hearing her talk about how much you loved him—well, Eddie just wanted you.

“It was fine, same as it goes every year—but I’m thinking, with Santa being old and shit, maybe Wayne can fill in next year.”

He didn’t give you time to respond, ducking down to kiss you. Eddie worked your mouth open, letting your tongues dance for a while before his kisses trailed down again. When his lips met the straps of your tank top, he tugged impatiently on it.

“Baby, I don’t think you're catching on here. I’m naked, kissing you, all hot and bothered and for some reason, you still have your clothes on.”

You smirked up at him, your stare sultry through your lashes. “Well, considering I’m someone’s present, I’m waiting to be unwrapped.”

Eddie’s face scrunched up in confusion before you wiggled your eyebrows. When he pulled the thick strap of your tank top down your shoulder, it revealed a slim red satin strap beneath it. Lingerie.

“Oh, you’re most definitely on the naughty list this year.” He growled and you squealed as his hands slipped beneath the top, smoothing over the satin as he lifted the cotton away.

It was quickly discarded on the floor, along with the sweats you’d been wearing.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, two creatures were stirring and one even yelped.

─

Despite her late bedtime, Penny was awake the moment the sun was up.

Eager to see if everything was as Santa said it was, and to see you, Penny hopped out of bed and ran out of her room to wake Waynie up. Then after they brushed their teeth, they’d both jumped onto your bed to wake you (and the two of you were thankfully clothed, Eddie had to dress you himself after he was done with you in the hours of the early morning, you were too exhausted to even sit up on your own).

You and Eddie moved too slow for their liking, so they’d already developed a Christmas routine. By the time the two of you were fully awake and joined them in the living room, they were digging around the tree.

Penny put the present she’d been assessing down the moment you seated yourself on the couch with Eddie to watch them open up a few gifts.

It surprised you when she ran over and threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck almost tight enough to choke you but you didn’t care. Your arms wrapped around her little frame, too, confused at the 180 degree change in her behavior again, and more than happy to return her affection.

Penny’s eyes were blissfully shut as she tried to convey all the love for you she had in her little body, into the hug.

“I love you, mommy. You’re the best mommy in the whole wide world and I’m glad you’re mine.”

“I love you, too, baby. Always.” You promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a hand tried to smooth her wild mane down, though you knew your attempts were futile. Until she would let you do her hair, she’d just have to open her presents looking like she’d been electrocuted. Nothing but some water, a comb and hair products could tame it.

Satisfied, Penny released you from her iron hold to join her little brother on the floor.

You turned to look at Eddie, already finding his eyes were on you and he had a big, pleased, shit eating grin on his face.

He quickly leaned in, pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose and pinched your cheek before addressing his spawn.

“Alright, you two know the rules. Three presents now, the rest you gotta save to open when Grandpa Wayne and Grandma Maude come over.”

“‘Kay.” Waynie mumbled, more fascinated with the wrapping paper of the big box in front of him than its contents. It had little Santa’s all over it, and he was trying to count them in his head even though he was still learning his numbers and started making them up past the number five.

A lot of Santas.

Wayne made the same scrunched up face his dad made whenever he was perplexed.

“Santa….” He mumbled, before looking over at you and Eddie.

“Mama kissid Santa?”

All three of you gasped.

"Waynie!"

"WHAT?!"

"Here we go again..."

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