#i wonder how my other accounts are faring

[yinttepk]

don't really feel like studying nor doing anything productive at all . . .

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Machinist 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You take your lunch where you always do; outside. You don’t like to sit inside all day, especially after sweating amid sparks flying from dozens of torches and grinding wheels and the like. The metals walls do little to let the heat out, so it is that you greet the sunshine and fresh breeze with a sigh. 

You find your way to your truck and unlock the back, climbing up to sit in the open bed as you unzip your lunchbox. You have your standard fare; some carrots, hummus, and a tuna sandwich. Nothing fancy or special. Just what you have time to throw together in the morning. 

You watch the distant skyline as you chew. Insects buzz in the air and you swat away a nosy fly. The smell of pollen underlines the lingering scent of singed metal and your own sweat. You enjoy the small moment to yourself, with the barely muffled noise of drills, wheels, and hollers all around. 

You dip your last carrot and close up the container of hummus. You wipe the lingering garlicky smear from your fingertips and zip away your leftovers and the used napkin. You push your head back to stretch your neck and loosen the stitch between your shoulders. 

“You’re prettier in the sunlight,” the rocky voice brings your chin back down. 

August approaches as you clutch your lunch box against your lap. You don’t know how to respond without putting your job in the balance, so you don’t. You push yourself to the edge of the truck bed but he’s quick. He’s right in front of you, close enough that you can’t jump down. 

“This your truck?” He muses as he gives it an emphatic look, “not too bad. Bit big for you, girl. Ah, but maybe you like handling big things.” 

His insinuation repulses you. He was rude before but now he’s just being gross. Doesn’t matter. Who are you gonna tell? Who’s going to care?

“Excuse me, my lunch is almost over,” you say as you teeter on the edge. 

“I’m sure the boss won’t mind,” he grins boastfully. 

“Really, I got a lot of work--” 

“I never heard about your promotion,” he intones. 

You stop short and bite back your words, “promotion?” 

“Right, you must’ve got one since you’re telling me what to do,” he challenges, crossing his arms to make himself even bigger. 

“I wasn’t. I’m trying to go back to work.” 

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers. 

You ease back and nod. This isn’t the first time a man’s postured at you, it won’t be the last. You’ll let him get his rocks off. 

“Sure,” you nod. 

“Hmph,” he looks you up and down, “it always makes me wonder why women wander into metal shops. Really? You like being sweaty,” he steps even closer and you wince as he reaches and drags his thumb down your cheek, “dirty? I can think of better ways for that.” 

“Sir,” you say flatly. 

He trails his thumb down and presses on your bottom lip, “I’m new around here. Need someone to show me around. How about it?” 

You scowl and rip your mouth away from his hand, “you can’t be serious?” 

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?” He slowly pulls his arm back, crossing it once more across his chest, “what I know about this town is there’s no other fucking shop looking for tool and die, and let me tell you, princess, you’ll find they don’t pay pennies next to what I pay.” He brings a hand up to brush the short stubble darkening his jaw, “actually, we’re due for salary review. That’s what the finance officer tells me.” 

You understand his threat. Even if he doesn’t fire you, he can mess with your money. All the leering men, all their nasty words, wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t get a half-decent cut. 

“Can your precious little head understand me?” His mouth slants in a half-smirk. 

“Not that difficult,” you hiss out.  

“Great, sounds like a plan, princess.” 

Before you can react, he steps forward. He grabs you by the waist and drags you forward on the open door of the truck bed. You yelp in surprise and bat his wrists, your lunch box bouncing out of your grasp onto the ground. He holds you to hover on the edge before he lowers you to the ground, crowding you. 

“Good girl,” he growls and squeezes before he lets you go. 

You struggle not to snarl outright. He takes a step back, not far enough. You turn your attention to your errant bag and bend to pick it up. 

“Mmm, I like that position,” he purrs. 

You snap up and tamp down your irritation. You wish you could say he’s the first man to be so disgusting but that would be a miracle. Especially in this line of work. He’s just the only one you can’t tell to go fuck himself. 

You face him, “can I go back to work?” 

“Mm, look at you, learning already; asking permission,” he clicks his tongue, “sure, go on, princess.” 

You hold back a shudder and turn to close the truck door. You toss your lunch bag over it. Whatever. 

You spin and stomp away, refusing to look back at him, even as you feel his gaze bearing down on you. You feel even more filthy than before. Not just because of his behaviour but your own weakness. You should say no, you should go work at the Pizza Hut, at least there, you can spit in the food of every ass who gives you lip. 

As you cross the yard towards the shop, you slow down. Your eyes meet those of Carey. He started at the same time as you. He asked you out. Several times. He glowers and narrows his eyes.

He looks at the other guys sat around him at the smokers’ table. They saw it. You know they did.

“All the fucking same, aren’t they?” He spits into the dirt as the other men look in your direction. “Cozying up to the boss to get a few extra bucks on her check.” He flicks his butt towards you as you near the door, “whatsa a matter, baby? You need some new panties? Oh, maybe you’re gonna buy a dress? Start dressing like a woman, huh?” 

The other guys chortle and you ignore them. They don’t matter. That’s the difference between them and August. He can actually ruin your life, they only wish they could. 

[aceandurmom]

Harlequin Hearts: The Archivist's Swordsmaster Affair Chapter One

//////////THIS IS ONLY ON TUMBLR, UNDER ACEANDURMOM////////////

Buggy was now an Emperor of the Sea. 

Fuck.

Now how the hell were you supposed to do your job in peace!?

It was already hard enough to keep every one of his records, maps, diary entries, accounts, and logs in order. Now he was going to be up your ass about more shit that you didn’t get paid enough to do. Groaning, you threw your hands up in defeat. The news had been released only a few hours ago, but already the cheering and jarring from above you was sign enough everyone knew of the development. There was no way you could keep up with even more of his bizarre requests. 

Though you may complain and grumble about the man frequently, Captain Buggy was a wonder. He was kind, saving the freaks from whatever failed them in their past life, giving them a new place to thrive after doing so. He had saved you from an ass of a boss, constantly on you about whatever you had failed to do in his eyes. 

Buggy had gone through your work, all the organization and records you kept tidy. He had been impressed, thrilled even while watching you work. 

After freeing you from your dick of a boss, he had opened his arms wide. And who were you to refuse such a grand gesture?

–

It had been weeks since the reveal, and it was just now starting to return to normal on the Big Top. 

You had gone up to the Captain’s office, needing to ask a question. Knocking softly, you announced your presence. 

“Captain Buggy? I have a quick question, sir.”

Leaning in to try to hear a response, you heard none. Figuring he wasn’t in at the moment, you had stepped away. 

Only to hear soft curses echo from the other side. Fearing that something had gone wrong as you had never heard your captain in such low spirits, you had rushed to the door. Fumbling around in your pockets, you tried to scavenge for the master key the Captain had provided for you. He had trusted you as one of the more responsible on the ship, so if you ever needed to ask or do something, he had given you access to every room available on the ship. Finding the small thing, you deftly unlocked the door and bursted in the room. 

In front of your wide eyes, there was a beast of a man looming over top of your boss. 

Buggy was in tears, bleeding from all the scrapes and cuts littering his skin. His left eye was busted, already darkening in a rather large bruise. His detached head was held firmly in the larger man’s hand. 

Face turning to see his identity, you stiffened before snarling. 

Sir Crocodile, former Warlord that had only just recently escaped from Impel Down. Turning his head, he saw your face. 

“And what are you doing with a face like that, little one.”

He was angry, eyebrows furrowed and annoyed at the interruption. 

You were not faring much better, rage building up in your chest. 

“And what the fuck do you think your doing to my Captain, sir?”

Teeth bared, you moved so that your back not once faced him. You went to your captain’s side, cradling his body there. 

“Surely you know better than to simply attack a newly named Emperor of the Sea, I thought you smarter than that.”

“Your mouth will get you in trouble.”

Buggy laughed, elbowing you hard in the side. Grunting, you just ignored the warning.

“And so will your arrogance, Sir.”

“Clown, get your little whore in line before I put their mouth to use myself.”

Buggy’s eyes flashed. It was fine if others attacked and mocked him, but not the crew he cared for so much. The ones he thought of as family and cared for as such. 

“Watch what you say, Croccy, that’s my Archivist you're speaking to. They are not some measly whore.”

Eyebrow raised in thought, the large man dropped Buggy’s head. Confused, the clown swiftly reattached it before watching in horror as he directed his sights on you. 

His hook pointed at your chest, pushing you lightly. 

“So you're the one in charge of the clown’s accounts?”

Nodding, you confirmed the fact. Eyes narrowed, the reptile leaned in further. 

“Then you're the reason the clown is in trouble now.”

“I beg your pardon? I have every loan, purchase, payment logged in that room up there-”

Pointing up, you continued.

“There is nothing that I have missed. It is literally impossible for me to miss any tidbit of information or unpaid debt. My eyes are enhanced by my Devil Fruit, the Read-Read Frit, and you will do well to remember that.”

Hatred colored your voice, not at all phased by the mounting rage in his eyes. Nor were you aware of a sweating Buggy lingering behind you.

“I, uh…”

Both heads whipped to the stuttering clown, Crocodile annoyed and you just as much. Here you were trying to save his ass and he was stuttering in front of a rival. You tried to shut him up, but despite the fearful facade, he was determined to do right by you. 

“I hide the records of my loan from Croccy.”

Mouth dropping, you tried to see if the man was lying. Silent, you rose to your feet and turned your whole body to the man.

“You mean to tell me.”

Pausing, you tried to calm yourself by taking a deep breath. Pointing to yourself, you reiterated the importance of you being here. 

“You hid one of the records concerning a large amount of money you owed a former warlord and just…..DIDN’T TELL ME!?”

Growling, you launched yourself at your beloved captain. Hands covering his neck, you tried to choke the ever loving shit of him. 

Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all pleased with what he was hearing. 

“Not only that, dear Archivist, but this crew of yours has someone named him the Chairman of the Cross Guild. The Guild including Buggy, Mihawk, and I that is going to be used to palace bounties on Marines.”

Freezing, you glanced back at the imposing figure lingering behind you. Cocking a brow you leaned in further to the blue haired one under you.

“First you were named an Emperor, now you're the Chairman of an organization that will inevitably bring the entirety of the Navy down upon us?”

Deflating, you released the Captain. Leaning back on your hands, you stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend the situation you found yourself in. Hand laying over your eyes, you spoke to the man you adored like a brother. 

“When were you going to inform me of this, Captain? I would have loved to help you or assist if you allowed me to do so.”

Shifting, the clown had the decency to look flustered. 

“I didn’t think it would get this unruly, Star, apologies.”

“Apology accepted.”

Standing, you brushed off your knees and faced the other man in the room who had waited so patiently. 

“Apologies. I’m the Archivist of the Buggy Pirates and I will extend my services to both you and Mihawk as I know you two have none. Leave a list of tasks for me to accomplish once we land on Karai Bari and I will have them done in ample time.”

Crocodile looked at you strangely for a moment before huffing. Reaching into his breast pocket, he plucked a cigar and tucked it into his mouth. Breathing in, he retrieved his lighter and lit it. Puffing slightly, he withdrew the stick from his mouth before offering you a puff. Seeing no reason to deny, you accepted. Huffing a few times, you gave him back his cigar. Holding in the smoke for a minute, you tried to steady your thinking before releasing the breath. 

Reaching a hand out, you offered to shake his hand.

An offer he accepted. 

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you, Archivist.”

Nodding, you reciprocated.

“And you, Sir.”

Smug, the reptile smirked at Buggy before dissipating into sand and leaving the office. 

Still, you tried to make sense of what had just happened. Buggy approached from behind, hand gently holding your shoulder before he laid his head on your other. 

“I truly hoped not to get you involved, Star. I know how easily you get stressed, I’m sure this was the last thing you wanted to happen.”

He was so quiet, voice bordering on silence as he whispered his sincere apology to you. You deflated, any ounce of anger or irritation leaving. You only nodded, leaning your head on top of his, seeking his comfort even if only for a second. 

“I trust you, Captain. I will follow you until the end of the GrandLine.”

He smiled, soft. 

“I know.”

–

There was once a time where you would have been appalled at the situation you now found yourself in. 

Posture perfect, outfit coordinating with your captain, you stood proud beside him as the rest of the crew scrambled to anchor down the Big Top. The two of you were elbow to elbow, seeking out the other’s presence to ground each other. As the ship was finally bound to the Island, the two of you watched as the Strongest Swordsman appeared with Crocodile on the shore. Nodding to the other two men, Buggy took your arm and assisted you down and onto solid land.

Turning, you bowed to the two and introduced yourself, Crocodile was going to have to sit through it again even if he didn’t want to, you wanted to make a good impression on the raven haired man in front of you. 

“Greetings, I am the Big Top’s Archivist. I am offering the two of you my services seeing as neither of you have archivists of your own. My work is done perfectly as I have the Read Read Fruit. Nothing escapes me and it takes me nearly no time at all to read through documents. If you wish for my assistance, simply ask or hand a list off to my Captain. He will ensure it reaches me.”

Crocodile nodded, already hearing the spiel once before. Granted, you had been pissed at the time. Now, you were calm and collected, already knowing what you were to say in front of them. 

The reptile chuckled quietly. 

“Odd to have you so cool, the last time I heard that you were trying to rip my head off with your eyes.”

Coughing, you blushed.

“Yes, that was a poor choice on my part. I sincerely apologize for that entire situation. Had I known the truth I assure you I would not have reacted as such.”

He waved you off, answering swiftly. 

“Nonsense. It was refreshing to see someone stand up for their captain, regardless of who was in the wrong. Your loyalty was proven to me, and I intend on keeping you to that standard.”

Nodding, you tried to ignore the praise freely given by the man. You thanked him before returning to the Swordsman. Raising a brow, you wondered what he would say to you, if he would even need an archivist at his disposal. 

The stoic man locked eyes on your own. Stifling a shiver, you tried to ignore being undressed by the man’s intense gaze. You wanted to bare everything to him, no secret left unsaid or rock unturned. 

“I accept your proposal. I have a few logs I need organized.”

It was simple, straight to the point. 

God, was he attractive. 

Clearing his throat, Buggy stepped in front of you, trying to hide you away from the opposing men. 

Posturing proudly, the clown announced his presence and reveled in the attention he received. Glancing back at you, he was glad to find that you relaxed even a little bit, now no longer the intense eyes of either man. 

Walking along the path, Buggy attached himself to your side, leading the three of you down to the main tent he had established years ago. 

“Welcome to Karai Bari, boys! This is the home island of yours truly! I will have your tents erected in a few days max, if you would like anything specifically feel free to request away, my workers are the best this side of the GrandLine!”

You had been to the island a few times in the past. Buggy was fond of the place, taking the freaks he had saved here when they did not desire to become pirates. They established themselves here, safe from prying eyes and other pirate crews. No one really bothered with the place, not aware that they were under the protection of a, now, Emperor of the Sea. 

Buggy provided for them in any way he could, assisting them with their livelihood whenever asked. It was another one of the reasons you respected him so much. 

The former Warlords simply observed the sight around them, taking note of everything occurring. They had walked through the markets, everyone in a stall and street stopping to wave or greet the clown enthusiastically. The blue haired man smiled back, not once refusing a hug or handshake from any of the villagers. 

“It seems you are well liked here, Clown.”

Hawkeye observed casually. 

“Captain himself takes care of those who live here under his protection. He knows everyone here and what they do on the island, their role in society. Their names, parents, and children, or even pets are known to him. He is a kind man.”

You responded, not once shying away from their prying eyes. You wanted to prove that Buggy was a good man, a reliable one. If all it took was hyping him up with genuine compliments, then you would do so gladly. 

“How long have you sailed with him, Archiver?”

The reptile asked this time, though it looked as if the Swordsman was curious as well. 

“Hmm.”

Humming, you thought on your answer. 

“I have sailed with Captain since I was 16, he saved me from a former Boss of mine.”

“How old are you now then?”

You raised a finger to your lips, winking at the duo.

“I’ll keep that a secret for now. It is not wise to divulge too much information about myself, now is it?”

Crocodile looked to want to pry, but a look from Buggy had him keeping quiet. Normally, it would not deter him, but…

To be fair, you were his Archivist first. You had only offered your services to the two of them in response to your captain’s poor decisions. 

Crocodile was curious of you, of how a man such as the Clown could acquire such a level headed person on his crew. Let alone one that wanted to work on his crew and stand proudly by his side. 

Dracule Mihawk was puzzled by you. Someone so put together was willingly standing beside Buggy the Clown without a hint of regret or unease radiating off of you. Not to mention you were a sight for sore eyes, not that he would admit it, of course.

!End of Teaser!

The trio of important men stood around awkwardly in Buggy’s quarters. None of them willing to back down from the schlong measuring competition.

You decided to be the bigger person. 

Clearing your throat, you addressed the room. 

“Right. Now, what is it that you all wish to accomplish together as the Cross Guild. Surely there are predetermined goals you three have agreed on, yes?”

Circling around them, you made it to the desk under the window. Slipping into the chair, you rummaged through the desk drawers. Finding a slightly yellowed notepad, you reached for the fountain pen in your breast pocket. Uncapping the tool, you went to start writing down their thoughts. Hearing no words enter the space, you looked up over your reading glasses at the trio. Hands gesturing to them, you waved them on. Making eye contact with the reptile, you sighed. 

“No??? Nothing? “

Exasperated, you leaned back in the rolling chair. 

“So you mean to tell me you set up this little club so that three grown men with powerful status such as yourselves are together for playdates, then?” 

Buggy laughed, quickly stifling it once the other two shot glares at him. Crocodile huffed, glaring at the clown before turning back to you. 

“We discussed this earlier-”

“Yes, yes, I know of putting bounties on the Navy, but are there any other goals you wish to achieve? Anything specific?”

Hawkeye watched as you grew more and more frustrated at their lack of response. He had to admit, he knew where you were coming from. From what he had observed, you were a pen on paper kind of person, one who desired even the minor details. Having written down or any other explicit goal was doing more than annoy you. Having come kind of mercy, the Swordsman went to open his mouth before the clown stepped in. The Clown was glaring at him from the corner of his eye, feeling very much territorial over his Archivist. 

Arms thrown in a reassuring gesture, the Clown approached you with a kind smile. 

“Of course I have a plan for all of us, my Star! I wouldn’t join this little crew without a proper plan in place!”

Skeptical, the other two men watched as he tried to calm your ever burning rage. Lifting yourself so that you were bent over the desk, you reached a hand out and grasped the man’s ruffled collar. Getting in his face, you stared into his eyes, trying to detect any hint of a lie. 

“Then spill it, Captain. And it better not be some impromptu bullshit that you spout to try to get yourself out of the mess you created and dragged me into.”

Pointer finger straight up, the man corrected you.

“Technically, you joined of your own free will-”

Jerking him closer to you, you pressed your nose into his own. 

“You say that as if any Nakama of yours wouldn’t die, kill, or endure hell on earth for you, idiot. If you get involved in something, the rest of us are going down with you, jackass.”

Releasing him, you lightly pushed him away before taking up the pen once again. 

“Alright then, go on.”

Sweating and crossing his fingers behind his back, the Clown shook away the nervousness. Shooting a look to the other two men, the man smiled, trying to encourage them to go along with whatever he was about to pull out of his ass. 

“I have a plan.”

“Yes, we’ve established this.”

“To take Red Haired Shanks out of the race for the One Piece.”

Silence took over the room, a shock taking over everyone involved. 

Sputtering, you tried to understand what was being said to you. 

You knew that your Captain adored the man. The two had been Cabin Boys under Gol D. Roger before. They were lovers, ever since they were children. To this day Buggy regularly contacted the ginger man, uttering praise and endearment. To hear him say such a thing….

Unless he knew something the other two didn’t. 

Like if the man never planned to pursue the treasure in the first place. 

Finally clicking in place, you looked back up to the man you saw as a brother. Nodding, you offered a look of understanding. 

“Okay.”

Uttering the acknowledgement, you let the pen write out the goal, effortlessly gliding across the paper. The ink took hold, permanently marking the tarnished paper underneath. 

“With this, I attest that the Cross Guild, made up of Former Warlord and King of Alabasta Sir Crocodile-”

Pointing to the man, you continued before gesturing to the other. 

“Dracule Mihawk, the Strongest Swordsman in the World and Former Warlord-”

And then to your beloved Captain. 

“And Chairman Buggy D. Star Clown, one of the Four Emperors of the Sea, will bring down the Navy and remove Chief Akagami Shanks, another of the Emperors of the Sea, from the race to the One Piece. This, I do declare a witness of the Sea.”

A shudder swept through the room, a stillness taking over even the Ocean outside. 

Buggy nodded, already knowing what you had planned from the start.

Mihawk was confused, what exactly just happened?

The reptile seemed to have the same question, going to approach you and ask you personally, he was stopped by a disembodied hand. 

“I recommend you don’t take another step. They’re still in the process of solidifying a few details of the contract.”

“What contract, Clown?”

Mihawk had asked, but his tone had not matched Crocodile’s. While Crocodile said ‘clown’ as a kind of insult, Mihawk said the word as his title. It was what he called Buggy, not with his nose upturned, but simply as his name. It endeared you to him, more so than whatever you felt to the failed Conqueror. 

“To put it simply, they are writing up a contract with the Ocean itself. Whatever they write with that pen, it is law, not just a promise or a goal. You know of the Read Read Fruit, but there are other abilities that the Fruit allows them to possess.”

“It will do you well to explain them while you’re ahead, clown.”

Buggy paused, trying to think about a good way to explain his Archivist to his new allies.

“You, see, the Read Read Fruit isn’t just about reading through logs or records incredibly fast and being able to process it. It also allows them to write an oath into existence, one that must be met by all parties mentioned. If not, then there are consequences for not doing so. Of course, there are a few other things my little Star can do, but that would be giving away all our tricks too early.”

A wicked grin split across the captain’s face, a knowing glint hidden in his light blue eyes. 

This duo was already starting to prove to be more than either Warlord expected. 

“So this Devil Fruit they ate, how long have they had it?”

Crocodile questioned, enamored by the seemingly endless possibilities this Fruit seemed to have. Who knows what all they could swear to the Sea-

A knowing glare made its way to the Clown, already he was starting to see how this cold blooded fool failed to conquer Alabasta. He was cunning, yes, but he made himself too obvious. Anyone within a 50 mile radius knew what he was wanting to do. 

“Nice try, Croc, but you aren’t making my Archivist do anything they don’t want to do. Not under my watch.”

“Need I remind you who I am-”

Turning to face him, Buggy’s eyes hardened, resolve never burning away. 

“It will do you well to remember that I am no mere pirate captain from the East Blue. I am a former member of the Roger Pirates, Emperor of the Sea, and control one of the largest networks across the GrandLine.”

Not stopping there, the clown slowly stepped into the man’s area.

“It will do you well not to forget it, Lizard.”

Spite clear in his tone, Crocodile was taken aback by the sudden change. 

Throwing one last glare to the taller man, Buggy swiveled back to his dear sibling. 

Clapping his hands, Buggy threw back on his charming smile.

“Star! Are you about done?”

It took a few more moments, but you finished. 

Capping the pen, you threw one last glance over the document before you dipped your head to Captain.

“Aye, sir, it’s done. Bound by my blood and the Sea itself.”

Grimacing a little, Buggy forgot how the contract was to be officialized.

Mihawk perked up, not at all expecting words from your mouth. Curious, he surveyed your hands that were currently placing the pen back to its place in your pocket. Your hands were smaller than his, not that that was what caught him off guard, instead it was the gaping wound in the center of your palm. Without thinking, the hawk approached soundlessly. Grasping your hand in his, he rolled your wrist to get a better look at it. From the looks of it, you had stabbed about half the pen’s length into your hand, intrigued, he continued to observe. 

“Do tell me, how exactly does this binding contract of yours work?”

Letting your hand lay where it was, cradled in between his own, you tried to explain. 

“It is my blood that solidifies the contract, it is what the pen writes in. Without it, the paper is just that- a paper. There is nothing tying you to the words written on it otherwise.”

“That is how your Fruit works in this regard, then?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Finally realizing he had been holding your hand for so long, Mihawk relieved you of his presence. A little glum, you accepted the motion.

Seeing the interaction, Buggy pouted.

“STaArrRRRar, let me help you wrap it uuuppppp, your pretty skin needs to be cared for!!!”

Beaming at the childish behavior, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man child. 

“Of course. Let me-”

“Allow me.”

Mihawk cut in, hand grasping your own and twirling you into his embrace. Flustered, you had floundered a bit before finding your feet. Placing a hand over your waist, Dracule steadied you. Holding out his arm, the man spoke.

“If I may?”

Peering into his eyes, you attempted to discern his intentions. Only to find nothing but pure honesty there. 

“If that is your desire.”

Buggy whined louder than before. If that was even possible. Hand chopping at the base of his wrist, he tugged you towards him. Unknowingly dragging Mihawk behind you as well. When the two of you crashed into the Clown, he had flailed before falling on his ass. 

Dracule, ever the gentleman, reached out and clutched at your hand. Only for it to be the one you injured just minutes past. Eyes widened a fraction, the man apologized before switching his hand. 

“My apologies, I did not mean to further harm you.”

“Nonsense, it was not you intention.”

Crocodile watched the whole thing with a grimace, cringing from the entire situation. 

This was his life now. 

–

Buggy had managed to pull you away from the other two in record time, insting you accompany him to his room so that he may bandage your palm. 

He had sat you down on his bed, leaving momentarily to grab the first aid kit under his bathroom counter. Popping the box open, he kneeled down in front of you. Reaching out, he offered his open hand for you to place yours. 

Accepting his request, you laid your hand over his own. 

Tentatively, he plucked a pair of tweezers up and held your hand steady. Selecting a cotton ball, he dowsed it in the bedside whiskey he always had readily available. Delicately, he tapped the soaked cloth onto your wound. Hissing, you softly cursed at the man. He smiled at you, too happy to help to scold you at this very second.

“I wish you didn’t go so deep.”

“It is not as if I have not done worse.”

You had caught him off guard. Trying not to laugh at the dark humor, he had stifle the grin. 

“I still wish you the same. No matter if you have had worse or no, you do not deserve it.”

“If it gets Hawkeyes to hold my hand like that then I will continue to do so.”

You playfully retorted. 

Stiffening, Buggy ignored the comment. Lightly, you kicked his stomach.

In response, the Captain pressed harder with the alcohol. 

“Oh, fuck! Fuck you!”

Finally losing it, you watched as your brother started to cackle wildly. 

Dear Nika, you loved the idiot. 

“Oh shut up, don’t act as if I forgot the little stunt you pulled today. Shanks will be furious with you.”

Sobering from his earlier fit, Buggy eyed you from under his Captain’s hat. 

“I’ll tell you a little secret.”

Leaning in, Buggy made to whisper in your ear. As soon as he turned to you, he clenched your hand tightly, causing you to yelp, before wrapping it rather efficiently with a bandage.

“Shanks never intended to go after the One Piece, Star.”

Trying to whisper as lowly as him, as you knew he did not want anyone else to know, you responded.

“I assumed so. You felt rather confident earlier.”

“I can say with 100% certainty that his plans will not change once I inform him of such.”

“I hope you’re right about this, Captain. People change after all.”

“He has been by my side since day one, not once has he left me by myself or out of the loop. He has never not told me about what he was thinking or planning. Star, please, trust me on this.”

Peeling away from each other, you peered down at your Captain. Your brother in all but blood. 

“Alright.”

Brightening, he grinned, teeth bared.

“Thank you, Star.”

“Under one condition.”

Deflating, he groaned.

“I knew it. It was too easy.”

“Oh stop your bitching, sir. I only had a quick ask.”

Eyebrows shooting up, he leaned into you. 

“Of course, ask away! You never ask for anything! Tell me, tell me, tell me!!!”

Now embarrassed, you wondered if it was wise to ask such a thing from him. Surely he was going to make it a bigger deal than needed. 

“I…now I’m embarrassed!”

Hands covering your face, you tried to peel the captain away from your knees. Whining, he only clutched at you tighter.

“Nooooooo, you have to tell me now!”

“Fine…give me a second…”

Respecting your wishes, Buggy only hugged your knees to his chest. Eyes closed, he waited fro you to respond.

You murmured out the ask.

Squinting, Buggy responded.

“Huh? Speak up, dumbass.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms.

“I asked if I could call you my brother, asshat. Now I don’t-”

Unsuspecting, you reeled back at the dramatic gasp and cry of the man next to you. Launching himself up and on top of you, he only held you tight against his chest. Ugly sobbing, the man snotted all over your nice ass shirt.

“O-O-O-OF COURSEE!!!”

Continuing his sobbing, you lay dealing with the consequences of your actions. Exhaling, you pat his back, comforting him in his obvious time of need.

“There, there, Captain.”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK OF ME AS A BROTHER!?”

Playfully knocking him aside the head, you giggled at the foolish man. 

“Yes, Captain, I have for a while now.”

Cradling his head, you hugged him dearly.

“You have been the reason I get up in the mornings for years now. I cannot thank you enough for being my rock.”

Sniffing wetly, the clown nodded fervently. 

“Brother! Call me brother, idiot! I will not allow you to call me anything else, no more captain or sir!”

“...that’s a little much. I can’t not call you sir, sir. It’s instilled in me.”

“Only in front of others, then!”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Good! Now.”

Questiongly, you looked down at the man.

Hand coming up, but still hugging you, the Clown removed his hat, letting loose the absolute mane of hair underneath. Eyes sparkling, you couldn’t help but comb through it with your fingers.

“Your hair is gorgeous, sir.”

“Brother. But, I know….I can help you with yours if you wish?”

Blinking, you tried to comprehend the offer. 

Only to accept, shouting excitedly at the prospect. 

Buggy watched you. 

Happy. 

His little Star was happy now. Genuine happiness and not that pretend shit you used to do in front of everyone. 

He was so proud of you. 

His Archivist. 

His Star.

–

The morning sun offended you, dearly so. Practically screaming at you, the sun roused you from your sleep. Blearily blinking open your eyes, you tried to take in your unfamiliar surroundings. 

Only to look down and see Buggy’s face pressed against your side, still asleep. 

The night before flashed in your mind, heat raising and taking its place along your cheeks. 

It had been a while since you had been so embarrassed. But, it was nice being vulnerable for once. 

Finding yourself enjoying your position, you were incredibly reluctant to get up and go do actual work. 

At least, until your mind flickered to the two former Warlords more than likely already up and about creating mass chaos. 

Smoothing down the clown’s hair, you slowly detached yourself from the man before climbing out of bed. 

God, you worked too hard sometimes.

@animefreak818

[dduane]

Hello! I was wondering if you’ve shared your ao3 account? Like, have you acknowledged “this account is mine,” or do you keep it personal? Totally respect if you keep it under wraps I just wanted to know if I’m missing something. Hope my wording of this makes sense!

No, it's OK, I get it. You're asking "Have you publicly ID'd a given AO3 account as yours?"

No, and I'm not going to. Because it contains fanfic I've written for pleasure—exactly as I started writing it in my teens—and I have no desire to have that publicly connected with me.

Leaving the usual legal concerns aside (and not being even slightly concerned that a judge would fail to find the fiction "transformational", if the truth came out in a court of law) a significant part of this effort is about answering the question: "What would happen if people read fiction of mine and they didn't know Diane Duane was responsible for it? What would their reaction be?" That urge to discover whether the fiction stands on its own, without the inevitable shadow cast by one’s reputational backstop, still comes up for me in some moods. So when the itch to write fanfic comes up, I scratch it. And all I can say is that, by and large, the results have been satisfying.

Frankly, it's a ton of fun. There's no one to satisfy (at the most immediate level) except me and the local embodiment of the Creative Urge. No one will ever accuse me of "just churning [this] out for more $$$$", because there is no $$$$. And there's room to stretch further and harder than I might normally do in my public work (because there's more forgiveness for failure: and in the arts, I think, failure is absolutely one of the most effective ways to grow). Whatever comes back to me in return for this work—and it is work, some of the hardest I've ever done—is in the form of raw appreciation. So, people, on behalf of my colleagues, let me just say: comment on AO3 fics, yeah? You don't have to be fulsome about it. A word or two will do. And bestow kudos where you may. It's all an AO3 fanfic writer asks.

...And of course some people will say: "Are you off your rocker? You're traditionally published for decades, you have awards, you've been on bestseller lists, how can you not be sure that what you're doing's any good?" ...But you know, no writer is sure all the time. All of us wake up in the middle of the night some time(s), thinking "I'm not sure I've still got it..." and squeezing our eyes shut in terror of future reviews containing the horrible conjecture that Maybe We Never Really Had It To Start With. When you've spent a significant portion of your lifetime making stuff (up) out of nothing, the horrible suspicion that maybe it really has been nothing all the time—I mean, nothing nothing—is unavoidable.

So sometimes some of us want to go out in disguise (and I don't mean paid pseudonymic work: that proves nothing in this particular arena) and see how we fare. I know other traditionally-published writers who've done this—names that would surprise you—and who, by and large, have done it for the same reasons. We are the dark figures, hooded and cloaked, sitting in the shadows of some of the more prominent fandoms that express themselves on AO3; eyes glinting in the firelight, enjoying the reactions to the stories we've got to tell.

It's not bad here, in the shadows. For one thing, you're in a better position to appreciate the figures moving in the light. There's a lot of extraordinary talent on AO3 (and elsewhere in the online fanfic world), sharing stuff with us out of their own hard work and from their own urge toward grace. It's a privilege to read them. (Some of them are better writers than I am. I appreciate them: and comment, and leave kudos, because that's how appreciation is concretely shown. And I take notes.)

Beyond that, there's nothing much to add except that I have no plans to stop. And also: that I think kindly every single day of the very small and exclusive group of people who know "who" I am on AO3, and have kindly kept that data to themselves. Your confidence honors me, friends. May the Work do you honor in return. :)

And now: I owe you all an update, so you'll have to excuse me while I get on with it. :)

[zablife]

Broken Promises

Henry Johnson/Michael Gray x fiancee reader

Summary: When your fiancé leaves you at the altar, you go in search of answers in a frightening, new city. As you close in on him, you find that you aren't prepared for the man he has become.

Author's Note: Requested by a lovely anon.

Warnings: broken engagement, implied SA, mention of execution, Michael being an ass, heavy angst

1921, Kent

As your grandmother's shaky hands finished pinning your veil in place, she beamed with pride. "Even more beautiful than your mother was when she wore it," she mused, wiping a tear from her eye. "I only wish she was here to see you, love."

"I have you," you reminded her, reaching forward to wrap your arms around the only family member you had left in the world.

Prying you away from her delicate frame, she gazed upon you with affection that creased every well worn line of her soft skin. Eyes glistening with tears, you noted a tinge of sadness as she admitted, "But now you have Henry." Squeezing your hands for emphasis, she confided, "I'm glad he'll be here to look after you when I'm gone."

You wanted to tell her that wouldn't be for a long time, but a sharp knock interrupted your thoughts. "Is the bride ready?" a cheerful voice chirped from the other side.

Opening the heavy oak door, you were greeted warmly by your future mother-in-law, cheeks as rosy as the apples in her orchard as she bustled into the room to add her compliments. "Aren't you a beauty!" she exclaimed.

"You're too kind," you demurred as she proceeded to tell you how pleased she was for her son.

"Have you seen Henry this morning? Is he well?" you asked excitedly, wondering how your love had fared the night before.

Since your meeting two years ago, at the tender age of sixteen, neither of you had gone a day without meeting at the wishing well at the center of your village. Sitting upon the shining white bricks, you shared the small details of your day. It might have seemed mundane to others, but it gave you a sense of comfort to know there was nothing you didn't share with one another.

Rosemary shook her head with a good natured chuckle as she admitted, "You know, in all the fuss, I haven't seen my own son!"

Her lighthearted reply made you giggle because she was accustomed to such lapses, forgetting the bread in the oven or leaving her spectacles tucked in a book.

Then in classic fashion, she overshared a bit as she patted your hand, "You know you needn't worry about the stag party. He promised his father he'd only drink mild."

"I'm not worried, Mrs. Johnson," you replied, stifling a laugh.

"Rosemary, dear," she corrected you. "And I'm certain if he isn't here, he'll be along shortly."

You nodded in agreement, smiling to yourself in the full length mirror as you brushed the lace away from your face to study your reflection carefully.

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

1924, Birmingham

The curtains in your bedsit flapped lightly in the wind, waking you with a start. A cough erupted from your lungs, unaccustomed to the smoke filled air of the city. What could have brought your fiancee to this God forsaken place?, you wondered as you rushed to close the window.

You made yourself a cup of tea and sat quietly watching the passersby, hoping by some miracle Henry would stroll by, though you knew from the papers he was locked away in a prison cell. Or at least, that's what you'd come to believe after staring at the smudged ink for too long, convinced he was now a man called Micheal Gray. Though it turned your stomach to think he was accused of murdering a priest, it was the only lead you'd found in three years time.

But in the fortnight since your arrival, you hadn't learned anything new, despite your efforts. The only other trace of Henry since your wedding had been an unreliable account by a lad who claimed he saw he a strange man with a scar speaking with Henry weeks before your wedding, rumors of a new life in Birmingham sprinkled into the conversation.

As you gazed down at the ring languishing on your finger, you wondered if he ever thought of you late at night, yearning for those moments of connection by the well. Did he even care that he'd left you all alone at the altar or worse yet, at the graveside of your beloved grandmother a month later? The heart break had nearly been too difficult to bear.

Now all you had to guide you was a whisper, a faded conversation in which Henry had been lured by the promises of a dark, foreboding stranger. This was probably why you'd forgiven his lapse of judgement, the concern for his wellbeing outweighing the anger you held in your heart. However, the second ring you wore, your grandmother's gold band, burned your skin as it reminded you of your worth which was far more than that assigned to you by your absent lover.

The combination of curiosity and indignation propelled you forward, day by day, searching the city for those who could provide answers. Usually the day ended with aching feet and a rumbling stomach, but today your efforts would be rewarded by a chance encounter with a dark haired woman, children clinging to her skirts.

You were buying a loaf of bread in the market when one of their small hands began to reach for you, their mother scolding them with a harsh slap.

"It's alright," you assured her. "Far too much for me on my own. I'm glad to share."

"Thank you," the wild eyed woman remarked, accepting your generosity. "Times are hard with my husband away. Yours locked up as well?" she ventured, casting a look at your ring.

Unsure how to reply, you lowered your eyes to the cobblestones beneath your feet as she prattled on about her John and how he'd been falsely accused thanks to her evil brother-in-law. "Not just him, mind you, everyone else in the family," she bemoaned as she fed the bread to her children. "Arthur, Polly, Michael..." she rambled absently as she tore the crust apart in even pieces.

"Did...did you say Michael? As in Michael Gray?" you stuttered hopefully.

"You know him?" she asked, head jerking up at the mention of his surname.

"Yes," you admitted, on an uneven breath. "Do you know where I can find him?"

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

It was thru her suggestion that you met with the inspector bringing charges in the case. Chester Campbell was a disagreeable man, but the only one willing to discuss matters with you privately. For that you thanked him profusely, though in an hour's time you would not have done the same.

He had only one motive in sequestering you inside an interrogation room and the instant the door slammed behind you, your heart sank with the bitter realization of his true intentions. If you wanted Michael free, or if you wanted your own freedom for that matter, he suggested you comply with every devilish command he gave.

By the time he was finished, you were shaking in violent convulsions. As he draped a coat around you to conceal the tattered remains of your dress, you slipped away into the bustling street with an official document clutched tightly to your chest. It was your only solace in those dark hours that followed, waiting for the promised release of the man you only hoped would never learn of your sacrifice.

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

You entered a new state of watchful waiting those next few days as you kept regular meetings with Esme. She kept you abreast of the news regarding the trial, mostly family matters that wouldn't be known to reporters. And though she urged you to see Michael before it was too late, you found yourself averse to the idea until one fateful day.

Finding Esme slumped over in a fit of grief, you ran to her. "What's happened?" you begged.

"Ain't you seen the papers?" she wailed.

You only shook your head in ignorance, a hand stroking along her back as she pitched forward in garbled cries. "They're....they're being executed."

The blood froze in your veins as you processed her words, wondering if this was truly the end of it all.

"You're sure?" you asked, swallowing the lump in your throat. As she nodded against your shoulder you had only one question left. "When?"

"At dawn."

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

The next morning you waited by the prison gate, hands pounding against the splintering wood until your fists were raw and aching. But no one paid any attention to the woman raving beneath their window. And who could blame them when you pleaded for the life of a killer?

By the time the clock tower struck twelve, you knew in your heart that the deed was done. Henry? Micheal? Whoever the man you once loved had been in life was no more. You sank to your knees and sobbed in a way you hadn't allowed yourself since your wedding day. Three long years of pain and sacrifice for this, you thought.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, you finally found the strength to pick yourself up and amble toward the road. However, a harsh creak of metal stopped you in your tracks. Turning to face the path you'd just walked, you could hardly believe your eyes as you caught sight of Henry standing bruised and battered, but alive nonetheless.

Your breath caught in your throat as your hand reached out toward him involuntarily, years of longing superseding your rational mind. "H-henry?" you called to him.

The man before you furrowed his brow for a moment as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He looked as though he were lost in a daze as he took his time lighting it, the glowing match in his hand quivering slightly. You could tell that the years had aged him, but not beyond total recognition. Somewhere beneath the hardened exterior was the boy you knew long ago in the countryside and you longed for him to hold you in his arms once more.

However, your daydream was cut short when he replied gruffly, "What do you want?"

You stepped toward him cautiously, head tilted as you took in his disheveled appearance. His waist coat was dirty and torn, pants far too short for his height and yet he still looked as handsome as you remembered. Then you wondered if perhaps he was having trouble recalling you as well due to the recent trauma.

"It's me...Y/n," you offered gently. "I came to find what became of you," you answered earnestly. "I...I was worried."

He raised his head to the sky, considering the passing clouds for a moment before blowing a lungful of smoke upward to join them. "Well you don't have to worry anymore. I'm fine," he assured you, placing the cigarette between pursed lips.

You shook your head at his cool detachment, eyes searching his for the hint of the caring young man you once knew. "You were sentenced to hang today and that's all you have to say, Henry?"

"That's not my name," he corrected you sternly. "I go by Michael now."

"Yes, I know," you mumbled in confusion.

"Look, if you came about our engagement..." he began, a threatening scowl crossing his face as he plucked the cigarette from his lips in a telling reveal he knew exactly who you were.

"No, I see that's long forgotten," you admitted with a heavy heart. "But I want you to know I still care for you deeply," you ventured on baited breath.

He hummed to himself gently as he nodded in agreement, "I know.." Then stilling all movement he replied without a hint of emotion, "The guards told me what you did."

Your body clenched in fear at the prospect of him learning your shameful secret, but you stood fast waiting to hear what else he might say. As his mouth curled into a small smile, you allowed yourself a morsel of hope, until he spat cruelly, "They thought it was funny."

You shifted uncomfortably before him, chest aching with shattered pride as he huffed out a humorless laugh at your expense.

"I suppose it is," he decided before turning his heel into the gravel decisively, leaving you alone in the freezing shade of the empty yard.

"Wait!" you shouted, racing toward him to capture his arm between desperate fingertips. "You can't mean that. I know you cared for me once too. What happened?" you begged, tears streaming down your face.

As he flicked his cigarette butt into the street, he eyed you in a side long glance. "You think you know me, but you never understood," he said with a shake of his head.

"That's not true," you insisted, twisting his arm to make him look at you. "You loved our life...you loved...me," you stuttered out between hiccuped sobs, all the pent up emotion rising to the surface. "Don't you remember all those wonderful afternoons we spent at the wishing well?"

The clench of his jaw and the ironlike grip against your hand frightened you, but it was nothing in comparison to the spiteful look in his eye when he finally faced you.

"Do you know all the times I thought about planting dynamite beneath those pretty white bricks to blow you to hell?" he seethed.

You jerked your hand away in terror just as he released you, falling to the ground with a painful thud. "Henry?" you mumbled as you looked up at him in shock.

"I already told you, that's not who I am anymore," he hissed before stalking away and as you watched him disappear into the smoke and fog, you finally had to concede that he was right. The boy who promised to cherish you forever was gone. He'd been replaced by some monster now wandering the dark and desolate streets of his new home, a place where you did not belong.

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

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[bomberqueen17]

letters

So in 1944 my grandpa got tuberculosis. It was bad enough that they sent him to a sanitarium up in the Adirondacks for a rest cure, which was what was recommended at the time. He'd been married to my grandmother for just a little while; they had a son, my uncle, and she was pregnant with my dad.

While he was there he wrote letters daily. He wrote a lot of letters, I think, to his parents and sister and friends. But the ones he sent to his wife, my grandma, she kept.

I don't know the chronology of it all, but after Grandma died, probably my dad found the packet of letters, as he was the one who went through her effects-- might have been his little sister, my aunt. Anyway the packet got circulated around, and then came back to my dad, who carefully organized all of the letters into a binder with individual plastic archival sleeves. Someone asked after them recently, and Mom found them and pulled them out. I was over there today, feeding her cat while she's on vacation, and so I leafed through them.

Grandpa's handwriting is similar, a bit, to my late father's, so I was able to read it reasonably easily. He started strong, the first letter he recounts how he fared in the rainstorm he'd apparently left home in, and then asks how Grandma fared.

How are you, my Baby? Did your schooner of sleep bear you safely thru the storm? If it didn't then you won't be reading this sorry excuse for a letter.

In that same letter he goes on to say,

Zounds! How can I create in this infernal bedlam? All the patients are up (as far as possible) and braying, the phone is ringing, Ma is delivering the Gettysburg Address + Pa is making more noise with a piece of wrapping paper than I could make with a hammer and a piece of steele [sic].

It rapidly escalates from there, and in a later letter he explains that the rest cure was so boring he had literally nothing to do, nothing to write home about, and so in an effort to keep from dwelling on how much he hated it there, he would write these flowery, possibly-repetitive love letters, because he simply had nothing else to talk about.

Your accounts of the marital woes of the [illegible, probably neighbors] are really hair-raising, but I don't think that the happiness of our marriage is due entirely to good fortune. As I have always said, we were made for each other a long, long time ago and our hearts refused to love anyone until the right one came along.

Looking at the postmarks, I realized they dated from right around the time of my father's birth, so I found the one that was sent the day after Dad was born, and it did not disappoint.

My beloved Words cannot express just how I feel this morning; I am all mixed up. You are so wonderful that sometimes I wonder what I ever did to deserve you. You are the one who is increasing our fortunes, for truly our children are the treasures that make us rich. You are so brave, so cool that I hold you in undying amazement. I am sure of one thing, My Darling; I know your sons will love you, not just because you are their mother, but for your own precious self, for the truly great woman you are. For the ordeal you have gone thru to bring these precious lives into being, rest assured of the eternal devotion of your menfolk. Last night all I could think of was you. I heard the night train coming into the station and my heart said "Run, run and catch the train before it is too late. Run to your loved ones and to hell with the results. Run, let nothing keep you from their sides." But my head said, "No, don't undo all that has been done. They also serve who stand and wait. Wait, and by so doing, prove your love to be more than the reckless love of youth, prove it to be the wise, guiding love that lives on long after passion has spent itself and thus spent, dies." And so I waited and the train left without me + my heart hated me for it.

Oh boy I cried, I sure did. (I had to look it up; "They also serve who only stand and wait" is from John Milton's Sonnet XIX.)

He always uses beloved or darling or somesuch as the salutation, but he often refers to her as Red within the text of the letters, because she had red hair. He occasionally made saucy references to their sex life, elsewhere in the letters. But mostly it's absolutely banger shit like this:

My thoughts and deeds, my smiles and tears, my happiness, my loneliness, my joy, my sorrow, my every breath, yea, even the final beat of my loving heart are poor blossoms placed on my altar of adoration, raised in humble gratitude to you.

Her name was Margaret, and I never knew her to have any nicknames, she just went by her name. Except to him, apparently. But as for him-- his government name was John, as was my father's, but my father never had to have a nickname, because there was never a day in his life Grandpa went by John. His name was Buddy, everyone called him Buddy, and he signed his letters as Buddy.

He died in January of 1978 of complications related to the damage to his lungs from the tuberculosis (not directly, but it was related). Grandma was standing in the hallway of the hospital, watching him sleep, waiting for him to wake up so he could meet my older sister, his third grandchild. He never did meet her.

She died in 2002 of congestive heart failure; I'd spent much of the preceding week with her and she'd spoken mostly of him.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

I hate Halsin's ending and here's why:

The thing I hate most, honestly, is the lack of continuity.

Halsin feels guilty for not being able to lift the Shadow Curse sooner and on his own:

"Thaniel is trapped in the Shadowfell, but thanks to you efforts, I know where to look. Now, I must go there - alone. [...] This opportunity has been a hundred years in the making. It has to be me, and only me."

"[...] I wasted too much time already - years in which nature has suffered."

"[...] Nature suffered while I dawdled, and allowed myself to be distracted."

Him about being Archdruid and the responsibilities as such:

"I wanted to try and find him [Thaniel], but we couldn't stay - we would have all succumbed. When the Archdruid of the Grove, my predeccessor, was seized by the curse, I had to lead the survivors to safety. That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning."

"I reveived a dispatch from the Grove [...] My chosen successor, Francesca, has proven to be a wise choice. Perhaps the wisest I ever made as Archdruid."

"I was all too eager to surrender my responsibilities towards the grove. Perhaps I was never meant to be Archdruid, to be a leader. [...] I cannot help but wonder if there was more I could have done. Perhaps I may yet have the chance some day."

"[...] I live for the wilderness. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen."

His plans on returning to the former Shadow-Cursed-Lands:

"Still, I would like to return here some day. See Thaniel and Oliver again - in my meditations, or perhaps in person, if the Oak Father wills it. I hope he does. [...] Anyway, once the curse is lifted, nature can take its course without me. I belong at your side."

His future plans:

"[...] The Shadow Curse occupied me so entirely and for so long... I almost miss the purpose it gave me. Now, I must find a new one."

"My mind still drifts to that dream I shared with you, for a better future for all those who need it... but that must wait. I remain yours of course."

Things he says to you regarding you relationship:

"I haven taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now."

"You are all I want, but I won't hoard you to myself. Let others know the happiness of being with you."

"[...] The Grove became my family, with Silvanus as my teacher. And now, I have you."

"We shall triumph. Our time together does not end here."

"[...] So long as I am surviving, and I have you by my side, I am faring as well as anyone can be."

When breaking up with him:

"[...] If that's truly what you desire, I shall respect it. No matter how much I wish it was not the case. I will remain by your side whenever you wish, of course. As ally, advisor, friend... in any way you desire, safe for as a lover."

When you change your mind about breaking up:

"I'm glad you have reconsidered, but please don't trivially bring up such difficult topics. My heart can be wounded like any other "

"[...] I told you your heart is yours, but I do not wish for mine to be toyed with."

... and break up with him again (lol):

"Does it please you to see me crestfallen? That is the only reason I can think why you might toy with my heart like this."

"I warned you not to broach such matters lightly. Perhaps you care less for me than I supposed..."

Nicknames for Tav (at least the ones I heard):

"my love" and "my heart"

When being in a relationship with him and asking for having more partners:

"[...] Don't punish yourself on my account - remember we are both free to roam and love as we see fit."

"I'm glad you didn't feel the need to deprive yourself. To deny the most essential of impulses is to cut yourself off of nature."

"[...] I asked for freedom to follow my heart, and of course, I offer it in return."

"[...] I'm glad you shown yourself to be comfortable in exploring without me."

When in a relationship with him, having sex with Mizora and telling him you didn't enjoy it:

"[...] I'm sorry to hear that [...] I just hope it doesn't dissuade you from exploring nature's bounty. If you ever want to talk, my ears are all yours. Any part of me is yours, should you wish."

In conclusion:

Halsin feels guilty for not being able to lift the Shadow Curse sooner and on his own, wasting 100 years by doing so.

He feels like he failed as Archdruid and that he's not made for being a leader.

He doesn't want to settle down but roam.

The Shadow Curse was the only thing on his mind and his only purpose for 100 years.

He doesn't know what to do, now that the curse is lifted, and is looking for a new purpose.

He voices his wish to eventually see Thaniel again.

He's poly, had a lot of flings, and doesn't fall in love easily, but he fell hard for you.

He talks about sharing the future with you.

Halsin's ending:

"They [refugees & orphans] need help - help what this city cannot provide right now. I shall aid them to make a new place for themselves, in Thaniel's realm, under nature's watch. [...] There were nine whole wagons of children in tow. They are my duty now. 'Daddy Halsin', they call me. Who am I to tell them otherwise? We are each free, as we always were... but that does not to be the end. You must visit me soon [...] I shall have my own selfish reasons for wanting to see you again, if you wish the same."

How the game ends:

Halsin brings the refugees and orphans to Thaniel's lands, inevitably becoming a leader again and settling down.

He tells you to visit him, but doesn't ask you to join him, meaning he doesn't actually want to share that "dream I shared with you, for a better future for all those who need it", treating you like a normal fling instead of the love he claims you are.

It's a weird, unsatisfying ending, and honestly, most possible endings are. Baldur's Gate 3 is such an amazing game, but most endings feel incredibly rushed or unsatisfying (I'm especially glaring at the Karlach & Astarion endings, but that's for another rant). My dislike for the Halsin ending isn't that he doesn't magically turn monogamous, but that he tells you over and over again how much you mean to him ("You are all I want", "Anything for you, my heart") and then he just fucking leaves on his own without even asking if you want to join him. He's just like "I found a new purpose, bye, see ya, visit if you want to fuck."

It feels like the writers just gave up in the end - or didn't have enough time left to do it right (I get that, I work as a translator & editor). It just feels weird.

[redflagshipwriter]

Reassembly 6

Masterpost is here.

Peter woke up on the library sofa that he was beginning to think of as his and hefted his bag over his shoulder.

He was doing okay. Really, he was fine. Considering that he was a minor with no resources or adults to help him, his life wasn't so bad.

Last night he'd gone to the gym early and thought about washing his dirty clothes in the shower. He hadn't, but he figured he would have to eventually. He could wear everything at least twice before it was an issue, right?

He chewed on that thought on his way to get breakfast. Today's hotel buffet had boiled eggs, which was new and exciting hotel fare. He made buttery whole grain toast and tried to calculate how many calories he was probably getting on this breakfast buffet lifestyle. ….on the good buffet days 1000 per day, at least.

There was no chance that it was enough to fuel Spider-Man. He had whole fat milk and juice to bulk it up, instead of water, but he knew it really wasn't enough.

‘Maybe I should be going to two buffets per day. They'd notice if I took a day's worth of meals from any one place, but they're open for hours.’

This place was one of the ones that had little plastic tubs of peanut butter with the peel off lid. With a guilty look over at the inattentive desk worker, Peter pocketed a couple for a snack later in the day. The only other non-refrigerated thing that looked small enough to pocket were rolls, and there weren't a ton of those. He took one.

He still had most of the cash from the wallet, but the idea of spending it seemed like a bad one. He might need it a lot more in the future.

‘I should look into food banks?’ That seemed right. There'd been a time after Uncle Ben died that Aunt May had gotten help that way.

Hopefully not for long. Maybe that potential client would hire him today. And them-

….how would they pay him? Peter put his face in his hands and breathed into his fingers for a bit. He didn't have a bank account. Could he open a bank account using only his birth certificate? Probably not! He definitely needed to figure out the social security number thing. Fast.

Peter didn't cry but it was a close thing. It was just… it was all so overwhelming. Nothing was just easy. He couldn't even just work and get paid because there were a billion steps needed before you could get money you'd earned.

Grimly, he wondered if there was something else. There was probably a way to get paid under the table, same day. Manual labor? Some kind of bottom barrel criminal stuff like smuggling or whatever it was people did with drugs?

He wouldn't mind the manual labor, except that it would be a very big problem for his under-fueled metabolism. But he probably had to choose hunger over small time crime. Didn't he? Peter bit his lip and wondered what Aunt May would say. She'd never broken the law, he was pretty sure. But she was a huge proponent of children getting to eat. Maybe she'd forgive him.

That was probably all beside the point. Peter didn’t know how to do any of that. He couldn’t survive by doing crime if he tried. He was kind of relieved to dismiss the idea that way.

‘School really might be my way out,’ Peter thought longingly. ‘If I get a scholarship and housing, that’s a ton of my problems solved right there. I’d be able to get a legit job a lot easier with an address and maybe a student ID.’

That was a longer term plan, then. For now, he had to figure out how to eat until that panned out.

Unbidden, he remembered Kon’s unused kitchen and endless credit cards.

Peter instantly felt a deep well of shame. He wasn’t going to use Kon like that. He wasn’t befriending Kon to benefit. That would be majorly messed up.

He was really looking forward to their planned hangout today, though. He didn’t feel guilty at the thought that he’d probably get to eat there if he cooked. That was normal, that was the kind of thing that friends did. It would be weirder to invite him over and not eat together.

They hadn’t exactly picked a time. Peter figured he would kill time until the library opened at 10, check his email, maybe study a little, and then head over. He didn’t want to go over there so early that Kon fed him both lunch and dinner. It had been fine last time, but it would be tacky to orchestrate that on purpose.

Social Security numbers. Peter mentally reframed the day’s mission to that. He’d check the email, sure, but rather than studying coding he was going to figure out how to get a social security number.

Well. Two. One for his real name, and one for his office workersona.

Peter cleared out of the hotel lobby when he heard an employee start to move around in the office behind the desk. He went to another hotel, got a piece of toast, fruit, and coffee, and then killed time by walking around for a couple of hours.

He wound through the morning crowds with an easy grace and enjoyed the pretense that he was one of them, a regular guy headed to work or something. It felt good to be lost in a crowd and have absolutely no one look at him like he was sticking out. He was having a terrible time but honestly, for a homeless jobless teenager, he was doing a really good job. He didn’t look weird or smell bad, and he’d figured out at least a short term survival strategy and a long term plan that he was working towards.

Oh. Peter felt a twist in his gut. He didn’t stop walking but he felt guilty about it. He probably shouldn’t be mindlessly burning energy by walking around, not when he was eating maybe half of what an average human should eat per day. Mr. Stark had put his ideal intake around 3500 calories, more if he was active. He had a lot of muscle that he really didn’t want his body to cannibalize for fuel.

…There were still a couple hours until the library opened. Peter really, really wished he at least had a library card. If he’d been able to take out a book he could sit on a bench somewhere and kill time without looking too weird. He could even go to a diner and get like, a one dollar black coffee and hang out. Since this was a fantasy, he went ahead and mentally added a cinnamon roll to the imaginary order. Wow, luxury!

Peter laughed to himself. No one looked at him, because this was New York City and a kid laughing on the sidewalk was banal.

It was a weird little goal, but it made him smile. He’d fix his life. He’d have a legal identity, and a place to sleep, and be able to go to school and work. When he got to that point he’d be able to go to a restaurant and order a cinnamon roll and not worry about anything, except how he was going to get back to his universe or whatever. You know, just the normal concerns, not survival.

He killed time in a park, watching ducks bob around and groom each other. The sunshine did something for his mood. When he felt it had been long enough he went to the library and followed through on his plan. He didn’t have any emails yet, except a notification from the job site saying that employers were looking at his profile and he could see who, for a nominal fee!

Peter deleted the email, disgruntled. Seemed kinda predatory.

He went on to learn about the social security system. Apparently they were assigned randomly, and there were multiple physical addresses that issued cards. There were more of them than he’d expected. He found one in a 3rd floor address nearby that was open from 7am to 4 pm and figured out how to get there and what the building looked like. Then he did more reading, brow furrowed, trying to figure out what to do.

It might be more secure to make it look like he was an immigrant who got a social security number assigned as an adult. If he claimed to be from out of the country, then it would be harder to research where he supposedly came from.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to lose his identity as a New Yorker. That was important to him. Peter bit his lower lip and thought it over.

Actually. You didn’t have to be born in the states to be a real New Yorker. He made up imaginary back stories for both of his IDs. The worksona was a born citizen, because Peter didn’t think that was likely to get looked into much. Since that person didn’t really exist, he was going to abandon it as soon as he didn’t need it.

His real ID for the universe was going to be from overseas. He decided that he’d been born in… Moldova.

Peter took a moment to look up Moldova to be sure it still existed in this universe. It did, and it seemed about the same. No travel restrictions to the United States, but not much economic power. It was not a common place to come from, but that fit his purposes. He didn’t want someone to ask why he didn’t speak whatever his supposed native language was.

…Peter made a mental note to look up language resources. Even if he’d supposedly emigrated at a young age, it would be more convincing if he knew at least a little. And it would be a good way to spend some time.

Huh. That was an idea. He probably couldn’t take books out of the library, but he could get a notebook and a pencil for like, 2 dollars, and take notes here. Then he’d have something to study in the hours he was outside with nothing to do. He’d look a lot less weird just sitting around if he looked like a student.

He took a minute to look up their flag and a few trivia points. Then Peter called it good enough for now and started off towards Kon’s apartment.

It would be a lie to say that it was convenient. It could have been worse, but it was far enough that Peter would have used the subway if he had the money to spend.

…He made a note to look into subway hopping. That wasn’t a real crime. It shouldn’t cost anything to use public transportation, it was literally built for public use. But right now, on the way to see a friend, seemed like a bad time to possibly get held up for a misdemeanor.

So he walked. It took him 40 minutes to get to the apartment block. He ducked into a dollar store that he passed on the way to get the notebook and pencil he had decided on, feeling good about it. His stomach grumbled when he passed the cooler with sandwiches and drinks. He ignored it as best as he could and directed his gaze elsewhere. It was easier to be hungry when there wasn’t food nearby.

Peter knocked on the door with his knuckles.

The door opened before he could call out. Kon grinned down at him and then whooshed back to let him in.

“Thanks,” he said. “Have a good day so far?”

Kon shrugged. The light caught on the metal spikes on his jacket with the movement. He turned around and walked ahead of Peter. “I was out of town ‘til this morning, sleepover with some friends,” he said.

Somehow the sight of his absurd muscles peeking out the mesh window startled a cough out of Peter, even though he’d been there when Kon modified the jacket.

“How about you?”

Peter’s brain took a moment to come online. “Uh, I was at the library this morning,” he said. At the weird look Kon gave him, he shrugged self consciously and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m looking into college stuff,” he justified. That was really normal.

“...College, huh.” Now Kon looked uncomfortable. “You must be smart.”

Peter’s face burnt red. “In some ways,” he dodged. “Are you gonna go?”

Kon blinked at him. “I mean….” He gestured at himself with one hand. “I’m not exactly the type, am I?”

“Because you’re hot?” Peter asked, confused. What else was that gesture at his pecs supposed to illustrate?

They stared at each other. Then Kon broke out into snickers. “Because I’m not that smart,” Kon said, like it was a fact of life. “It’s just not for me.”

Kon was laughing, but Peter felt… he felt kind of angry, actually. “Who told you that?” he demanded. He curled his hands into fists in his pockets. “Why don’t you think you’re smart? Eff that. You could go to college. Maybe you should go with me,” he added impulsively. He could help Kon figure it out. Honestly, Kon probably needed help if his parents weren’t talking to him about school or a job.

“Where are you going?” Kon asked. He cocked his head to the side.

Ah. Well. “I’m not very far in the process yet, but I was thinking about Gotham U for engineering,” Peter admitted.

Kon started laughing for real. “Gotham,” he gasped. “Gotham? Me, in Gotham?”

Peter felt his shoulders hunch up. “They have a good program,” he said stiffly. He hadn’t thought Kon would laugh at him. His throat felt tight. He took a step backwards without thinking about it. Maybe this was a mistake.

Somehow Kon tuned into his mood even without looking. He held up a hand, flustered through the remnants of his snickers. “No– no, I mean, I have a friend in Gotham,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to bring that up as a possibility.”

Oh. The stiffness in his shoulders relaxed, just a bit.

“Maybe I should go,” Kon mused. “And surprise him. That would be really funny.”

Peter shrugged.

[feastfic]

yoshka :worble:

!!! Oh I'd be far more than happy to do this funny little fella . Many hearts sent out to Yoshka :)

(This might be shorter than my normal posts but only because I'm not sure what exactly to write about him atm oopsie !!!)

• His Host-ing skills are as good as Kratcy's, it's just that he's never actually done any hosting so he doesn't exactly know what to Do. He has anxiety about performing well given that he's the assistant to the actual host and it's that anxiety that causes him to fumble. Were he not holding himself up to a standard he would do MUCH better than he already was.

• Speaking of Kratcy actually, he's (already obviously, but still) INSANELYYYY different from him. Yoshka takes the words of the contestants to heart, much to their and his own benefit, but occasionally to his detriment as well. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's easy to dig your nails into it with a few poorly placed words. Do take care to keep your harsher criticisms out of earshot of him.

• He'd develop genuine friendships with the contestants were he not in a higher position than them. Trust me, he'd love to be friends with (most of) them, it's just that he has a job to do!!! And he's incredibly sorry that he can't be as close as either of them wants, but it's just how the cookie crumbles, unfortunately.

• He's crepuscular. Which definitely has its effect on how he hosts; it's very easy to tell when he's pushing himself into daylight hours to host because it's what Kratcy does (who's nocturnal but chooses to host when the sun's out anyway, on account of him just. Deciding that he doesn't need to sleep. But I digress.) and Yoshka honestly kind of strongly dislikes hosting that way. Give him a nice dusk or dawn and he'll fare much better. (Huh. Kind of set up for failure now that I think about it. He's pitied on by folks like Putty and Cuppy, but they don't say anything about that.)

• Everything and anything you say to him he WILL take literally. I.e.; when he asked everyone what they wanted to eat and Kurasan said a knife. He was a little confused and a LOT worried, but who is he to deny someone what they wanted? Even if he does everything he's asked of/told to, he still thinks about it sometimes. Y'know, wondering if he could have done something a little different, more "satisfactory" in a way.

• He doesn't technically need the wand that he uses for recovery/revival, he just finds it a nicer alternative to...using his power directly. Think of it as him redirecting that power instead into a vessel, so that it appears that he wields nothing like what Kratcy can do, and instead relies on something else. It's for his peace of mind and, per his assumption, it also helps the contestants feel less intimidated by him. Can't exactly go around recovering folks from his palms and doing other Strange Things without rousing some suspicion, y'know!

[triptychgrip]

Yurio's post-canon maturation

In the latest chapter of my 2018/2022 Olympic Games Yuri!!! on Ice fic -- which takes place on the day of the Men's Singles Free Skate at the 2022 Beijing Games -- I was able to delve into one of my favorite topics to write about: Yurio's post-canon maturation, especially with regards to his perceptions around mental health challenges (like Yuuri's anxiety).

Yuri Plisetsky is my favorite lovable gremlin, but the first time I watched YOI (age 30, I'm now 33), my gut feeling towards him was strong dislike. When he yelled at Yuuri in the bathroom at the Sochi GPF, it reminded me of the bullies from high school that made fun of me because I was a nervous wreck in gym class (I am partially blind, but that apparently didn't matter to them), and his extreme belligerence that was met with seemingly very little consequences would never have flown in the extremely strict South Asian family that I was raised in.

If either of my parents had caught wind of the fact that I'd ever dared to call someone a pig...I shudder to think of the reaction. I honestly think I resented Yuri a little for his brashness.

In becoming more familiar with YOI, I grew to love his character and was able to pick up on nuances of his development that I'd failed to the first time around. He's been really rewarding to write about in my "Gold's On The Inside" fic-verse (which is at 300K+ words and counting!), and I love being able to show the protective side of him that occasionally flares up when it comes to Yuuri, but also when it comes to Viktor (who in my series, becomes his coach once Yakov retires in 2019).

Below is an excerpt from the latest chapter (#19) that I really loved writing.

It depicts a scene that takes place just before Yurio helps Yuuri through a panic attack (which is a full-circle event, considering some earlier events in the story). I won't give things away in terms of spoilers that take place in the previous chapter, but just know that something happens to Viktor on the day of the Free Skate that causes Yuuri's anxiety to skyrocket even more than it typically would, considering competition nerves (and the fact that 2022 Olympics mark Yuuri's final competition prior to retirement).

As an FYI re: original character names you'll see in this excerpt, 'Suko' refers to the name of Yuuri's therapist, while 'Ianna' is the name of Yuuri's close friend (and Mila's coach). 'Lakernik" refers to the Vice-President of the International Skating Union.

I hope this overview piques your interest in checking out this fic, or my other Yuri!!! on Ice work ----

Katsudon was literally gasping for air like a drowning man into Meni’s fur, full-body shaking under the weight of his distress. Ianna had begun speaking a bit louder, so Yuri now knew that she’d been trying to run him through some of the breathing exercises that Suko usually had him do.

“As you can see, Mr. Lakernik, I’m rather preoccupied,” Ianna snapped in answer, adopting an uncharacteristically impatient tone. “I wasn’t the only one close by. Otabek Altin was there, too, and I’m sure he’d be more than willing to give his account.”

He stiffened at his best friend’s name, knowing Beka had been texting him these last few minutes. He wondered how he was faring amidst the uncertainty.

“Yes, President Dijkema is speaking with Mr. Altin now, but I’m sure you understand that we need to be able to corroborate the details with as many people as possible,” Lakernik countered, sounding equally impatient.

He hesitated for a second, and then casted an unmistakably derisive glance in Yuuri’s direction.

“Provided they’re not, erm…indisposed,” he went on.

A plume of rage flared to life in Yuri’s stomach, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from stomping over to make it known.

Years ago, he might have made a similarly demeaning comment, but his teenage self had been a bit of a judgmental idiot that’d been completely clueless when it came to anxiety.

And not only in terms of understanding that it manifested for Katsudon as a disorder that affected his day-to-day life, but also in comprehending how he was the very opposite of weak for struggling with it.

Yuuri had told him shortly after dedushka had died – during the three month period of yawning emptiness when Yuri had started to experience his own, albeit infrequent panic attacks – that his anxiety sometimes made him feel like his feet were made of lead.

Like no matter how hard he tried to move them when his music started, that it felt like he had to expend gargantuan effort to lift them by even a fraction of an inch off of the ice.

To think…even as Katsudon’s mind told him that his feet were welded to his skates, he managed to lift them, anyway.

At times after a panic attack, his movements – by his own admission – were stiff and rote, devoid of his innate musicality. But then at other times, Yuuri truly did seem to create a chorus with his body, to the extent that a surreal weightlessness gilded his every turn, jump, and glide.

But in either case: he showed up. Katsudon pushed onwards.

So how dare this fucking idiot try to diminish him for his struggle?

Something on Yuri’s face must have betrayed his indignation, because now Celestino was gripping his wrist.

[somerunner]

Uhhhh more Cradle posts possibly. Cradle ask game

So I have a serious work-avoidance and screen addiction problem, like 8-10 hours a day. I also have an undergraduate thesis to write. I can get a little bit of work done every day, and can get more done if I am kept accountable. I can also get more done if I get the ball rolling by doing some unrelated task.

With that in mind, here’s an ask game! It’ll give me a reason to convince myself to actually work on those Cradleposts that I said I would make a few months ago. Send one or more numbers or the questions verbatim, and add your input (i.e. send an ask that’s like “1, Ziel’s arc” or “1: Thoughts on a character arc in Cradle. I’d like to hear your thoughts on Ziel”). You could also just send the number/question with no input, and I’ll write about whatever I feel like.

Thoughts on a character arc in Cradle

Thoughts on a Path

Thoughts on a one-appearance character

Thoughts on any other character

What’s the last idle theory I had about Cradle (basically, just “Thoughts”)

Write a short canon-compliant fanfic (i.e. a battle Yerin had, or Gesha actually enjoying her time in the Blackflame Empire while the kids train)

Write a short fanfic, not canon-compliant (i.e. Lindon gets visited by Zakariel and not Suriel, or Yerin gets Solo Leveling system powers. It could be literally anything)

Draw a crappy fanart (please have low expectations lol, I don’t know how to draw and will also draw the whole thing in like 2 minutes)

Funny post (i.e. funny hypotheticals like “I wonder if Reigan Shen was any good at DDR” or funny observations like “Biggest Lindon L: he never made a totally epic launcher construct out of the Dreadgods. Huge loss”)

Short crackfic (basically the same as above, but narrated)

Hypothetical situation (i.e. how would the gang fare vs. Goku, what kind of pasta would Eithan cook, which member of the group would be best at video games, etc.)

Add an Image ID to Cradle art (I’ve been meaning to do that for all the ones I’ve seen but it’s so much easier to just scroll)

Just a reminder, send a number or the full question, and then add what you’d like for the question to be answered about! I’ll only spend a few minutes on any of these unless I lose track of time, since the point is to get me out of a scrolling rut and get to work on college stuff.

Does this actually work to get me on task? Kinda! It’s better than uninterrupted scrolling, which is my usual state.

Oh, and if you want to send these asks about Will Wight’s other work, I can also answer those. I’ve read all his other stuff too.

[mikiafina]

“Exotic Life Form — I”

Message:

Greetings. This story were inspired by @genshinarchives from their work, of seelie!gn!reader x genshin characters.

Dear genshinarchives, if you ever stumbled upon this work of mine and were felt like I stole your ideas and didn't like this posted anymore, we can talk about it peacefully so feel free to message me if so.

The reader's pronouns in this story is not really mentioned but the reader I have in mind as I write this is female, so be warned. Also, masterlist are gonna be posted and pinned soon so stay tuned!

Note:

CRITICISM ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED! IF YOU NOTICED ANY ERRORS IN MY WORK, FEEL FREE TO POINT IT OUT SO I COULD FIX IT!

——————————

I DO NOT POST IN ANY OTHER PLATFORMS EXCEPT HERE ON TUMBLR!

Trigger Warning:

Grammatical Errors, misspellings, typos, ooc, possibly curse words, use of informal language and not proof-read yet

Synopsis:

Genshin characters who were minding their own business, going through their day like any other normal occurrence of their life. When for some huge coincidence or just pure horrible luck— they were yeeted into your world, the modernized world.

How would they fare in a world they have no knowledge of? Will they last? How would they get back to their own world?

Inspired by:

@genshinarchives

“[Name]! Over here!” Your friend waved you over their table when your roamed your eyes around the interior of the café, walking over to them as you clutched your backpack's strap tighter.

“Yo, sorry ‘m late. Didn't notice the time, I was too preoccupied with my work.” You smiled as your friends shrugged off your unusual tardiness, warmth filled you as butterflies swirled around your stomach in a warming way.

“Yeah, it's fine. We know you're busy, its even amazing to think that you could find a free time despite of your cramped schedule. Multiple works in everyday as routine, heck, its amazing just imagining that you can multitask in such advanced level.” One of your friends chimed in, apparently in a state of amazed at your skills. After all, not all could do what you do as an everyday normal occurrence in life.

“Working multiple jobs ain't hard and stressful if your work is also a hobby of yours, instead, it'll be a fun work. Enough of that, any updates? I haven't been able to come out of my house for quite some time, even checking my personal accounts are too much so, spill the tea.” You brought out your laptop and tablet along with your favourite sketchbook and notebook, placing them all in the table and in your lap.

“Seriously? You're gonna do work even here? No wonder the bag that you chose to use is a backpack. Take a break sometimes, you need a vacation!” Like a rebellious kid who's being reprimanded, you weren't listening and continued where you left on sketching the draft of your commission.

“Speaking of vacations, you said you want tea, I have a tea. I recently found this website through an ad, it seems pretty legit so I tried it. The website is all about promoting an island that seemed to be ‘granting’ wishes, multiple feedbacks claimed that their said to be wishes were granted.” [Friend name] showed the said website's homepage, earning a scoff from the rest of your friends.

“Seriously, they believe the feedbacks? For all we know, they might be bought by the developers of the website. They're just planning to scam us of our moneys!” One of them claimed, slamming their hands on the table. People inside the café turned their heads towards your group making you sigh, you had no choice but to calm your friend down and apologize for the commotion and distraction that your table had caused.

“I had my fun, thank you for inviting me you guys. Take care on your way home and be careful!” You waved them goodbye and went on your way home, tugging your jacket closer to your shivering frame.

*squeak*

*squeaks*

Huh? Squeaks? Did you just hear squeaking? Where did it come from? What in the world would create squeaking noises?

Many questions swirled around your pretty head like a raging tornado, you slowly walked in to an alleyway where you assumed the noise came from. Looking around, you shone your phone's flashlight to provide at least a little of vision.

In the corner of your peripheral vision, you saw a wornout box shook frantically. When you stalked closer, abruptly, the box's lid slammed open eliciting a shriek of fright from you as a blob of liquid? Substance? Fluid? Floated in the air in front of you, what?

The blob floated closer to your frame and seemed to be in distress? The way it shook that causes its fluid body to shook along is what you assumed to be a body language of distress, upon closer look, the blob's appearance is strikingly similar to genshin's pet seelie.

As you were focused on the blob of fluid in front of you, your wrist phone rung as it vibrated. Startled, you snoozed the alarm and checked the time, only to realize at how late it is. Without any thoughts running in your mind, you tried to gently tuck the blob of fluid into your bag before wearing it on the front.

In hopes to get home as quick as possible, you run like your life was depending on it (well sort of, its late and you never know what kind of evil guys are lurking. Stay safe everyone!). You gently clutched the bag as you run to ensure that the blob of fluid wouldn't fall to the speed that you are running.

Upon arriving inside, you put your backpack down the floor softly as you slump on to the soft cushion of your couch. Leaning back as you let your tense muscles relax against the couch, completely forgetting about the blob you took home with you.

Minutes passed and you fell asleep without noticing, the blob of fluid wiggled its way out of your bag. Seeing that you fell asleep on the couch, the blob of fluid grabbed the folded blanket on the one-seat couch and pushed you to lay down comfortably in the couch, draping the blanket on your frame to prevent you from catching cold.

"Oh traveler! Just right on time, I received a commission and I know that only you can solve it. Another adventurer stumbled upon a ruin, and they claimed that outside the ruin, there's a huge group of abyss mages. They said that the device they have also grasped an unusual elemental activity going on from the ruin's direction, can you do the commission? I can assign someone who can take it if you won't." Katherine put a hand on her chest in a gentle manner, smiling at Traveler softly.

"Alright, I'll do it. I'm going out anyways, might as well do some commission while I'm at it." Traveler mumbled to himself as he took the paper from Katherine's hand, reading over the quest's information.

'Hmm.. There aren't much written information about the ruin.. I guess I'll end this quick, I still need to look for clues about Lumine's whereabouts..' Traveler thought as his lips formed a thin line, walking away from Katherine with Paimon bidding farewell to her.

"Traveler! Behind you! Look! There's a strange orb!" Paimon screamed, attracting me more abyss mage in their direction. Aether can't help but to click his tongue in annoyance, Paimon noticed Aether's mood and hid.

'Where do they keep coming up?... This is annoying me already.. I still need to find Lumine..' Aether defeated the abyss mage without letting any escape, feeling his temper boiling uncharacteristically, he stalked closer to the said strange orb and examined it.

"Uh.. Traveler..? Are you alright now?.." Paimon quietly asked as she appeared beside Aether who's inspecting the orb, seeing that his lips are still in a thin line, Paimon stopped talking and floated few steps back, not wanting to annoy Aether.

"What is this? Shall we submit this to Alhaitham or Kaveh? This thing look suspicious.." Aether lowly asked as he turned to Paimon who gave no response. Paimon got startled and panicked in her words as she answer Aether, doing her best not to cause any more further annoyance to the blonde traveler.

Just as the two were talking, the strange orb glowed brightly causing Paimon's and Aether's sight to be temporarily disabled. The whole situation cause Paimon to shriek in surprise and floated few steps back further in attempt to lessen the blinding light that's hitting her eyes. When Paimon's vision went back, Aether was no where yo be found and the dull blade that he was holding were left behind under the strange orb, laying in the orb's shadow.

Crying and panicking, Paimon flew back to Sumeru and stumbled upon Alhaitham, Kaveh, Cyno and Tighnari. The floating albino(?) raced through the air towards the four men, slamming herself against Tighnari's hold. She cried as her tears kept falling like river and her voice cracks ever so often, Paimon tried to explain what had occured in the ruin within her best but the only thing that the four men grasped in her explanation is that Aether suddenly went missing and that there's a strange orb inside a strange ruin.

"Wait- wait Paimon! Aether went missing? And what are you talking about? There's no such ruin like you mentioned in the outskirt of the forest, I would know if such ruin exist because me and the other forest rangers frequently patrol the whole territory." Tighnari made an attempt to calm the crying floating creature as he asked her numerous questions.

"Like I said! Aether and I were investigating a strange ruin! And Aether suddenly disappeared when this light from the strange orb that we found at the end of the ruin blinded us! All I heard was Aether groaning in surprise followed by his sword clanking on the ground! Then when Paimon opened her eyes, Aether were no longer beside her!" Paimon explained more cohesively as she cries harder, scared for her best friend's safety and location.

Alhaitham calmed Paimon down and suggested that they go to the Adventurers guild and post a commission on finding their blonde traveler, asking people on the way for clues and leads. The search for the Traveler had went on for 5 days and still no lead and clues or fruit in their search, the only clue and lead they have is the ruin that Paimon had mentioned so they decided to investigate the ruin themselves and find out the truth.

® mikiafina

[aceandurmom]

Mihawk Teaser!

Buggy was now an Emperor of the Sea. 

Fuck. 

Now how the hell were you supposed to do your job in peace!?

It was already hard enough to keep every one of his records, maps, diary entries, accounts, and logs in order. Now he was going to be up your ass about more shit that you didn’t get paid enough to do. Groaning, you threw your hands up in defeat. The news had been released only a few hours ago, but already the cheering and jarring from above you was sign enough everyone knew of the development. There was no way you could keep up with even more of his bizarre requests. 

Though you may complain and grumble about the man frequently, Captain Buggy was a wonder. He was kind, saving the freaks from whatever failed them in their past life, giving them a new place to thrive after doing so. He had saved you from an ass of a boss, constantly on you about whatever you had failed to do in his eyes. 

Buggy had gone through your work, all the organization and records you kept tidy. He had been impressed, thrilled even while watching you work. 

After freeing you from your dick of a boss, he had opened his arms wide. And who were you to refuse such a grand gesture?

–

It had been weeks since the reveal, and it was just now starting to return to normal on the Big Top. 

You had gone up to the Captain’s office, needing to ask a question. Knocking softly, you announced your presence. 

“Captain Buggy? I have a quick question, sir.”

Leaning in to try to hear a response, you heard none. Figuring he wasn’t in at the moment, you had stepped away. 

Only to hear soft curses echo from the other side. Fearing that something had gone wrong as you had never heard your captain in such low spirits, you had rushed to the door. Fumbling around in your pockets, you tried to scavenge for the master key the Captain had provided for you. He had trusted you as one of the more responsible on the ship, so if you ever needed to ask or do something, he had given you access to every room available on the ship. Finding the small thing, you deftly unlocked the door and bursted in the room. 

In front of your wide eyes, there was a beast of a man looming over top of your boss. 

Buggy was in tears, bleeding from all the scrapes and cuts littering his skin. His left eye was busted, already darkening in a rather large bruise. His detached head was held firmly in the larger man’s hand. 

Face turning to see his identity, you stiffened before snarling. 

Sir Crocodile, former Warlord that had only just recently escaped from Impel Down. Turning his head, he saw your face. 

“And what are you doing with a face like that, little one.”

He was angry, eyebrows furrowed and annoyed at the interruption. 

You were not faring much better, rage building up in your chest. 

“And what the fuck do you think your doing to my Captain, sir?”

Teeth bared, you moved so that your back not once faced him. You went to your captain’s side, cradling his body there. 

“Surely you know better than to simply attack a newly named Emperor of the Sea, I thought you smarter than that.”

“Your mouth will get you in trouble.”

Buggy laughed, elbowing you hard in the side. Grunting, you just ignored the warning.

“And so will your arrogance, Sir.”

“Clown, get your little whore in line before I put their mouth to use myself.”

Buggy’s eyes flashed. It was fine if others attacked and mocked him, but not the crew he cared for so much. The ones he thought of as family and cared for as such. 

“Watch what you say, Croccy, that’s my Archivist your speaking to. They are not some measly whore.”

Eyebrow raised in thought, the large man dropped Buggy’s head. Confused, the clown swiftly reattached it before watching in horror as he directed his sights on you. 

His hook pointed at your chest, pushing you lightly. 

“So you're the one in charge of the clown’s accounts?”

Nodding, you confirmed the fact. Eyes narrowed, the reptile leaned in further. 

“Then you're the reason the clown is in trouble now.”

“I beg your pardon? I have every loan, purchase, payment logged in that room up there-”

Pointing up, you continued.

“There is nothing that I have missed. It is literally impossible for me to miss any tidbit of information or unpaid debt. My eyes are enhanced by my Devil Fruit, the Read-Read Frit, and you will do well to remember that.”

Hatred colored your voice, not at all phased by the mounting rage in his eyes. Nor were you aware of a sweating Buggy lingering behind you.

“I, uh…”

Both heads whipped to the stuttering clown, Crocodile annoyed and you just as much. Here you were trying to save his ass and he was stuttering in front of a rival. You tried to shut him up, but despite the fearful facade, he was determined to do right by you. 

“I hide the records of my loan from Croccy.”

Mouth dropping, you tried to see if the man was lying. Silent, you rose to your feet and turned your whole body to the man.

“You mean to tell me.”

Pausing, you tried to calm yourself by taking a deep breath. Pointing to yourself, you reiterated the importance of you being here. 

“You hid one of the records concerning a large amount of money you owed a former warlord and just…..DIDN’T TELL ME!?”

Growling, you launched yourself at your beloved captain. Hands covering his neck, you tried to choke the ever loving shit of him. 

Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all pleased with what he was hearing. 

“Not only that, dear Archivist, but this crew of yours has someone named him the Chairman of the Cross Guild. The Guild including Buggy, Mihawk, and I that is going to be used to palace bounties on Marines.”

Freezing, you glanced back at the imposing figure lingering behind you. Coking a brow you leaned in further to the blue haired one under you.

“First you were named an Emperor, now you're the Chairman of an organization that will inevitably bring the entirety of the Navy down upon us?”

Deflating, you released the Captain. Leaning back on your hands, you stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend the situation you found yourself in. Hand laying over your eyes, you spoke to the man you adored like a brother. 

“When were you going to inform me of this, Captain? I would have loved to help you or assist if you allowed me to do so.”

Shifting, the clown had the decency to look flustered. 

“I didn’t think it would get this unruly, Star, apologies.”

“Apology accepted.”

Standing, you brushed off your knees and faced the other man in the room who had waited so patiently. 

“Apologies. I’m the Archivist of the Buggy Pirates and I will extend my services to both you and Mihawk as I know you two have none. Leave a list of tasks for me to accomplish once we land on Karai Bari and I will have them done in ample time.”

Crocodile looked at you strangely for a moment before huffing. Reaching into his breast pocket, he plucked a cigar and tucked it into his mouth. Breathing in, he retrieved his lighter and lit it. Puffing slightly, he withdrew the stick from his mouth before offering you a puff. Seeing no reason to deny, you accepted. Huffing a few times, you gave him back his cigar. Holding in the smoke for a minute, you tried to steady your thinking before releasing the breath. 

Reaching a hand out, you offered to shake his hand. An offer he accepted. 

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you, Archivist.”

Nodding, you reciprocated.

“And you, Sir.”

Smug, the reptile smirked at Buggy before dissipating into sand and leaving the office. 

Still, you tried to make sense of what had just happened. Buggy approached from behind, hand gently holding your shoulder before he laid his head on your other. 

“I truly hoped not to get you involved, Star. I know how easily you get stressed, I’m sure this was the last thing you wanted to happen.”

He was so quiet, voice bordering on silence as he whispered his sincere apology to you. You deflated, any ounce of anger or irritation leaving. YOu only nodded, leaning your head on top of his, seeking his comfort even if only for a second. 

“I trust you, Captain. I will follow you until the end of the GrandLine.”

He smiled, soft. 

“I know.”

–

There was once a time where you would have been appalled at the situation you now found yourself in. 

Posture perfect, outfit coordinating with your captain, you stood proud beside him as the rest of the crew scrambled to anchor down the Big Top. The two of you were elbow to elbow, seeking out the other’s presence to ground each other. As the ship was finally bound to the Island, the two of you watched as the Strongest Swordsman appeared with Crocodile on the shore. Nodding to the other two men, Buggy took your arm and assisted you down and onto solid land.

Turning, you bowed to the two and introduced yourself, Crocodile was going to have to sit through it again even if he didn’t want to, you wanted to make a good impression on the raven haired man in front of you. 

“Greetings, I am the Big Top’s Archivist. I am offering the two of you my services seeing as neither of you have archivists of your own. My work is done perfectly as I have the Read Read Fruit. Nothing escapes me and it takes me nearly no time at all to read through documents. If you wish for my assistance, simply ask or hand a list off to my Captain. He will ensure it reaches me.”

Crocodile nodded, already hearing the spiel once before. Granted, you had been pissed at the time. Now, you were calm and collected, already knowing what you were to say in front of them. 

The reptile chuckled quietly. 

“Odd to have you so cool, the last time I heard that you were trying to rip my head off with your eyes.”

Coughing, you blushed.

“Yes, that was a poor choice on my part. I sincerely apologie for that entire situation. Had I known the truth I assure you I would not have reacted as such.”

He waved you off, answering swiftly. 

“Nonsense. It was refreshing to see someone stand up for their captain, regardless of who was in the wrong. Your loyalty was proven to me, and I intend on keeping you to that standard.”

Nodding,you tried to ignore the praise freely given by the man. You thanked him before returning to the Swordsman. Raising an eyebrow, you wondered what he would say to you, if he would even need an archivist at his disposal. 

The stoic man locked eyes on your own. Stifling a shiver, you tried to ignore being undressed by the man’s intense gaze. You wanted to bare everything to him, no secret left unsaid or rock unturned. 

“I accept your proposal. I have a few logs I need organized.”

It was simple, straight to the point. 

God, was he attractive. 

Clearing his throat, Buggy stepped in front of you, trying to hide you away from the opposing men. 

Gesturing proudly, the clown announced his presence and revelled in the attention he received. Glancing back at you, he was glad to find that you relaxed even a little bit, now no longer the intense eyes of either man. 

Walking along the path, Buggy attached himself to your side, leading the three of you down to the main tent he had established years ago. 

“Welcome to Karai Bari, boys! This is the home island of yours truly! I will have your tents erected in a few days max, if you would like anything specifically feel free to request away, my workers are the best this side of the GrandLine!”

You had been to the island a few times in the past. Buggy was fond of the place, taking the freaks he had saved here when they did not desire to become pirates. They established themselves here, safe from prying eyes and other pirate crews. No one really bothered with the place, not aware that they were under the protection of a, now, Emperor of the Sea. 

Buggy provided for them in any way he could, assisting them with their livelihood whenever asked. It was another one of the reasons you respected him so much. 

The former Warlords simply observed the sight around them, taking note of everything occurring. They had walked through the markets, everyone in a stall and street stopping to wave or greet the clown enthusiastically. The blue haired man smiled back, not once refusing a hug or handshake from any of the villagers. 

“It seems you are well liked here, Clown.”

Hawkeye observed casually. 

“Captain himself takes care of those who live here under his protection. He knows everyone here and what they do on the island, their role in society. Their names, parents, and children, or even pets are known to him. He is a kind man.”

You responded, not once shying away from their prying eyes. You wanted to prove that Buggy was a good man, a reliable one. If all it took was hyping him up with genuine compliments, then you would do so gladly. 

“How long have you sailed with him, Archiver?”

The reptile asked this time, though it looked as if the Swordsman was curious as well. 

“Hmm.”

Humming, you thought on your answer. 

“I have sailed with Captain since I was 16, he saved me from a former Boss of mine.”

“How old are you now then?”

You raised a finger to your lips, winking at the duo.

“I’ll keep that a secret for now. It is not wise to divulge too much information on myself, now is it?”

Crocodile looked to want to pry, but a look from Buggy had him keeping quiet. Normally, it would not deter him, but…

To be fair, you were his Archivist first. You had only offered your services to the two of them in response to your captain’s poor decisions. 

Crocodile was curious of you, of how a man such as the Clown could acquire such a level headed person on his crew. Let alone one that wanted to work on his crew and stand proudly by his side. 

Dracule Mihawk was puzzled by you. Someone so put together was willingly standing beside Buggy the Clown without a hint of regret or unease radiating off of you. Not to mention you were a sight for sore eyes, not that he would admit that out loud, of course.

[eoinmcgonigal]

@dumpster-fire11011915 giving me the wonderful gift of an excuse to ramble about something, thank you so much

I must preface this by saying that some of the stuff I read a while ago, and I can't remember names of the papers' authors so... if you want that lemme know and I'll dig it out... at some point. I'm just repeating stuff so don't take my word as gospel please!

But basically it's like... it would be nice if there was one neat, easy to find reason for all those men dying, but there isn't. No smoking gun type thing (and there rarely is in history, it's a web/weave of factors and such, and sometimes we just will never know for sure)

ANYWAY. The lead poisoning is a pretty common theory, it was quite popular a while ago but has since been... well disproven as the main cause, but it would have been a factor in the deaths of some men. Lead levels don't seem to be higher than in others people of the same time. Other expeditions around the same time and for the same length didn't fare as badly. Compared to today, there was a lot more lead around, and in building up in people's bodies. Also, different people react differently to the same amounts of lead, so while it probably caused symptoms in some of the men, it might not have been the main factor for others, maybe not even more than a minor factor. As for the source of lead, I think they concluded that the tins weren't a very likely source? The water system would have added lead content. 19th century England had a lot of sources of lead. But also, I haven't retained this info very well.

A thing to note is that, when starving, the body begins to break down tissue it wouldn't normally break down. The high levels of lead found in a crewman's fingernails can be explained by the fact he was badly underweight as his disease accelerated towards his death, and lead was being released from his body into his body as it broke down. I need to find this paper/bit again because I'm not repeating that with much confidence... But the lead levels could be explained a few ways.

The tins, often pointed at for the lead issue, more likely added another problem: botulism. Food poisoning would do absolutely no favours to the crew, especially as many of them would have been carrying diseases already. Things like typhus were a problem in the Royal Navy at the time. There is an account that one author took from Inuit testemony and suggested could be referring to a hospital, set up away from the ship. The same author also suggests that some of the items found on King William Island could be explained by the men leaving the ship as a result of infectious disease, and all of them bathing and changing their clothes before walking south. While I'm not sure how much I guy into it, the suggestion is worth bearing in mind, because we KNOW there were diseases preying on the crew.

The three men who died at Beechey have been autopsied, so we know (and I forget lol don't mind me) what they died of. Tuberculosis was definitely one of the causes, and it's one I sort of stick with because TB was rife at the time. It was caught by breathing in infected particles from a sick person and it could lie dormant in the body for someone's entire life without killing them. The immune system of a health person was often enough to keep TB in check. However, many people in the 19th century were not healthy. You can imagine that it wouldn't take long for every sailor on a ship to at least have TB in their system, even if they didn't become symptomatic.

But, with nutritional issues weakening the body, things like TB would leap at the chance to ravage the body. I would guess that a lot of men were sick with it. There is another paper (the one I read most recently) that uses Inuit testemony again to explore the idea that it was TB the men were suffering with - the reference to mouths being black was the focal point for that. There are things like tobaccoo and poor oral hygiene that could account for blackening, as well as something you may have noticed I haven't mentioned yet: scurvy (more on that in a minute).

TB, as we think about it, is the coughing up blood disease. It can attack other parts of the body, and miliary TB could account for some of the symptoms the Inuit noticed in the surviving men. But, then again, a fair few things could. I'm not a medical person so all of this is just me repeating details I've gathered by being completely normal about dead people.

Anyway, scurvy. The scourge of all voyagers and adventurers left for too long without access to sources of vitamin C. Bleeding gums, teeth falling out, wounds un-healing, bruising, weakness, sudden death. If you've seen The Terror, you know. Deny a human their Vit C, and shit starts to go quite horribly wrong. Undoubtably, this was a contributing factor in the mens' deaths. But also, other vitamins and minerals would have been deficient in their diet. I'm not a medical person, so I don't know specifically what an absence of each vitamin does to the body, but it's not good. The deteriorating quality of food, the deterioration in the mens' contidioning, etc... They're going to get sick. And, remember, food poisoning. Something we think of as quite simple these days, like diahorrea, is a killer.

Remember those dieases the men would likely have come onboard with, and spread to crewmates? Guess what also sucked at the time: Healthcare. Never mind diminishing supplies, often the treatment administered was to bleed the patient, and give them an emeic. It's something that wouldn't be done these days, but was a part of medical care back then.

We've also not touched on the environmental things, like exposure. A disproportionately high number of officers seem to have died between the two Victory Point Note 'entries', and a suggestion for this is quite simply that officers put themselves at risk more often than the crew. They led the men, and were the ones who did the scientific experiments - it was a scientific research expedition, after all. But the numbers of men dying (at Beechey, and then up until the ships were abandoned) wasn't typical for the time. A lot of factors seemed to come together very unfavourably.

As for the mental state, and compromised decision making... We all know you only have to be a bit sleep deprived, somewhat stressed, run down with a cold, and things get so much harder. What might look like an irrational decision to us now might have made more sense in context, but there were illnesses and nutritional deficiencies which would really mess with cognitive function (a thing I've not retained as much detail about, which is ironic!).

So, so far we have: diseases endemic at the time (TB, typhus, etc), illness (food poisoning, dysentry, etc), nutritional deficiencies that would lead to disease (vit c/scurvy, etc), environmental injury and expose (hypothermia, accidents), starvation that would have weakened the body's ability to fight off/recover from the aforementioned factors, and environmental toxins (i.e. lead).

I haven't mentioned venereal disease (VD) yet, I wish I could do more than just a paragraph on it, but it gets a mention too, because we know at least one of the sailors had syphillis. VD was fairly common, so a number of the crew would have had it, and sypilis is one that progresses quite horribly (not that any of them are fun). Tertiary syphilis does not fuck around. Even if those who had VD weren't experiencing severe symptoms, treatment for the diseases was unpleasant. And how long would medicine supplies have lasted??

SO yeah, that's... some of the stuff gathered together in my brain about the health/illnesses of the FLE crew. There isn't one thing we can point to as the culprit, although some sweeping statements can be made (e.g. poor nutrition would have contributed to their deteriorating health). I think if looking a this topic (like with every other one) it's important to hold all the details in mind and consider how they fit together. There's also stuff I haven't looked much at (clothing, victualling, etc), and this is all just cobbled together from reading academic articles. As I said, I can list the ones I've read, they're somewhere...

...After a brief scroll up, if you read all that and paid attention/enjoyed it, I love you XD

[tobacconist]

At The Back Of The North Wind

Chapter I:- The Hayloft

I have been asked to tell you about the back of the north wind. An old Greek writer mentions a people who lived there, and were so comfortable that they could not bear it any longer, and drowned themselves. My story is not the same as his. I do not think Herodotus had got the right account of the place. I am going to tell you how it fared with a boy who went there.

(his name was Little Diamond)

He lived in a low room over a coach-house; and that was not by any means at the back of the north wind, as his mother very well knew. For one side of the room was built only of boards, and the boards were so old that you might run a penknife through into the north wind. And then let them settle between them which was the sharper! I know that when you pulled it out again the wind would be after it like a cat after a mouse, and you would know soon enough you were not at the back of the north wind. Still, this room was not very cold, except when the north wind blew stronger than usual. the room I have to do with now was always cold, except in summer, when the sun took the matter into his own hands. Indeed, I am not sure whether I ought to call it a room at all; for it was just a loft where they kept hay and straw and oats for the horses.

And when little Diamond—but stop: I must tell you that his father, who was a coachman, had named him after a favourite horse, and his mother had had no objection:—when little Diamond, then, lay there in bed, he could hear the horses under him munching away in the dark, and moving sleepily in their dreams. For Diamond's father had built him a bed in the loft with boards all round it, because they had so little room in their own end over the coach-house; and Diamond's father put old Diamond in the stall under the bed, because he was a quiet horse, and did not go to sleep standing, but lay down like a reasonable creature. But, although he was a surprisingly reasonable creature, yet, when young Diamond woke in the middle of the night, and felt the bed shaking in the blasts of the north wind, he could not help wondering whether, if the wind should blow the house down, and he were to fall through into the manger, old Diamond mightn't eat him up before he knew him in his night-gown. And although old Diamond was very quiet all night long, yet when he woke he got up like an earthquake, and then young Diamond knew what o'clock it was! or at least what was to be done next, which was— to go to sleep again as fast as he could!

There was hay at his feet and hay at his head, piled up in great trusses to the very roof. Indeed it was sometimes only through a little lane with several turnings, which looked as if it had been sawn out for him, that he could reach his bed at all. For the stock of hay was, of course, always in a state either of slow ebb or of sudden flow. Sometimes the whole space of the loft, with the little panes in the roof for the stars to look in, would lie open before his open eyes as he lay in bed; sometimes a yellow wall of sweet-smelling hay closed up his view at the distance of half a yard. Sometimes, when his mother had undressed him in her room, and told him to trot to bed by himself, he would creep into the heart of the hay, and lie there thinking how cold it was outside in the wind, and how warm it was inside there in his bed, and how he could go to it when he pleased, only he wouldn't just yet; he would get a little colder first. And ever as he grew colder, his bed would grow warmer, till at last he would scramble out of the hay, shoot like an arrow into his bed, cover himself up, and snuggle down, thinking what a happy boy he was.

He had not the least idea that the wind got in at a chink in the wall, and blew about him all night. For the back of his bed was only of boards an inch thick, and on the other side of them was the north wind.

Now, as I have already said, these boards were soft and crumbly. To be sure, they were tarred on the outside, yet in many places they were more like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the nose, just hard enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it, stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! With an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the hole severely. But he was hardly down again before—pop! out it came on his forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon fast asleep.

Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother's fire with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered the hole, and pasted a bit of brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next night, he had no occasion to think of it.

Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking—and very near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which, though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand, and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite distinctly. There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.

“What do you mean, little boy—closing up my window?”

“What window?” asked Diamond.

“You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out again three times.”

“You can't mean this little hole! It isn't a window; it's a hole in my bed.”

“I did not say it was A window: I said it was MY window.”

“But it can't be a window, because windows are holes to see out of!”

“Well, that's just what I made this window for.”

“But you are outside: you can't want a window.”

“You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I'm in my house, and I want windows to see out of it.”

“But you've made a window into my bed!”

“Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you have three into my garret.”

“But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into Mr. Dyves's garden.”

The voice laughed.

“The law would have some trouble to catch me!” it said.

“But if it's not right, you know...” said Diamond, “that's no matter. You shouldn't do it.”

“I am so tall I am above that law,” said the voice.

“You must have a tall house, then...” said Diamond.

“Yes! a tall house - the clouds are inside it!”

“Dear me!” said Diamond, and thought a minute. “I think, then, you can hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don't you make a window into Mr. Dyves's bed?”

“Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit,” said the voice, rather sadly. “I like to see nice things out of my windows.”

“But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice—so nice that I couldn't wish a better.”

“It's not the bed I care about: it's what is in it.—But you just open that window.”

“Well, mother says I shouldn't be disobliging; but it's rather hard. You see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”

“I Am the North Wind.”

“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow on my face if I open your window?”

“I can't promise that.”

“But you'll give me the toothache! Mother's got it already...”

“But what's to become of ME without a window?”

“I'm sure I don't know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for you.”

“No. it will not. You shall not be the worse for it—I promise you that. You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do as I tell you.”

“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper and tore it off at once.

In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he felt a little—not frightened exactly—I told you he had not learned that yet—but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind must be! that lived in a great house— "called 'Out-of-Doors' I suppose..." thought Diamond " —and made windows into people's beds!" But the voice began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head under the bed-clothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a little like his mother's.

“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.

“Diamond,” answered Diamond, proudly, from under the bed-clothes.

“What a funny name!”

“It's a very nice name,” returned its owner.

“I don't know that,” said the voice.

“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking?”

“No...” said Diamond.

And indeed he did not. For to know a person's name is not always to know the person's self.

“Then I must not be angry with you.—You had better look and see, though.”

“Diamond is a very pretty name,” persisted the boy, vexed that it should not give satisfaction.

“a diamond is a useless thing, rather,” said the voice.

“That's not true! Diamond is very nice—as big as two—and so quiet all night! And doesn't he make a jolly row in the morning, getting upon his four great legs! It's like thunder.”

“You don't seem to know what a diamond is...”

“Oh, don't I just! Diamond is a great and good horse; and he sleeps right under me. He is old Diamond, and I am young Diamond; or, if you like it better, for you're very particular Mr. North Wind: he's big Diamond, and I'm little Diamond; and I don't know which of us my father likes best.”

A beautiful laugh, large but very soft and musical, sounded somewhere beside him, but Diamond kept his head under the clothes.

“I'm not Mister North Wind,” said the voice.

“But... you told me that you were the North Wind...” insisted Diamond.

“I did not say Mr. North Wind,” said the voice.

“Well, then, I do; for mother tells me I ought to be polite.”

“Then let me tell you I don't think it AT ALL polite of you to say MISTER to me.”

“Well, I didn't know better. I'm very sorry.”

“But you ought to know better.”

“I don't know that.”

“I do. You can't say it's polite to lie there talking—with your head under the bed-clothes, and never look up to see what kind of person you are talking to.—I want you to come out with me.”

“I want to go to sleep!” said Diamond, very nearly crying, for he did not like to be scolded, even when he deserved it.

���You shall sleep all the better to-morrow night.”

“Besides,” said Diamond, “you are out in Mr. Dyves's garden, and I can't get there. I can only get into our own yard.”

“Will-you-take-your-head-out-of-the-bed-clothes!?” said the voice, just a little angrily.

“No!” answered Diamond, half peevish, half frightened.

The instant he said the word, a tremendous blast of wind crashed in a board of the wall, and swept the clothes off Diamond. He started up in terror. Leaning over him was the large, beautiful, pale face of a woman. Her dark eyes looked a little angry, for they had just begun to flash; but a quivering in her sweet upper lip made her look as if she were going to cry. What was the most strange was that away from her head streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in the hay-loft looked as if it were made of her hair but as Diamond gazed at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence—for the boy was entranced with her mighty beauty—her hair began to gather itself out of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud. From her eyes came all the light by which Diamond saw her face and her hair; and that was all he did see of her yet. The wind was over and gone.

“Will you go with me now, you little Diamond? I am sorry I was forced to be so rough with you,” said the lady.

“I will; yes, I will,” answered Diamond, holding out both his arms. “But,” he added, dropping them, “how shall I get my clothes? They are in mother's room, and the door is locked.”

“Oh, never mind your clothes. You will not be cold. I shall take care of that. Nobody is cold with the north wind.”

“I thought everybody was,” said Diamond.

“That is a great mistake. Most people make it, however. They are cold because they are not with the north wind, but without it.”

If Diamond had been a little older, and had supposed himself a good deal wiser, he would have thought the lady was joking. But he was not older, and did not fancy himself wiser, and therefore understood her well enough. Again he stretched out his arms. The lady's face drew back a little.

“Follow me, Diamond,” she said.

“Yes,” said Diamond, only a little ruefully.

“You're not afraid?” said the North Wind.

“No, ma'am; but mother never would let me go without shoes: she never said anything about clothes, so I dare say she wouldn't mind that.”

“I know your mother very well,” said the lady. “She is a good woman. I have visited her often. I was with her when you were born. I saw her laugh and cry both at once. I love your mother, Diamond.”

“How was it you did not know my name, then, ma'am? Please am I to say ma'am to you, ma'am?”

“One question at a time, dear boy. I knew your name quite well, but I wanted to hear what you would say for it. Don't you remember that day when the man was finding fault with your name—how I blew the window in?”

“Yes, yes!” answered Diamond, eagerly. “Our window opens like a door, right over the coach-house door. And the wind—you, ma'am—came in, and blew the Bible out of the man's hands, and the leaves went all a-flutter, flutter on the floor, and my mother picked it up and gave it back to him open, and there——”

“Was your name in the Bible—the sixth stone in the high priest's breastplate.”

(Exodus 28:15-19)

“Oh!—a stone, was it?” said Diamond. “I thought it had been a horse—I did!”

“Never mind. A horse is better than a stone any day. Well, you see, I know all about you and your mother.”

“Yes. I will go with you.”

“Now for the next question: you're not to call me ma'am. You must call me just my own name—respectfully, you know—just North Wind.”

“Well, please, North Wind, you are so beautiful, I am quite ready to go with you.”

“You must not be ready to go with everything beautiful all at once, Diamond...”

“But what's beautiful can't be bad. You're not bad, North Wind?”

“No; I'm not bad. But sometimes beautiful things grow bad by doing bad, and it takes some time for their badness to spoil their beauty. So little boys may be mistaken if they go after things because they are beautiful.”

“Well, I will go with you because you are beautiful, and good, too.”

“Ah, but there's another thing, Diamond:—What if I should look ugly without being bad—look ugly myself because I am making ugly things beautiful?—What then?”

“I don't quite understand you, North Wind... You tell me what then.”

“Well, I will tell you. If you see me with my face all black, don't be frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat's, as big as the whole sky, don't be frightened. If you hear me raging ten times worse than Mrs. Bill, the blacksmith's wife—even if you see me looking in at people's windows like Mrs. Eve Dropper, the gardener's wife—you must believe that I am doing my work. Nay, Diamond, if I change into a serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold, you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can't see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful. Do you understand?”

“Quite well,” said little Diamond.

“Come along, then,” said North Wind, and disappeared behind the mountain of hay.

Diamond crept out of bed and followed her.

[zablife]

Mary the Helpful Housekeeper

Requested by @appare--vestigium for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

You woke with a splitting headache, the blinding sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains only adding to your pain. You reached out for your cigarettes, but your body was sluggish and unresponsive to your commands, only succeeding in knocking over the Bible the staff had given you as a wedding gift. With a huff of frustration, you fell back against the plush comfort of the feather down pillows, wondering if it had been the copious amounts of wine at dinner or your late night of passionate lovemaking causing your fatigue. Placing a hand over your eyes, you called out to Tommy to see how he was faring, but received no answer.

Your eyelids slipped close once more, too heavy to keep open and suddenly a bizarre dream resurfaced from the recesses of your mind. You flinched at the haunting memory of an intruder which now seemed unquestionably real. You were certain you’d witnessed a shadowy figure scurrying forth from the darkness to loom over you and Tommy, a pleading voice whispering in your ear to repent. 

Before you could bring forth any other details, you heard the door of your bedroom creaking against its ancient hinges and you gasped loudly, eyes snapping open in fear.  A slight figure rounded the corner with a breakfast tray, tilting her head to examine you curiously. “Is something wrong, ma’am?” Mary asked, placing the food at your side.

“No…yes,” you corrected yourself rubbing your temples in tight circles. “I’m not feeling very well. My head is aching and I’ve had the strangest dream,” you confided, though you weren’t sure she was the right person to tell. Where Tommy saw professionalism, you perceived nothing but coldness in her demeanor.

“Oh, what about?” she inquired, busying herself opening the curtains. 

“Nothing….nonsense really,” you admitted, dismissing the ludicrous idea the moment the soothing warmth of the tea cup radiated against your palm.

The rhythmic clicking of Mary’s footsteps against the hardwood stopped abruptly, her voice straining a note higher as she advised, “I wouldn’t be so quick to forget. Your dreams can tell you a great deal.”

“I doubt that,” you snorted.

Mary drew the last curtain back with more force than necessary. The golden rings holding the heavy drapery crashed against the rod with a harsh clang, forcing you to turn. “Mary!” you exclaimed in shock and annoyance.

“My apologies, ma’am. I do hope you recover from what ails you,” she said in somber monotone before hurrying from the room.

You rolled your eyes at her unsympathetic tone, a long sigh escaping your lips as you attempted to move the heavy tray. Wincing in pain, your eyes fell to your left arm and the bright red mark that had seemingly appeared overnight. You traced the tender flesh at the crease of your elbow with your fingertips, wondering what sort of insect could have bitten you. It left you disgusted at the thought of something in your bedding and you demanded the room be given an immediate cleaning. Of course, Mary deemed it unnecessary, stressing her thorough routine.

Despite winning the battle of wills, you felt a certain unease that would carry through the day until you were tucked safely beneath your husband’s arm at bedtime. Only then did you give an account of your unusual morning and the difficulties with his housekeeper. 

“Tommy, honestly, I don’t know why you keep her around,” you grumbled.

Tommy shrugged as he leaned over to extinguish his cigarette in the ashtray. “She’s loyal and hardworking, Y/n. Not to mention a skilled nurse. She patched up Arthur and me more than once without saying a word to the coppers,” he noted. “And she never complains. Always answers the bell, no matter how late,” he added with a satisfied nod.

“So she’s in love with you,” you teased, looking over at him with a wicked smile and playfully raised eyebrow. “The maid who answers the bell after midnight is always in love with the master.”

“Is that right?” Tommy asked, mischief dancing in his eyes. “It’s after midnight now, Mrs. Shelby, would you care to see to my needs?” he countered, moving your hand down his toned chest toward the growing bulge in his shorts. You giggled as he leaned down to kiss you, pushing every thought of insubordinate servants from your mind. By the time he’d finished with you, you were thoroughly exhausted and fell into a peaceful slumber by his side.

The next thing you remembered, the clock in the hall chimed four, a chill blowing through the room. Your heavy eyes struggled to open, nonetheless you swore there was something at the corner of your vision, moving stealthily toward you. You felt your heart knock against your ribs urgently and you willed yourself to scream, but found your tongue caught in your throat. Likewise, your limbs remained stuck and lifeless by your side. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…please wake up, you silently pleaded, wishing he could hear your desperate thoughts.

A whisper drifted toward your ear, hissing like a serpent ready to strike. “But if they confess their iniquity and the iniquity of their fathers in their treachery that they committed against me, and also in walking contrary to me, so that I walked contrary to them and brought them into the land of their enemies-if they then their uncircumcised heart is humbled and they make amends for their iniquity then I will remember…” Words tumbled out, one upon another as your eyes adjusted in the darkness.

Then a leather bound book came into view, held by bony hands. You felt fear clawing at your spine as a pair of bulging blue irises peeked over the edges of the volume in an icy stare. The recitation stopped the moment your eyes locked, a hint of recognition flickering like the flame of a candle before it was snuffed out. A sudden blur of motion overtook your senses as the figure turned in haste, leaving you to fall back into a tunnel of confusion, haze descending upon you like a thick fog.

The next morning, your headache returned and with it intense paranoia. Luckily, Tommy was there to tend to you. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, a pained look upon his brow as he studied you with concern. “We’ll get a doctor if you need to speak to someone about your nightmares, love,” he reassured you. 

“They’re not dreams, Tommy! What I've seen is real!" you insisted. Biting your lip you added hesitantly, "I think it’s Mary. I swear it was her last night,” you said, clutching onto his sleeve, needing to be close to him.

“Where, darling?” he asked, beginning to worry for your sanity. 

“Here! In our room, standing over our bed,” you stressed, tugging on him insistently. You searched his eyes to see if he believed you and found nothing but a blank stare.

Tommy shook his head gently and hushed you as he pushed the hair from your face. “You’re overtired. All the preparations for the party,” he reasoned. “I’ll stay in the guest room tonight. Give you a chance to rest,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head with such tenderness you began to cry.

“Tommy, please don’t leave me,” you sniffed. “I’m afraid,” you confided in a whisper.

“Of Mary?” he asked with a chuckle. “Now I know you could use some sleep. Who could be afraid of a little old woman, eh?” 

—————-

Two weeks later…

“What’s wrong with her? Thought you was going to have a party?” a gruff voice echoed down the hall. 

“She’s not well, brother,” your husband rasped, concern laced in his voiced. 

“What’s she got?” his brother demanded.

“I’m not sure,” Tommy replied, exhaustion evident in his tone. “But she says Mary's to blame.”

“Mary? She’s a good Christian woman, Tom! What’s she got to do with this?” 

Tommy sighed, “I wish I knew.”

Although you tried to prop yourself up on the pillows to hear the rest of their conversation, you were unable to manage it. You’d become far too weak in recent days. Your arms were now covered in tiny red blemishes which were beginning to scab over. You shifted the blankets to cover them, ashamed of the indelicate way your skin had bruised by whatever was afflicting you.

When Tommy opened the door to your bedroom, you offered a weak smile when he asked, “How’s my girl?”

You didn’t feel like his girl anymore, you knew dark circles painted the hollows of your eyes and your cheeks sunk in unattractively, but you tried to put on a brave face for the man you loved. “I’m alright,” you said, attempting a small smile. Your visits with Tommy were the highlight of your otherwise drab and listless days.

“That’s good. You get to feeling better and we’ll start to discuss our wedding party, yeah?” he offered encouragingly.

“I’d like that,” you answered, though the hope of returning to a normal life seemed to be slipping further from your grasp with each passing day.

“I’ll have a maid draw your bath,” Tommy said, placing a kiss to your lips before turning to leave.

“Not her!” you reminded him, voice as loud and clear as you could manage.

Tommy stopped at the door, one hand on the frame as he exhaled loudly. “No, of course not.”

“Thank you,” you called out, feeling like a burden and a disappointment. 

——————-

With the steam from the bath having dissipated and the water turning tepid, you looked over your shoulder for your favorite silk robe. “Clara, could you help me?” you called out, settling back against the edge as you waited. 

Eyes closed in one last moment of peaceful solitude, you inhaled the soothing lavender bath salts, leaving an arm extended for your towel. Just then a hand grasped your forearm immobilizing you, a momentary sting caused you to thrash in the water. As the crashing waves spilled onto the tile floor, you were only vaguely aware of the splash as it hit. You felt your body sink into the water, arms slipping from the porcelain edges as your muscles went weak. The piercing blue irises from your nightmares watched you, but this time you were lucid enough to attach them to a body, the ginger haired woman you’d suspected all along.

“M-mary?” you mumbled, lips and tongue tingling strangely. She held a hand over your mouth, her eyebrows twitching with fury.

“When will you ever listen? You sinful woman,” she berated you in a low voice.

You searched her eyes, but the effect of whatever she’d given you was quickly altering your senses. You watched as her face began to melt into a blur, using all your effort to concentrate on her words.

“Mr. Shelby was turning his life around before you came. The orphanages, housing for the poor,” she explained, voice cracking with emotion. “But you’ve distracted him from his work. All he speaks of now are hedonistic pleasures. Your influence, no doubt,” she hissed.

You let out a muffled cry, barely able to breathe, and she jerked her hand away as though she were the one who had been harmed. She looked at her hand fearfully. “I’m no murderer. I’m here to save your soul,” she said with a vigorous nod of her head.

She stood, smoothing her apron as if reminded why she'd come in the first place. Taking a small Bible from the bathroom sink, she licked her index finger before finding her place from the night before.

She cleared her throat so as to compose herself, standing straight as an arrow, chin held high. “Leviticus 18…” she began in a controlled voice you recognized from your nightmares. Your eyes slipped close, a tear running down your cheek as you realized it had been all too real.

-----------

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