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agent-cupcake · 8 months

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Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

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Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar.

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat.

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed.

Until it wasn’t.

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see.

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them.

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision.

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real.

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself.

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you.

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.”

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented.

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?”

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it?

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly.

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.”

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim.

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body.

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him.

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture.

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed.

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.”

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.”

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.”

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?”

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.”

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it.

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.”

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity.

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?”

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.”

“How’d you lose it?”

“I didn’t… lose it.”

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.”

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-”

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him.

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains.

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder.

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears.

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again.

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said.

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.”

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not.

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.”

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…”

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees.

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete.

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck.

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him.

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?”

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support.

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion.

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash.

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-”

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain.

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else.

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.”

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.”

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?”

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it.

“Of course, captain.”

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?”

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men.

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both.

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad.

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it.

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow.

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful.

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s.

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.”

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did.

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.”

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say.

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.”

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.”

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.”

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.”

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?”

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you.

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?”

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway.

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.”

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?”

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked.

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.”

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around.

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen.

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing.

Twine, needles, thread.

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling.

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil-

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort.

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind.

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates.

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?”

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up.

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.”

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.”

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground.

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath.

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover.

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine.

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this.

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense.

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here.

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?”

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy.

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin.

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.”

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.”

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.”

“Then how did he find this place?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same.

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought.

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?”

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while.

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over.

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?”

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said.

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“What?”

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.”

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth.

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.”

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real?

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping.

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!”

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain.

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still.

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head.

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?”

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really.

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process.

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away.

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood.

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.”

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?”

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor.

And after that came the chaos.

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else.

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”

A gloved hand waved in front of your face.

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly.

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.”

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.”

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.”

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?”

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said.

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm.

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?”

“I-”

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.”

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot.

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill.

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.”

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him.

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you.

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked.

He nodded, urging you on.

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.

“What if I get drunk?” you asked.

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another.

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle.

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat.

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink.

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.”

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you.

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?”

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.”

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it.

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ”

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself.

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes.

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.”

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.”

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.”

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible.

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.”

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too.

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were.

“Beg me again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?”

You frowned.

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue.

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage.

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them.

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.”

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue,

Once filled her vagina with glue,

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in,

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth.

And then there was nothing left.

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place.

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off.

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop.

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist.

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped.

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?”

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur.

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.”

“No! You started it!”

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?”

“I don’t!” you insisted.

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands.

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then.

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.”

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.”

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin.

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness.

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?”

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.”

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad.

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation.

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.”

“’m fine,” you told him.

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy x reader #my writing #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute #flashbang

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saturnniidae · 3 months

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More dragon rider disability headcanons for disability pride month!

(Ones specifically abt Hiccup are here)

Ruffnut has hypermobile EDS (when the twins were doing some bit that was basically Guinness book of world records she said smth abt 'worlds stretchiest skin' and my mom made a joke and said 'ruff has eds!' And it stuck)

A joke Ruffnut loves to make is saying Tuff is so insufferable she should just run away to join a circus and become a contortionist. She thinks it's the funniest thing ever

Hiccup also has some weird hypermobility stuff going on, when Ruff learns this she calls him a fellow circus freak (affectionate) and offers to let him come with her when she runs away. The response she got was "I'd rather stick my hand in Fenrir's mouth."

Tuff is visually impaired in his right eye from a childhood injury (another joke taken seriously)

All the riders are neurodivergent!

Snotlout has a frequently irregular heartbeat as well as memory issues due to how many times he's been struck by lightning. His whole book he wrote in that one episode isn't the only writing he does, he keeps a notebook to help keep track of minor things he might forget.

Astrid tries to make Hiccup breakfast in bed when he's having bad pain days and is too tired to do it himself. She almost burns the house down every time, so Toothless will go and get the other riders to help out while Astrid is kicked out of the kitchen and sent back to bed

Hiccup can be really fucking mean sometimes! Usually it's intentional bc he's in a bad mood and wants to be left alone. If it's seemingly unprovoked though, the others know it as a sign he's likely in pain and needs to be left alone (he still insists on getting work done but usually Toothless annoys him into resting)

Astrid has aches in her leg from when she got shot with that arrow, it being poisoned with dragon root did something to mess up the healing process so its worse than other old injuries (Dragon root isn't poisonous to humans but still having it in your blood stream isn't a good idea). She's also very mean when she's in pain, especially because it ruins her schedule since she can't train. Eventually her and Hiccup come to an agreement when they're having bad pain days they'll meet up in one of their huts and just. Sit together enjoying the others comforting presence but rarely talking

This is because Hiccup and Astrid both hate being in pain in front of people, they both share that almost extreme fear of vulnerability and the best they can do is take comfort in each other

Hiccup and Fishlegs are hyperfixation buddies! Fishlegs is the only one who doesn't get mad (it's just fond exasperation) when Hiccup wakes him up in the middle of the night to infodump, they just bounce off each other talking about dragons until woah suddenly the sun is rising and that is when Fishlegs gets upset because he values his sleep

All the riders have burn scars of varying severity. They literally work with dragons there's no way they wouldn't. And they all deal with their pain in different ways, but are unwavering supportive of each other when they can be

I've said it before and I'll say it again, a lot of characters should be disabled.

I know, cartoon logic and all, but the things that happen to these guys are things that should affect them for the rest of their lives. And watching characters struggle with permanent change like that, the realization you can never go back to how things were, and eventually healing and learning that's okay! You can still find happiness and be happy and it doesn't make your pain any less valid! It's so important to me and that's obviously reflected in my interpretations of my favorite characters lmao

#httyd #hiccstrid #rtte #hiccup haddock #im cooking today #astrid hofferson #snotlout jorgenson #ruffnut thorston #tuffnut thorston #fishlegs ingerman #how to train your dragon #httyd headcanons #httyd gang #disability headcanon #autistic!hiccup #autistic!astrid #barely spell checked this but i have a feeling that as per usual im gonna find embarrassing typos only after its been reblogged 😭#moth.txt #deyas dragons

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haveihitanerve · 3 months

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Steph was not running away. She wasn't. She just… needed some fresh air. Three blocks away. And she wasn't going back. Fresh air. “Sorry I ran away.” Steph whispered as Batman landed next to her. “Its alright.” Bruce said back, taking a careful seat next to her and letting his legs dangle. Because it was Bruce. It wasn't Batman, it wasn't Brucie Wayne. It was just Bruce. Even though she had run away. “I think there might be something wrong with me.” Steph whispered. “What makes you say that?” Bruce asked quietly. “I don't know.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Maybe its the fact that im finally finally safe now, and i have security and a family and a decent dad and im just… tense. All the time. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Bruce dropped a careful arm around her shoulders. “You've been living your whole life in survival mode. Its.. its okay to not think life will be okay. That its too perfect. That it'll all be over in a flash, the second you let your guard down and get too comfortable.” Steph smiled weakly at him. “Speaking from experience?” Bruce grimaced. “Yes. And, speaking from experience, I’ve also learned its better to accept life as it is, right now. Embrace it wholly. Sure, it might be over tomorrow, but at least you have today.” Steph snorted. “Wow. Did you see a cat poster on your way over here?” Bruce offered her a smile at that, but she could tell he was still serious. “I know its not easy, but I’m here for you Steph. So are the others. We’ll get you to embrace us one day.” Steph laughed weakly. “Yeah. Maybe.” They sat there like that for a while, until little pins and needles were running down both Steph’s legs.

“I beat up a wall once.” Bruce said suddenly, breaking the silence. “When I was eight.” Steph started at the sudden start in conversation. “Okay..” she said slowly, chancing a side long glance at him. “Why? Did you win?” Bruce chuckled, holding up his right hand. “Because i though it would make me feel better.” He shook his head. “It didn't. I didn't.” he corrected, showing her his wrist beneath the glove where a faint white scar ran across it. “I broke my wrist. Snapped it right in half.” Steph gasped. “When you were eight?” she exclaimed faintly. Bruce nodded. “D- did it make you feel better?” Steph asked tentatively. Bruce shook his head, another chuckle rumbling through his body. “Gods no. It hurt like a bitch.” Steph snorted. He looked over at her. “You know what did make me feel better though?” She looked at him expectantly. “What?” Bruce smiled. “Alfred shattering the wall.” Steph gaped at him. “Nu-uh.” “yuh-huh.” bruce nodded. “Alfred?” Steph said skeptically. “We’re talking about the same Alfred?” Bruce snorted again. “When we found me curled up next to the wall,” he explained. “He assumed i had been beaten up. When i revealed to him, although a bit begrudgingly, that i had lost the fight against the wall, he had stood up and left.” “he left?” Steph exclaimed. “When you were hurt and revealed you had been fighting a wall????” bruce nodded. “Yep. I felt that way too. But then he returned holding a sledgehammer and-” he mimed swinging something. “Shattered it.” Steph let out a giggle, leaning into his side in laughter. “Wow.” she laughed. “How have i never heard this story before?” she asked, wheezing. Bruce shrugged, eyes twinkling as he watched her. “Im sure Babs is saving it for the right moment.” Steph giggled again. “Stephanie.” Bruce said softly. Steph composed herself slightly, hiccuping, and looked up at him. Bruces sapphire blue eyes gazed into hers. “I would shatter a wall for you.” he whispered. Steph swallowed. “I know Bruce. I know you would. I’m sorry I ran away.” Bruce looked around before shrugging. “Its not too far. I once caught Dick halfway on his way to Bludhaven.” Steph looked at him intrigued. “Why was he going there?” Bruce chuckled. “Wanted to run away and join the circus.” “ah.” Steph placed a gentle hand on his leg. “I guess I couldn't keep him from the city after all huh?” Bruce asked quietly. “Nope.” Steph said back. “But, you did give him something.” Bruce glanced at her. “Yeah? Whats that?” Steph smiled. “You gave him roots. A home. Dick has his apartment in Bludhaven now. He has his own team. A home. But you gave him a home he can come back to. Fall back on.” Bruce smiled. “Thank you. And,” His hand covered hers where it rested on his leg, long pale fingers curling around hers. Steph kept her eyes trained on their hands, on the protective body shielding her from the cold. “If you allow it, I would love to provide the same for you.” Steph’s lip began to tremble, and she gave a jerky nod, a tear hitting her leg. Bruce reached over and brushed them away. “I love you Steph.” Steph let out a small hiccupy laugh, leaning into his touch. “I love you too…Dad.”

#batfam #batman and robin #batman #spoiler #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #good dad bruce wayne #am i posting a lot of steph and bruce?#yes #yes i am #i love them #i love them so much #look at them #they are so cute #besties

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drbatsponge · 2 months

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MY PITCH FOR ABSOLUTE BATGIRL/CASSANDRA CAIN: PART TWO

This is part two of a thread I did on Twitter but I'm posting on here, it's my pitch on one of the ideas I had on how Cass could fit in the new Absolute Universe from DC.

In this pitch, I'm thinking she replaces Dick Grayson as Absolute Batman's first Robin and eventually becomes Nightwing, let's say she runs away from David at a young age and joins the circus as a Ballerina/Acrobat of sorts.

David takes the place of Tony Zucco, he kills off Cassandra's new adoptive parents, the Graysons, at the circus, Absolute Batman finds her distraught and takes her in.

Cassandra and Absolute Batman become Batman and Robin, eventually Cassandra gets fed up with Batman and they have a falling out, let's say he nearly kills someone and that's what leads her to be disillusioned by him.

She soon takes on the Nightwing title.

Art by @/karahuset.

Absolute Batman moves on and finds another Robin, a tough street kid named Stephanie Brown, and you know what happens next.

This can lead Stephanie to becoming the Red Hood, a younger Barbara becoming the third Robin, sort of like Beware the Batman originally planned, etc. etc.

Art by Santafer.

But yeah these are my ideas for how to incorporate Cassandra Cain and the other Batgirls in the Absolute Universe, let me all know what you think!

Link to part one:

#cassandra cain #batgirl #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #batgirls #absolute universe #absolute dc #absolute batman #dc comics #batman

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were-wolverine · 6 months

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thinking about. vampire bruce. adopting werewolf dick grayson. and his little brother / fellow werewolf jason todd.

dick’s pack were his parents and the circus troupe. despite haly’s best efforts, after the elder graysons die, dick is taken by child services instead of staying with his pack

werewolves and vampires are known, but discriminated against in most places. gotham is, ironically, a safe haven for Creatures, largely because of the vampiric Prince of Gotham- Bruce Wayne. they also aren’t super common, making up about 30% of the world’s population in total

child services dumps dick (9) in an orphanage in gotham, which he promptly runs away from. on the streets he meets jason (7) and they stick together from then on, becoming each other’s pack (jason’s an orphan too)

dick (14) is helping jason (12) take the hubcaps off the batmobile when they are caught, and they book it until batman successfully corners them. he ends up bringing them to Ma Gunn’s School for Boys

soon after, they figure out Ma Gunn is running a crime ring using the students. they contact batman (after getting as many kids as they can out, of course) and bruce pretty much offers to take them in

they’re cautious about it, but know it’s a pretty good deal, so they agree. bruce brings them to the batcave and then up into the manor, revealing his identity right away so there’s no misunderstandings. they meet alfred (who immediately loves them) and spend the night exploring the house before falling asleep in one of the many spare bedrooms

after that they each get their own room in the manor, but both choose a room near each other and bruce. they sleep in bruce’s bed most nights, anyway (touch and scent are important things for werewolves, bruce learns).

eventually the two start heckling bruce about training them, which he eventually gives in to (puppy eyes are extra effective when it’s from a werewolf). dick chooses the name Robin and jason decides he might as well go along with it so it becomes Batman and his Robins

dick tells bruce and jason about tony zucco and all of that happens pretty much the same but with jason there as emotional support and also Werewolf Stuff (dick leaves a claw mark on zucco as a permanent reminder)

dick joins the teen titans at 16 but still lives in the manor. at this point he has become Nightwing and gives the Robin title fully to jason

when dick is 17 he goes on an off-world mission, giving jason a bear hug before he leaves (it’ll be the longest they’ve been apart since they met 8ish years ago) iykyk what’s abt to happen

during that time, jason is kidnapped by the Joker when he goes on patrol (without telling bruce). joker sets a trap for batman, of course, and beats jason with a silver crowbar coated in wolfsbane (shush let me combine lore)

bruce gets to the door of the warehouse right before it explodes, so him and jason are both caught in the blast- jason more so of course

jason dies. bruce brings his body back to the cave and puts it a cryofreeze chamber, waiting for dick to get back before they bury him and have a funeral

bruce calls dick the next day and tells him. he sends clark to bring dick back and another hero to replace him so the mission can continue

right as dick gets back, however, superboy-prime messes with the universe and jason un-dies, much to the batfam’s surprise and happiness

he still needs to recover from some injuries, but his werewolf healing is almost working properly again so it doesn’t take more than a week or two

dick kills the joker. bruce doesn’t stop him.

#posting drafts #might add more later #batman #batman comics #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #vampire au #werewolf au #creature au #dc comics #dc au #robin #nightwing #this is from like. august #dc #my au #my writing #creature batfam au

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disillusioneddanny · 1 year

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DP x DC Fic Recs

A list of DPxDC fics that don't have the following tropes:

Danny gets adopted by the Waynes

Danny is rejected by his parents for being Phantom.

The lovely @spite-sapphic-starlight started a really wonderful list that you can read here

But lets just show a little more love for the fics that don't fit those tropes.

also disclaimer: this is not any hate to those tropes, i love them dearly and have written quite a few of them myself. but apparently that's all DPxDC seems to be known for so we should take some time to highlight some truly amazing fics.

Born to Make History by Halfagone and Nightshiftshenanigans

It's a Jason Todd/ Danny Fenton Figure Skating AU with a no powers AU and it's absolutely beautiful.

I’m Falling for you (Now we’re both Falling) by Milaley, ziazippy5379

Danny is a paramedic who moves to Gotham because he wants to help people and the pay for paramedics is good. He meets former police officer Dick Grayson who spoiler happens to be his soulmate. Danny's parents struggle with the fact that they are the reason he's a halfa but they don't reject him.

A Second Life by Die_Erlkonigin6083

Danny is reincarnated and wakes up to find himself a little boy who is the clone of Dick Grayson who decides to raise his clone as his son. This isn't really an adoption AU since Danny was created as a clone and he didn't run away from the Fentons, I can't really share more without spoiling the entire premise :3 but it's very good and is a good play on the Danny is a Wayne trope.

Fall Before You Fly by DisillusionedDanny, GuardianofDawn

Danny decides to go on vacation and explore the different universes, he goes to the DC universe and joins a circus and becomes an escapologist and meets Dick who wants to learn how he's so good at what he does.

Schrodinger's Danny by Die_Erlkonigin6083

The Fentons were never Danny's parents in this AU and he became a halfa in a completely different way. Danny is the twin brother of Damian and flees into the ghost zone letting everyone think he's dead. He's younger in this AU and honestly it's such a cool take on the DemonTwin trope.

Forget the Christmas Spirit (Run Away With Me) by halfagone (milkywxy)

Danny and Damian meet in Paris right before Christmas. They fall in love on the trip and Danny decides to spend Christmas with the Waynes instead of going back to his own family where his parents make Christmas an entire thing each year.

We Lit a Match by GuardianofDawn

Danny has a gift that lets him see if people around him are going to die. He learns that he's the reason his family dies and runs away before that happens. He finds himself getting adopted by one Lex Luthor.

No bad parents Fentons, Danny runs away to keep them safe

Not adopted by a Wayne, it's Lex Luthor

it's a fun flip on both of those tropes.

Shovel Talk by SummersSixEcho

Danny and Tim go on a roadtrip for Tim to meet Danny's parents. Established relationship Tim/Danny

It's a very wonderful take on Good Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton and it's just a lovely story altogether.

Eat the Acid by DisillusionedDanny

Danny meets Conner Kent and falls head over heels in love with him. They discover that Vlad and Lex have teamed up to make the ultimate clone warrior. With the help of the Fentons and some unlikely friends they bring the clone back to Fentonworks so that they can raise their baby together away from Lex and Vlad.

These are just a few examples of fics that don't fall into those two tropes, they are all absolutely amazing and wonderful and the writers put a lot of work into these pieces of art. There are so many other fics that fall into these categories, I just don't have the time or space to add every single one but please don't act like all of DPxDC falls under the idea that Danny runs away to gotham to escape his evil scientist parents and gets adopted by the Waynes, that's a very small part of what this fandom does. It's a lovely part but it's not all that the DPxDC fandom is.

#DPxDC #DPxDC Fic Recs #Fic Recs #Danny Phantom #Batman #DC Universe

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shmaptainwrites · 30 days

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 [𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader [Modern!AU]

SUMMARY — The Bridgertons take some time to do things they enjoy among the media circus caused by Landon's statement.

WORD COUNT — 3.5K

WARNINGS — none

NOTE — Another Friday, another chapter! Thank again to flock for taking care of the beta read and editing :)

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑽𝑰: 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑳

The click of the camera shutters had become incessant since Landon’s statement broke the UK news. Unfortunately, it had not faded out, like they had hoped, after one cycle, due to the fact that it seemed like anyone who had ever had any qualms with the Bridgertons were now offering their opinions on the situation and keeping it in the front of everyone’s minds.

Violet’s lawyers had managed to convince the authorities to do their interviews at the firm in exchange for full cooperation, which the firm was willing to give because Violet was innocent (at least her lawyer had said even an idiot could see that, and you had emphatically agreed with him).

Stepping out from what felt like her thousandth interview, you followed closely behind with manila folders and a briefcase, the cameras were quick to come out and follow the two of you towards the car Violet had acquired the service of until things died down.

She could hear her name called at her from all directions, and she tried to hold her head high on Pat’s advice, knowing that if she hunched away the media might take her simple body language as an admission of guilt.

She was about to step into the car when she heard your voice behind her, but not addressing her.

“Hey, watch it!”

She turned around and saw you standing between her and someone who was trying to get a little too close.

“You know, while I’m at it, why don’t you all listen up?” you said, the frustration on behalf of Violet evident in your tone. “Keep your bloody cameras away from the Bridgertons or else I’m sure we can find a way to press charges for harassment. And while you’re at it, stop calling her Violet, it’s Lady Bridgerton, show some respect.”

Violet bit back a smile and finally opened the car door, stepping inside and sliding over the seats so you could place your things down and join her, closing the door, muffling the sounds of the press outside.

“You know, nobody calls me Lady Bridgerton,” she said while looking over at you.

“I know, but maybe they should,” you shrugged. “Maybe it will get them to remember all of the wonderful things your family has done with that title and that none of this is actually tied to you. Landon is just trying his last shot at bringing someone down with him.”

“At least the police said this should be cleared up and sorted soon, but I know the cameras are going to linger,” Violet sighed. “Daphne was telling me she saw someone following her while she was taking the children to the park with Simon the other day. She almost called the police; I had to arrange to get her a security detail.”

“Really?” you looked astonished and Violet nodded.

“They wanted information about me,” she added. “And were willing to take away my daughter’s, my son-in-law’s, and my grandchildren’s privacy to do so.”

You sighed and pressed your lips together.

“And Eloise has people following her around campus, Benedict has had his home vandalized, thank God Colin and Penelope left on another work assignment. I can’t imagine what they might have run into.”

You reached out your hand to take Violet’s and offer some comfort.

“I haven’t let Hyacinth or Gregory leave the house,” she looked over at you. “They’re going insane, but I can’t…” her voice trailed off. “They’re still so young, I can't have this happening to them as well.”

“I’m sure they understand,” you assured her. “This is no small thing. At this point, we’re talking about safety. You don’t even leave the house without security by your side anymore, that’s a clear difference from your circumstances before.”

“Yes, which is why I think we all need a break,” Violet sighed. “Benedict is coming to pick up Gregory and Hyacinth this afternoon and they’ll go to the country estate for a week or so, and Agatha and I have dinner planned at the house tonight.”

“That should be good,” you nodded. “Everyone gets a little change of pace, Benedict can be the one to make sure Hyacinth and Gregory don’t kill each other,” you teased, and Violet chuckled.

“When you put it that way, I might lose three children by the end of the week.”

You scoffed at her words and looked outside the window for a moment, your hands still interlocked.

“I know it’s hard, but we should focus on the positives. We still have the gala we need to think about. I know we were hoping for the fall, but with everything that is happening, I was wondering if it makes sense to do something over the holidays? It should add more time for us too, which frankly, we could use.”

“I was thinking that as well,” Violet agreed. “We haven’t sent out invitations so it wouldn’t be hard to shift dates as long as the venue is available. We’d just have to do some coordinating with all the logistical things, but I think that’s better than rushing it.”

“I’ll make sure the venue is available, you take a break and prepare for your dinner tonight. I hear Agatha is expecting you to cook.”

“She usually does, it’s a little deal we have,” Violet explained. “And she likes my cooking, so, I won’t turn down an opportunity to be complimented.”

“What’s your specialty?” you asked.

“Yorkshire pudding, but that’s not quite a meal on its own,” Violet chuckled. “I’ll figure something out to go with it.”

“I’m sure you will,” you squeezed her hand and let go, both of you feeling the immediate loss of warmth and comfort when the contact ceased.

When you arrived back at the house, Benedict had come to pick up Hyacinth and Gregory, neither of whom were ready to leave, much to his dismay.

“Mum, can you please get your children to bloody hurry up?” Benedict complained.

“Lovely way to greet your mother after she’s just come home from being interviewed by the police,” Violet teased and Benedict sighed with a chuckle, pulling his mother into a hug and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Hi Mum, how are you?” he changed his greeting, and Violet smiled.

“As good as I’ll be, given the circumstances. Let me go see what I can do about your siblings, and oh-have you two met yet?”

Violet looked between you and Benedict, and you nodded your head.

“Briefly, actually,” you said.

“Yes, you were at the gallery,” he noted and you confirmed with a nod.

“Pure coincidence. I realized who you were a few moments after we stopped talking,” you chuckled and gave him your name again.

“So, you’re working as the new financial manager?” Benedict asked, while Violet left you both to go find Hyacinth and Gregory.

“Yes, that would be me,” you nodded.

“And what was a financial district woman such as yourself doing in a small independent art gallery? Or working for my family, for that matter?”

“One, financial district women can have hobbies,” you started. “Two, I was looking for a change of pace and this is certainly that.”

“Getting bossed around by my mother? God give you strength.”

“Oh, come on,” you rolled your eyes and laughed. “It’s not that bad, we make a good team, I think.”

“If you’re saying that? Clearly you do,” Benedict teased. “No, but in all seriousness she’s a hard worker. Her nagging is out of love.”

“Benedict, did you just say I nag you?” Violet asked, stopping by the front door after overhearing the comment.

“No Mum, not at all,” he shook his head. “I said bagging, like when you pack us food to take places.”

Violet pressed her lips together. She seemed unconvinced and you laughed at Benedict’s terrible lie.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle Greg and Hyacinth for a week?” you asked him, and he shrugged his shoulders quite exaggeratedly.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“If they’re trying to kill each other, call me,” you told him. “I’ve learnt sibling crisis management 101 from those two.”

“Will do,” Benedict nodded and patted your back.

You heard your name called from the door and saw Hyacinth running outside.

“I thought I was going to miss you before we left,” she pulled you in for a hug which you accepted, one hand still occupied with full manila folders. “It’s going to be weird not seeing you every day.”

“Sure, but it’s only a week, and you have Benedict. You can make plans for the Beyoncé concert.”

“That is true,” Hyacinth nodded, still holding onto you.

“Hyacinth, goodness, you’re going to suffocate her,” Violet chuckled as she came outside with Gregory, seeing the tight grip her daughter had on you.

“I’m fine, I’m going to miss her hugs anyways,” you squeezed her back. “Okay, both of you should get your stuff in your brother’s car. He's been waiting patiently for you.”

The two youngest Bridgertons listened and threw their stuff in the trunk of Benedict’s car before saying their goodbyes and heading off with a final reminder from their mother not to kill each other.

You and Violet entered the house shortly thereafter, and she went on to prepare dinner while you did some work in the office.

After the day had ended, you were about halfway home when you realized you had forgotten your phone and had to turn back around to get it.

Security let you inside without a fuss, and you could hear chatter and laughter coming from the dining room, presumably from Violet’s dinner.

You tried to sneak in and out quietly, not wanting to interrupt, but Violet caught sight of you from afar and called out your name.

“What are you doing back here, is something wrong?” she asked.

“Just forgot my phone, I’ll be out of your hair in two minutes,” you assured her.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” another voice chimed in, which you assumed was Agatha’s. “Violet wouldn't be able to cook for only two people, even if a gun was put to her head. It’s ten or nothing, there’s plenty of food to share, come eat with us.”

“I shouldn’t stay,” you shook your head.

“My dear, one does not turn down an invitation from Agatha,” Violet chuckled. “Just come sit with us.”

You pressed your lips together and began to walk towards the dining room, seeing the chair Violet had pulled out for you next to her and took a seat with them at the table.

“Christ, you were right. Violet, this is enough food for a small dinner party,” you said while looking at the spread in front of you.

“I, unfortunately, never unlearned how to portion for ten people,” she said while grabbing you a plate and some cutlery. “I will be sending you both home with leftovers.”

“And I will not be complaining,” Agatha smiled. “So,” she turned her attention to you. “Violet has been telling me how great of a help you’ve been the past few months.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” you shook your head. “Just doing my job.”

You knew as soon as you said it you didn’t believe it. Sure, a part of it was doing your job, but another part was always something a little extra. You had come to care very much for the family whose employ you were under and it meant a lot when you were able to help them through difficult situations.

“Have you and Violet known each other for a long time?”

You tried to divert the line of questioning from yourself.

“Since I was a teenager,” Violet answered. “Our families ran in the same circles, but we became more acquainted after my marriage, and even more so after Edmund’s passing.”

You could feel Agatha’s stare on you, and it made you a little nervous. It was almost as if she was very closely judging your character, but whether it was for your position with the family or something else, you were uncertain.

Violet offered you some wine, realizing you didn’t have a glass, and you accepted, watching her go back to the kitchen to fetch it for you, so you quickly filled the silence with another question for Agatha.

“What made you grow closer after Edmund’s passing?”

Agatha pressed her lips together and took a sip of her wine.

“My husband had also passed away when I was young,” she said and you nodded your head in understanding. “But that is not why I could relate to her.”

You paused, looking up from your food and making eye contact with Agatha whose gaze had seemingly softened.

“I had an arranged marriage,” she explained. “I did not love my husband. In fact, I loathed him, but due to my family, the only way out of that relationship was in death. My father passed shortly after he did and then, all of a sudden, I was free.”

You put your fork down, placing your hands in your lap, listening intently to her story.

“For years, I had been…close with Violet’s aunt, Lily, her father’s sister, and over time, that friendship turned into something…more than,” she said. “When she passed away, I felt like my world had been ripped in two and I couldn’t quite publicly grieve her loss, in part because I wasn’t yet ready to admit to the world that I loved her.”

You pressed your lips together, a surge of hurt in your chest at the story she shared.

“When Violet lost Edmund, I saw that same thing in her. She was still expecting and the world turned her grief into a spectacle.”

“I understand,” you nodded your head, it was implicit. Agatha was trying to protect Violet.

“I hope you do,” Agatha sipped her wine again. “Our stories often tend to draw on more parallels than we initially realize.”

Violet returned to the room with a glass of wine for you, and a bottle for the table, a bright smile on her face while she tucked her hair behind her ears and sat back down.

“Why the long faces, did something happen?” she asked, concerned.

“No, not at all,” Agatha shook her head. “We were just disappointed we can’t have your cooking every night, it really is quite exceptional.”

“Yes, I agree,” you said truthfully. “You were right when you said Yorkshire pudding is your specialty, I think this is the best one I’ve had in a long time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Violet smiled. “So, have you two spoken about art yet?”

“No, I don’t think we have,” you shook your head.

“A fellow appreciator of the finer things, I see,” Agatha smiled.

“Agatha has quite the collection at her home. I think you would love it, actually.”

“Really?” You looked at Agatha. “What era?”

“Mostly early 19th century, some late 18th,” she said. “Do you have much art in your home?”

“Not a lot, I can’t quite afford the things I enjoy,” you admitted. “But I frequent museums and galleries quite often which helps fill that void. I love being in this house in particular, there’s always a new piece in some corner that I haven’t seen before.”

“A lot of those are Benedict’s,” Violet said. “He refuses to pay for a storage space so he ends up giving them to me on loan until they sell.”

“I seem to recall some of the paintings around the house are yours,” Agatha noted.

“You didn’t tell me that,” you looked over at Violet. “Which ones?”

“Anything signed Ledger,” she admitted. “I did them all before I was married.”

You chuckled a little to yourself. There was one painting in Violet’s office, nothing too extravagant, just an assortment of plants in what looked like a wildflower bouquet resting on a table. If something was stumping you or your eyes needed a break from the many hours of staring at the computer, your default was to look at it. You had always meant to ask who the artist was; you just couldn’t seem to fathom that it was Violet.

“You didn’t think to mention it?” you chuckled, sipping your wine.

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” she shrugged innocently, and you laughed at the clearly coy comment.

Agatha watched the interaction between you both closely. There was a certain familiarity, an ease and comfort she hadn’t seen in Violet in a long time.

“So, I think we now know where Benedict gets his artistry from,” you said. “Does he know where he gets it from?”

“We’ve all made a point to make it very clear to him any talent he got was from me,” Violet teased, and you laughed again.

“Seriously though, once things settle again and you have more time on your hands, you should consider taking it up again,” you suggested. “It’s good to have a hobby.”

“I agree,” Agatha nodded. “Hobbies are a wonderful way to pass the time.”

“Agatha’s main hobby is hustling people in poker and pool,” Violet informed you.

“All the money goes to charity,” she assured.

“At the expense of the dignity of others,” Violet countered.

“She lost to me in both,” Agatha filled in the blanks and you snorted while lifting your wine glass to your lips and Violet’s ears became tinged with a soft pink colour. “And made the mistake of chalking it up to beginner's luck.”

“Oh, Violet,” you attempted to sound sympathetic, but it came off more like pity with the chuckle that was laced in your voice.

“No, I know I brought it on myself,” she nodded, picking up some vegetables with her fork. “I just don’t understand how I fell for it three times, and how you didn’t say anything,” she motioned to Agatha with her chin.

“You just seemed so determined, I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”

“Three times? Violet, that’s just…”

“Embarrassing? Demoralizing? Absolutely humiliating?” she filled in the blanks.

“No, I was going to say sweet,” you chuckled. “You didn’t give up, I mean, you never do. I admire that about you.”

“Oh,” Violet was visibly surprised by your response and you were too focused on her to notice Agatha’s knowing expression from across the table. “I-Well, thank you.”

“I would have gone with humiliating, too,” Agatha teased before eating another spoonful of food.

“Hush, you,” Violet frowned and sent her friend a playful piercing stare.

Dinner ended up being very enjoyable, but as soon as the dishes were cleared and you saw the time, you excused yourself from the group.

“Are you sure you can’t join us for another glass of wine?” Violet asked.

“I shouldn’t,” you shook your head. “My family’s coming to visit tomorrow, and I still have a few things to arrange around the apartment so I should get back to that before it’s too late.”

“Family? You didn’t mention your family was visiting. Do you need time off?” Violet asked.

“No, we’d run ourselves mad if we were together non-stop,” you shook your head. “If something comes up, I’ll ask.”

“Okay,” Violet smiled. “But before you go…” she slipped past Agatha and over to a pan that was by the stove, taking a container from one of the cupboards and placing what looked like a few slices of cake inside and grabbing some food she had packed away from dinner already. “For tonight. A cleaning pick-me-up,” she handed it to you.

“Thank you, Violet, really both of you for including me tonight,” you said. “I know I was the reason you got pulled away from your tea together in the first place, so I’m happy for the chance at redemption.”

“Consider yourself redeemed,” Agatha assured you. “I’m sure we will talk again soon.”

“I hope so,” you smiled. “Goodnight.”

Agatha and Violet returned your smile and wished you goodnight as you left the room, heading out the front door and going back to your car to head home.

“So,” Agatha began a moment after hearing the front door close. “She’s quite…”

She paused in hopes that Violet might fill in the blank, letting her in on what her feelings were towards you.

“Lovely?” Violet looked up at Agatha with a smile. “She really is.”

“You seem to have gotten closer over your time working together.”

“I think we have,” Violet agreed. “It’s odd. It’s almost as though I hired a financial manager and a friend, but it doesn’t feel forced.”

“It doesn't look forced,” Agatha agreed. “And she’s aware of your…long term financial plans?”

Violet nodded her head, serving Agatha a piece of cake.

“Yes, but we still have some time before that becomes a reality,” she said.

“And do you think your friendship will last past that?” she asked.

Violet paused for a moment, thinking about the question that was brought up before placing her hands flat on the counter in front of her, leaning on the support of her arms.

“I really do hope so.”

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch @etherynn @lilisdarling

#to love the stars #violet bridgerton #violet bridgerton x reader #violet bridgerton fanfiction #violet bridgerton fanfic #violet bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fic #ruth gemmell #modern au #bridgerton modern au

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vespaer77 · 5 months

Text

I'd like to tell you a story...

... about my first Tav, Shayla Moonsong.

She is a Zariel tiefling, and a College of Lore Bard, and while she wasn't my first Tav, she was the first one to finish the game. I had romanced Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion in early access, so I focused on her because I was anxious to try a new romance, Halsin. However, because she was created just after full release, her save file was horrifically bugged. I got the cut scenes for Halsin that allowed me to progress his companion quest and cure Moonhaven of the shadow curse, but after that I could get no further dialogue from him at all, even in camp. I was playing with a party limit mod by the time he joined my party, so I never needed to worry about dismissing him from my party, but I did occasionally have difficulty with him following the party. I had to run around controlling him a lot. The only scene I ever got with him once he joined me was specifically his sex scene, after I did the love test at the circus in Act 3. I knew literally nothing about him, lol, so I had to google the answers.

But that was the thing. I knew… nothing about this guy. He was just some hot elf my bard boned, I had zero investment in him other than that. And it became a head canon for me about her - she was a typical bard, slutting her way to the Gate. She slept with the Emperor, she had a foursome with the drow twins and Halsin, and she absolutely played Haarlep's game to get his pass code. And while I'd wished, at the time, I could have had the additional enrichment of a poignant, heartfelt romance, I did enjoy exploring a character that was more free with her sexuality. As a result, though, I'd ended up "saving myself" for Halsin, because I knew his romance would (or in my case should but didn't) open up very late in the game. And I'd shot down all of the other companions fairly quickly.

Including Gale.

Especially Gale.

He was still bugged at the time, and his… overly amorous nature, lol, was widely known to anyone who'd spent more than ten minutes on the internet. So I ignored a lot of opportunities to know him better. And at the time, he was honestly my least favorite character. Particularly because I truly didn't enjoy him in early access. I genuinely found him offputting and way too over the top, and subsequently much of his narrative flew straight over my head.

Like a Boeing 777.

But let's be honest. Because of the nature of his story, and the way he seems to compartmentalize his trauma as devotion, and because of the mask of charm and confidence he wears to convince your character of his usefulness, and the way he tempers his emotions so he doesn't upset the orb, all of these things… the complexity of his narrative is super duper subtle. Or at least to me it was. I was the complete dumb dumb that didn't pick it up from context like we were supposed to.

Until I played my bard, Shayla. The first one to get through Act 3.

I had saved the culmination of Gale's quest in Sorcerous Sundries til nearly the end. Just before all the stuff with the foundry and Gortash. At the time, he was still a checklist item, a box to mark off on my road to the final boss.

So I went into it feeling like this man was probably pretty fed up with me, lol. And then he read the Annals of Karsus and I realized right then just how much I'd taken this character for granted. Because everything about him, his entire personality, shifted right there, and he became… someone else. And everyone else in my party noticed it too. The choice of responses I was given was crafted in a way that made me feel like the writers very much wanted me to notice a change had taken place within Gale. And then I picked a response that was honestly a touch unkind. I don't remember what I said to him, but…

He yelled at me.

"She left me to die!" he said. I remember that part.

And when the camera panned back to me and the party, we were all wide eyed and reared away from him in shock and disbelief that this charming, confident, gregarious, and benign creature was suddenly so… dark. And it was at that moment that a light switch was flipped. The missing puzzle piece was found and snapped into place. Suddenly I understood everything I'd missed up to that point, and it was more than just an "ah hah!" moment. It was an, "Oh my god…" moment. He hadn't become someone else.

We were seeing who he truly was for the first time.

His mask had slipped. Cracked beneath strain. He'd been pushed to a breaking point.

Naturally, because he's Gale, he recovered quickly. But it was too late. I saw him. And then two things happened. I fell in love with him. Instantly. But then I also realized the game was almost over. His romance opportunity had come and gone, there wouldn't be a "confess your love at the last minute" option. And of course his fate at the end of the game was not so kind to my bard either.

I've had big feelings about it ever since.

And then the Hugs mod came out, which only served to further poke my great big ouchy feelings.

I've lived in head canon land for a while now when it comes to Shayla Moonsong. In my head canon, he did end up taking her advice, he did pick an outcome that didn't involve using the Crown of Karsus or the Karsite Orb, and in no way did he become a pulverized cloud of stardust. He ended the game living peacefully in Waterdeep, giving Tara belly rubs and ushering in the next generation of wizards without grooming them for a lifetime of suffering.

But that leaves Shayla herself and her big, unresolved feelings. Feelings that were never processed or acknowledged, as the time was never right between her relationship status with Halsin and the fate of the world resting on her shoulders.

So, what is a bard to do when she falls in love, but it's too late?

Nothing small, that's for sure. And it will probably involve singing.

(I'm planning on maybe two to three chapters for this story, in which she very much makes things worse before they get better, lol. She's still learning. But it's definitely gonna end with some light cunnilingus and good, heavy railing either on a kitchen counter or against a bookshelf. I haven't decided yet. I do hope, if you do decide to read this humble beginning, that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And also please excuse my ill attempts at self-effacing meta humor.)

Pairing: Gale / named fem!Tav bard Rating: Smut is imminent (once we get through the foreplay… er, mutual pining) Word count: 4790

Read the story HERE or under the cut

Chapter One: The Wizard, The Real One

"Is there a loan shark in the audience or something?" Jory asked.

"Hmm?" Nelsyn replied, but she didn't look up from her lines. He supposed that was fair. She was busy letting Sara fix the adhesive on the curly teal wig that sat between her horns, and Jory knew as well as anyone on cast that nothing good came from troubling the crew. He let his heavy bear pelt slip from his shoulders as he sat down in the empty chair next to her.

"She's been there all night," he told his friend as he nodded toward the entryway to stage right. "Boss lady. We've been touring this show for months. We could all do it in our sleep, she knows that. Never seen her hover like this."

And there was no reason for it. "The Fall of the Absolute" was a roaring success. The production was Shayla Moonsong's crowning achievement, a media darling, and the current obsession of a whole continent. She'd catalogued volumes of stellar, five-star reviews thus far, and was selling out box offices everywhere she went. The show was the hottest new thing since "Volo's Guide to Sex in the Elemental Planes."

But it wasn't her biggest accomplishment. It wasn't what she was truly known for.

She was the Hero of Baldur's Gate.

She faced the illithid Netherbrain herself, and won.

And the tale they were telling in front of all those people was her story.

Heavens knew the winsome bard had faced far greater perils than watching a chapter of her life play out on a stage.

And yet there she stood, on this most unremarkable of nights, leaning just inside the door frame where she could observe without obstructing. Where she could scan the audience like a scrying eye, searching for… something. Normally she'd be flitting about like a cloud of gnats directing the cast and crew, answering questions, giving orders, helping the caterer, filling water jugs, finding toilet paper, running errands, meeting VIPs. Trying not to go crazy. But not tonight. Tonight she stood very still, chewing her thumbnail and unconsciously flicking the tip of her tail over and over, hard to the left.

And Jory remembered what Nelsyn had said about what it meant when tieflings flicked their tail to the left.

She was clearly nervous about something.

"Well, we're about to do the big emotional number," Nelsyn finally told him, closing the cover of her script while Sara gave her wig a good yank to test the glue. "It's the one all the teenage girls are sobbing over their sketch pads for right now."

She stopped to take a sip of water when Sara bent to pick up her cosmetics case. The girl made a gesture to Jory to give up his seat, and he tripped over his own feet unfolding himself to stand up. Once again he was reminded why he was cast as the big druid, Halsin. Shayla had told him once that while he wasn't quite as tall as the real thing… he was close. He wondered how easily the boss lady's former lover would have fit into that chair.

"This is our first time in Waterdeep," Nelsyn continued, trying her best not to move her lips while Sara applied a fresh coat of pink stain. "She probably just wants to see how it gets received. She doesn't really get to just sit out there and watch, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Could be it," Sara told them both, bunching her eyebrows and concentrating on keeping her hand steady. "Part of it, anyway. That is her favorite character out there, singing his heart out about the bomb in his chest."

"Her favorite character? The wizard?"

"Someone else got a bomb?"

"Please. Everyone knows I'm her favorite character."

"Listen," she replied as she wiped the applicator clean with a kerchief, "you're a good looking kid, and no one hates watching you take your clothes off out there." Nelsyn snorted, but they both ignored her. "A healthy percentage of ticket sales is probably yours, no one's arguing that. But that's not enough for you to game the win."

"Game the w- what?" Jory laughed, his oiled obliques glistening as he pulled the bear pelt back over his shoulders. "Look, I'm not trying to make it a competition or anything, okay? You brought it up. But I literally play an archdruid who carves ducks, sings to squirrels, and adopts orphans. Plus? He looks like this." He swept his hands grandly over his abdomen, flexing muscles most people had only seen in paintings or medical textbooks. "And did I mention he's also her boyfriend?"

"Her ex-boyfriend," Sara corrected him, pointing at Nelsyn as she spoke. "Have you even listened to the song she's getting ready to sing? You know. The one about love? And sacrifice?" She shifted her weight as an intern sidled past her to tidy the table, refill their drinks, and bag up the trash. "And don't tell me you haven't looked at Erik with both of your eyeballs. We've all seen him. The man has eyelashes as long as your forearm. And the biggest, saddest, wettest brown eyes on the face of this planet. He's like a baby cow, okay? I'm just saying." She stood to let the intern past her again, and bent to drag her cosmetics case out of the way. "This is the man she cast to play the lead in the big romantic climax of the whole show. When the main character realizes she's in love and it's too late. She's managed to capture," she pinched her fingers in front of her face, "the very essence of what it means to have sad children mooning over this show for years to come, okay? The baby cow is a cash cow. And he is clearly her favorite character."

"I think the vampire is her favorite character," the intern said, unprompted, as she reached to help Nelsyn out of her seat. "He's everyone's favorite character."

"You're all wrong," Nelsyn told them as she sloughed her way out of her robe with great theatrical flair. The intern caught it before it hit the floor, just as she'd done so many times before. Nelsyn stood with her hands on her hips and a gallant curve to her tail, casting her eyes toward the rafters and beaming a heavily pink-stained smile, resplendent in her artificially distressed leather armor blotted with thick fake blood.

"I'm her favorite character," she said, glowing with certainty. "And it should be obvious. I'm her! Now, stand back and watch while I go make a bunch of little girls cry!" And with that, she grinned devilishly and pranced toward the stage.

But once she was gone, the intern leaned forward and beckoned. Jory found himself instinctually drawn to listen.

"Well, you wanna know what I heard?" she whispered, and her eyes landed on Shayla for only just a moment. Jory nodded out of reflex. "I heard a rumor that someone in the orchestra pit overheard the boss lady telling someone in the box office that there was going to be a special guest tonight."

"What. Like, family?" Jory asked. "I thought she was an orphan."

"Could be anyone," Sara answered him from where she stood, combing through a wig hanging on the wall. "Philanthropist, politician. Who knows.

"Or," the intern hissed, leaning in even closer, "it could be one of them."

"One of who?"

"You know. Them. Thems what was with her, when all this went down."

"Like… like one of the actual…?"

"Don't you two have anything better to do than -"

"Wait. We're in Waterdeep," Jory breathed. He snatched up Nelsyn's script and started thumbing through it, fanning the pages and blowing a strand of hair across his nose. "Isn't… isn't the wizard…?"

Sara dropped her comb to her side and opened her mouth, but stopped and blinked at him instead. A thoughtful look crept across her face. She nodded her head in defeat.

"The wizard's from Waterdeep."

Then, as one, they all turned to look at Shayla where she stood at stage right, still as a statue.

And the music began to swell. The strings stirred the air with sounds as soft and sweet as sunset. The woodwinds sang a shrill crescendo as Erik began to make his famous climb.

And Nelsyn began to sing her famous song.

Before she disappeared beyond the narrow view from stage right, Jory watched her as she raised her arm to reach for him.

The wizard.

And her voice rang out so high and so clear, so heavy with every loss that Shayla Moonsong had ever suffered, with every plea that ever twisted her heart in bitter knots. With every word that ever fell from the mighty pen of their beloved playwright.

Who stood now with her hand at her throat. It bobbed once when she swallowed. Her lips parted and she drew a breath, and a hush fell over the crowd. She settled in to listen with the rest of them.

And her tail flicked once more to the left.

I know I've been unkind to you And I've pushed you way too far And I know in ignorance I forced you To reveal the man you are And I know I've left you with nothing to lose And even less to gain And though I know you owe me nothing Please don't give in to pain

Erik's silhouette was emblazoned across the long, velvet curtain hanging behind the hideously decorated staircase he was climbing. His movements were eery and real, despite their paltry attempts to pantomime a grisly memory that none of them had ever lived. Each step was measured and dreamlike and perfect, like a person caught in a trance or a dead man called home to his rest by a spectral light.

Or in this case, a massive papier mache facsimile of a netherbrain hung from a scaffold over the stage.

Please, Please don't do this I'm begging you not to go Please, Please don't do this There's something you need to know What can I do to make you wait Convince a goddess to change your fate Please tell me that it's not too late There's something I didn't say…

"It can't be him, though. Can it?" Jory asked. "Didn't he, like," he pointed a finger toward the stage, "explode?"

"Oh, no. It's just a story, mate," came a voice from behind them. It was Velanthyr, the elf who played Astarion. They rounded the table and perched themself on the corner, placing their white wig beside them as they took a bite from an apple. "She's embellished tons of stuff. For emotional impact. They all do it."

I should have loved you since I met you I should have loved you all along

"That bard she played? In the first act?"

"Yeah?"

"She ain't really dead either."

"Seriously?"

I should have told you that I love you Instead of hiding behind a song

"My cousin met her. Said he saw her play someplace they had dinner."

"No shit?"

"It's true. She teaches music in Baldur's Gate."

Is there nothing left that I can do But fall to my knees and pray

"So what's with her, anyway?" Velanthyr asked, pointing their apple at Shayla while they wiped the juice from their lips with their other hand.

The tip of her tail flicked again, and slowly she wrapped her arms around her middle.

To any god or any devil Who'd keep you from walking away

"She's been acting weird all night," they said.

"S'what we were just talking about."

Please, Please don't do this! Turn around! This isn't right!

"We think the wizard might be out there," the intern told them. "The real one."

"Oh no," the elf laughed.

Please, Please don't do this! Please, I'm begging you to fight!

"Hope he has a sense of humor. It's about to get weird!"

"Weird?!" Sara growled at them, flinging her comb about.

Forget your fickle god's desire I'd cross the oceans, I'd walk through fire I'd conquer all the Hells entire For you And yes, I know you're tired

"The man is getting ready to watch himself die! And I'm sure I don't need to remind you his death is self-inflicted! If there's a chance that any of this is real? That the trauma this man survived is on display? You all need to show a little respect." She shook her head and turned back to her wig. "Shut up and let her listen."

Sara's words may have stung him, but Jory knew she was right. So he obeyed her, and he listened. And for the first time he truly heard the fragile warble of desperate heartache that Nelsyn had worked so hard to craft through her voice.

Come back to me and take your rest Indulge one overdue caress I'll steal the sorrow from your chest And confess, I will confess

But he didn't just uncover a new appreciation for his friend and her level of skill. There was more to it than that. There was a depth to this scene that he'd been missing before now.

There was a meaning. One that wasn't meant for the whole world.

It was only meant for one man.

He could sense it in the vibrant tension bound between Shayla Moonsong's shoulder blades.

And then Nelsyn grew quiet. Everything got quiet. The music made a subtle shift to something low and dulcet, but tense, like a string pulled too tight without snapping. Jory found his feet had led him to stand at Shayla's shoulder. He could hear her breathing through her teeth and he felt compelled to reach out and take her hand.

She took hold of it like a lifeline.

You're everything to me and more You're all that I've been fighting for You're more than just an end to war…

Nelsyn paused after that last note. It was important to the narrative, it was the whole point behind the wizard's story. But her longing would go deliciously unrequited, and would inspire a veritable deluge of creativity from fandom communities everywhere.

Shayla squeezed Jory's hand, squeezed her eyelids firmly shut. She held her breath and Jory could see Erik had reached the top of the rise. There he stood, a straight, unyielding figure gazing off into the liminal distance, resolute.

And he would never turn around.

It wouldn't be long. Any moment.

Nelsyn sang her penultimate line.

And I would give my life for yours…

She held the word so long it nearly sank into Jory's skin. It sent a wave goosebumps to crest over every inch of his body. The orchestra wove their way through their final, sweeping refrain, and the conductor brought them to a close on a plaintive harmony between a flute and an oboe.

And then the light collapsed.

It shrank to a small, pale circle that drew its stark and shining focus on a razor-slim shadow cast against the curtain.

In the shape of a dagger.

Erik lifted it high and turned its point toward his heart.

"Gods preserve me," Shayla mumbled to herself. It was the only sound Jory could hear aside from the sniffs and sniffles of the audience. Collectively they teetered at the edges of their seats, enthralled by a beautiful, mournful man who was counting the final seconds of his life with undaunted stoicism and courage.

Nelsyn could've whispered her final line if she wanted to, but instead it burst from her as a scream.

"Don't do this!!!"

Jory felt it thrum like a shockwave within his own chest, and beside him Shayla flinched. She squeezed his hand even harder.

"Just tell me when it's over," she said to him. And then suddenly there was a flurry of activity.

He took a step back and yanked her away from the door when a small flock of technicians flew in to crowd the space they left behind.

Up high, far in the corner, Jory saw the dagger move against the curtain. And all of the good people of Waterdeep gasped when they watched the blade meet its mark.

"Fire in the hole," a technician murmured beside him, and the spotlight on the curtain went black.

Then a pair of spells were cast that bathed the audience in a blinding aurora. It blazed with ribbons of vivid blues and purples and greens, speckled with myriad glittering white stars.

And an arrow of roaring thunder was launched far overhead. It detonated with such a resounding boom that it shook everything, even the floor boards beneath Jory's feet. It rattled seats and drinking vessels, it toppled music stands, and it made Erik's staircase sway alarmingly as it was wheeled backstage, with him still riding precariously at its top.

Shayla Moonsong's face fell into her hands.

"Go on," Erik sang as he danced his way down the stairs. "Tell me how devastating I was. Don't hold back. Tell me everything."

"You were spectacular, my love!" Velanthyr assured him as they ran to greet him, cradling his face in their hands and kissing him sweetly. "You always are."

"Were they weeping?" he asked his lover, nuzzling their face with his own. "The lights are so bright, I can never see."

"They were drowning in their tears, darling. Drowning."

"Is everything alright?" Sara asked as she approached on her tiptoes, reaching for Shayla's arm. Velanthyr's wig drooped at her side, forgotten. "What can I do?"

"I can't even look," Shayla whimpered through the palms that smothered her face.

"Oh honey," Sara cooed as she pulled the woman closer. And in a blessed act of mercy, she asked the question that no one wanted to ask, but someone needed to. Long before now, before this critical point had been breached.

"He's out there, isn't he?"

"I think I've made a huge mistake." Shayla slid her fingertips down to press against her lips, unable to form any other words. She could only shake her head, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Do you want us to look? See if we can see him?"

"I don't think I wanna know."

"Where is he seated?"

"E6."

"Oh." Sara briefly grimaced at Jory, but didn't stop rubbing circles across Shayla's back. "Front and center. Of course."

"Yep." The way her lips popped at the end of the word only served to emphasize how mortified she was. "Wouldn't want him to miss anything."

"Well, of course not. He's your guest," Sara replied, jerking her chin in a way that suggested Jory had been volunteered for reconnaissance.

"Oh gods!" Shayla raked her claws past her horns to twist them into her hair. "I even told him he could invite his mother!"

"Well that's a perfectly reasonable thing to do, one would think."

Jory understood his assignment. He sauntered away but paused at the door frame. The show wasn't over yet. When the technicians finished collecting their gear, they scrambled off to safely stow their rockets and retrieve the set pieces for the final scenes. They were dragging the staircase away from the main thoroughfare when Corinne, the woman who played the narrator, whipped past them.

"Coming through," she chimed, racing out to center stage, taking her place before the curtains could rise once more. Her final soliloquy would lead them into the epilogue, and would give Jory the opportunity he needed to cast his eyes past the orchestra pit and across the section of seats that lie beyond.

Front and center.

He would only have a minute or two. Sara would need to replace Velanthyr's wig. Erik needed a drink and Nelsyn's makeup needed a touch up. Very soon they would be on stage, the lights burning holes through their retinas, leaving them blinded and oblivious to all but each other and the saga they would spin to its end. He reached up to buckle the clasp on the bear pelt that draped across his shoulders.

For now, it was the narrator's turn. But he was ready. And then the curtains rose.

He smashed his face against the door frame like a cat burglar. A shaft of light swung down upon the stage illuminating Corinne at its center, and Jory peered out into the darkness it left in its wake. He squinted until he found the end of the section behind the orchestra pit, and he started counting backwards from there.

But seat E6 was empty.

Certain he'd made a mistake, he counted back again to double check, to be extra sure.

But he was right the first time.

"It's empty," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Shayla cried as she spun to face him.

"Yeah," he told her. "I counted twice to make sure I had the right seat, but no one's in it."

"Oh gods." She began to pace, wringing her hands. "What about the one next to it?"

"Which side?"

"Just tell me if you see an older woman."

"Umm, okay." At first he wasn't certain. There was a child on the right side, but on the left was a person who'd stood up, and was bent with their back toward him, like they were reaching for something. "I think… maybe. Yeah. I think so. It looks like she's getting up. She's picking up a bag or something. Is that a cat?"

"Tara?"

"Who brings a cat to a -"

"She's not a cat. She's a tressym."

"What the hell is a tress- holy shit, it's got wings! It just flew over - oh! Oh, I think I see him!"

"Where!"

The tressym sailed through the air to float beside a tall, slender man who was moving quickly up the aisle toward the exit. He wasn't running, out of proper respect for social decorum, but he had the energy of a man who wished he was. His shoulders were hitched up near his ears and he was stifling his mouth with the back of one hand.

And a shiver ran down Jory's spine.

This was the guy. The wizard. The real one.

Gale Dekarios, of Waterdeep.

In the flesh. Right there.

From what little Jory could see, the play had done him justice. He was a very handsome man, lithe and lean, long-legged with a powerful stride, and every bit as comely as Erik had depicted him to be.

Yet it was hard to imagine, through simple sight alone, that this was a man who had once been the Chosen of a god. Or that this was a man who had once vanquished the avatar of Death itself. A man who had put an end to the Cult of the Absolute.

A man who had once made his own decision about whether or not to plunge a dagger into his heart.

But it was easy to see why Shayla would want to stop him. This man clearly meant something to her.

He didn't know what providence deemed it necessary for him to ask. It certainly wasn't any of his business. But the question tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. Perhaps the gods themselves just wanted to hear someone finally say it out loud.

"Does he know how you feel about him?"

Shayla slumped and let her hands fall limp to her sides. She pulled her lip into her mouth, and her eyes swam with visions of regret. "No," she whispered to him. "It was never the right time."

Oh, how irony could be so cruel.

"You should go after him, then," he told her. "Go quick. If you hurry, you can catch him before he gets to the front door."

"Shit!" she snarled and for a moment, Jory was afraid she'd scurry across the stage in the middle of Corinne's long and emotional speech. There was a wild streak in him that almost hoped she would. But instead, she bolted through the loading bay doors and flung herself outside, presumably to tear down the alley between the theater and the wine cellar to run around the building toward the front.

Nelsyn wandered over to them, sipping cold water from her mug and watching over her shoulder as the loading bay doors swung back and forth on their hinges.

"Jory," she stated flatly. "What did you do."

"What?!" he cried. Sara could only double over and laugh at him. "I didn't do anything!"

"Somebody did something," she said, eyeing the doors skeptically. "And it looks a lot like it was you."

"I'm serious! She asked if we could see him, and I told her yes. That's all."

"See who?"

"The wizard!"

"What wizard? You mean, like… Erik?"

"No!" He stuck out both hands and shook them. "The actual wizard! The real one, from Waterdeep! Yes, he's still alive! No, he didn't explode!"

"Well, everybody knows that…"

"She wanted to know where he was, so I told her, and then she ran out the door."

"Wait. So he was actually here tonight?"

"Jory," Sara accused him, still smiling pitifully at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not all you said to her."

"But I didn't -"

"You asked her a pretty personal question."

"Where was he sitting?" Nelsyn continued as she took another drink and leered at him over the rim over her mug.

"E6."

"Wow. Front and center."

"Yeah. She didn't want him to miss anything."

"So what did you ask her?"

Jory could only roll his eyes and sigh. None of them had time for this. He dropped his head and pinched his brow between his thumb and his forefinger but when he looked up, he found all eyes were on him. Even Erik and Velanthyr had paused their conversation long enough to turn around and stare. The technicians in the back tried to appear as if they weren't listening, but everyone knew they were. Suddenly, he could feel the heat that was trapped beneath the heavy mantle of his bear pelt.

"I asked her if he knew how she felt about him."

"What do you mean, how she felt…" And through the window of her eyes he could see her mentally calculating every single word she'd just sung. Right in front of the very man it was all intended for. Seated front and center, missing nothing. Her eyes flickered like golden flames.

"Holy shit," she breathed. "Like… feelings? Real ones? What did she say?"

He didn't get to answer. Just then, raucous applause erupted from behind them. The thunderous retort of clapping hands and cheers drowned all other sound, and signaled to them all that their time was up. Corinne came skipping backstage as the curtains fell behind her.

"And that's a wrap for me! Slam and a dunk! Go get 'em while they're - what's going on?"

"The wizard was here tonight," Nelsyn answered her without breaking her eye contact with Jory. "The real one. Shayla is in love with him. What did she sayyy?"

"No," he told her, holding very still while Sara dabbed a powder puff over his face. "She said no. He doesn't know."

"Are you serious?" Corinne gasped, pressing a hand to her heart.

"Well he does now," Sara chuckled, wriggling her eyebrows as she dropped the powder back into her cosmetics case. "I hope she caught him before he got away. He deserves an explanation."

And all around them, activity buzzed. Scenic backdrops rolled by, the intern fussed with Velanthyr's wig on her tiptoes, Sara dug frantically around searching for her lip stain, and the other actors began lining up to take their places. But in spite of the jubilant bustle of life happening all around them, Nelsyn could only stand with her mug in her hands, awestruck by the revelation they'd just been given.

"Sweet tapdancing Asmodeus," she laughed, shaking her head with her eyes transfixed on some far away place. "You mean to tell me that this whole time," she jostled the water in her mug when she bellowed, "THIS WHOLE TIME?! This whole play has been just a great big love letter to some… man?! For months?! And he only just heard it? Tonight? For the first time?"

"I think that about sums it up, yep," Sara told her, taking the mug from her hands.

"That's genius!" She shuffled to her place in line, utterly befuddled, her eyes glassy and glazed. "They're star-crossed, it's perfect! I wish this would've happened months ago! Just you wait, you'll see. When all the little fan fic authors out there find out about this? They are gonna go berserk! People everywhere will pay money for a vial of our sweat! The contents of our chamber pots - we'll be famous!

"Gods have mercy on us all. There might even be a sequel. We'll be touring this show til the day we die!"

************************************************************************

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #tav x gale #gale x tav #galemance #bg3 fic #bg3 gale fic #bg3 fan fiction #bg3 gale fan fiction

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

A Punny Kind of Love (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey lovelies! I wrote this in maybe a half hour back in October so I wouldn't be late posting it for Valentine's Day, and guess what I forgot to post for Valentine's Day🙃 Anyways, it's still within the Valentine's Day week, so it counts. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and you and Matt get one another similar gifts.

Warnings: Pure, sweet, domestic and adoring fluff, smut (alluded to, not written)

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 848

“Hey, Matt,” you smile as he walks into the apartment, folding his cane and taking off his glasses, placing both by the door.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he smirks, walking over and pulling me in for a sweet kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Matty.” You reciprocate the message with a kiss, Matt pulling you closer as you try to break the kiss. You erupt into a fit of laughter as you pull away, Matt’s hands gently tracing over your body as he keeps pecking little kisses into your lips.

“I’ve got a lasagna in the oven, a fresh bottle of Macallan’s, oh! And the lovely bouquet of tulips you sent me,” you inform, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Matt smiles, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close and kiss you more. “Surprised, sweetheart?”

“Yes and no,” you say against his lips. “But I love it all the same, Matt. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“What a line,” you giggle as he continues to kiss you. “Let’s go to the couch.”

“Oh?”

“I want to give you your gift.”

“Mm?”

“It’s not sex, you goober!” you cackle. “Well, it’s not sex yet.”

Wriggling out of his hold, you take his hand and guide him to the couch. Halfway there, he slips from your grip and goes to where he keeps his Devil suit, pulling out a red bag before he joins you on the couch.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he smiles as you exchange gifts.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Matt.” You give his knuckles a kiss and squeeze his hand. “Open yours first.”

Pulling his gift out of the bag, you see the confusion work across his face as he tries to figure it out. “It’s . . . A teddy bear,” Matt smiles as he runs his hands over the soft fur of the plushie.

You place your hand over one of his, moving it along the little outfit he’s in.

“Beardevil,” you correct as you guide him over the little helmet he wears. Matt chuckles as he feels over the bear with more attention.

“I knew you loved puns, but this is taking it to a new level,” he chuckles.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes it is,” he continues to laugh, his wide smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle as he leans in for a kiss.

“If you don’t appreciate the layered pun—.”

“No, no, I do. It’s just that you’ve rubbed off on me so much, I made the same pun. Well, almost.”

Leaning over, he picks up the red bag and puts it in my lap. Moving out the tissue paper, you pull out a brown duck plushie that appears to be wearing a miniature version of your favorite suit of Matt’s—the ensemble complete with red spectacles on.

“Let me guess,” you smile as you assess the duck, trying to think of the pun. “Matt Mur-duck?” Matt chuckles again as he nods his head. “The student has become the master, I see.”

“You like it?”

“I love it. Almost as much as his namesake,” you hum as you lean forward to give Matt a kiss. “Plus, I think these two fine fellows are good evidence to protect your identity. I mean, there’s no way a duck can turn into a bear.”

“Well, there’s also supposed to be no way that a blind man can behave like I do.”

“Wait, so what I’m hearing is that Matt Murduck’s pond was polluted with toxic waste and granted him the ability to transform into Beardevil to fight crime?”

“Your brain really does work at a million miles a minute, doesn’t it, angel?” he hums, his voice raspy as his fingers trace the skin on the back of my hand.

“All that’s in there is circus music, babe. Full chaos, a million miles a minute, all the time.”

“Well, let me see if I can do something about that.” Leaning forward, he presses his lips into yours, kissing you slowly as your body moves to a horizontal position on the couch. You gasp and moan as you feel him grind his hips into you, which only makes a smile grow on his stubbled chin.

“Matt,” you murmur against his lips. “Matt . . .”

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he husks, dragging his lips to the sweet spot of your neck.

“Not in front of the duck and bear.”

His kisses stop as his laugh reverberates in your skin. “That’ll be hard the way we have sex.”

“Virgin eyes.”

“They’ll see worse.”

“Please?”

It’s a low blow—you know Matt can’t resist you when you say that single word. With a sigh, he scoops you up in his arms and moves you to the bedroom.

“We’ll be more comfortable here anyways,” he says, kicking the sliding door closed with his foot behind him.

“They’ll hear us.”

“(Y/N).”

“Gotcha,” you smile, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. “Do me, Matty.”

“How romantic,” he beams.

You giggle before you kiss him again. “I love you.”

“Love you more, angel. More than you’ll ever know.”

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effy-writes · 3 months

Text

Addict: (Blitz x Reader)

11: The Circus: The Addiction

cw: angst? lots of drugs

~~~

You stood behind your parents while biting your nails as they were talking to another Imp, Cash Buckzo.

“She can't be shy." Cash pointed out, "Clowns ain't suppose to be shy."

"Let her join, please?" Your mother begged.

"Give me 3 good reasons."

"Well she-"

Cash interrupted your mom, "They need to give me 3 good reasons."

You stopped chewing on your nails and got out from hiding behind your parents. "I'm flexible, have good balance, and have good strength." You gave a toothy grin.

Cash thought about it, "You willin’ to perform today? As an audition? If you amaze me I can keep ya."

Your eyes lit up. "Yes! I won't let you down."

"Better not, how old are ya anyway?"

"10."

"That's my kids age. Let me call 'em over so they can show you around. BLITZO! BARBIE!"

You waited patiently as Cash's kids came running up.

"This is...fuck is your name again?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n, this is Barbie, this is Blitzo. Where's Fizzarolli?"

"You didn't call for him." Blitzo commented.

"Oh..right. Anyway, this might be your new clownmate, depends if she does good today. Show her around." Cash put his hand on your back and pushed you to the twins.

You overheard Cash talking to your parents about money as you were walking with the twins.

They showed you around, introducing you to some other clowns, and showed you the dressing room.

"I like your costume." Barbie complimented.

"Thank you." You sat down in a chair.

"So, what can you do?" Blitzo sat down on the floor.

"Um, I can balance pretty well, and I think I'm strong. I can do a push-up handstand." You grinned. "Oh! And i'm super flexible!"

"No way! Let me see!" Blitzo chimed.

You stood up and took a deep breath in and out. Once you felt like you were ready you put your hands on the ground and swung your legs up to do a handstand. You stayed there for some seconds to balance yourself, then started doing pushups.

"Show off." Barbie teased.

You ended your small routine by turning the handstand into a split by swinging your legs underneath, practically doing a 180.

"Does that hurt?" Blitzo raised an eyebrow.

"Not anymore. Since I was very little I wanted to be a clown but my parents were against the idea. Then they heard about your dad's circus business thingy and pushed me to be a better clown. I didn't mind it though."

You got out of the split and criss crossed your legs, sitting directly in front of Blitzo.

"I can't wait to see your routine! Ooo and then we can have routines together!" He cheered.

"That'll be amazing." You turned your head to Barbie. "What can you do?"

"About the same thing. But Fizz is better than the both of us."

"When can I meet him?"

"I can get him!" Blitzo ran off, leaving you and Barbie together.

"I hope we can be clowns forever in the future." Barbie smiled.

"Me too! It'll be so fun."

Blitzo grabbed Fizzarolli's hand and ran back to the dressing room, "Fizz this is Y/n! Y/n this is Fizz!"

You stood up and shook his hand, "Nice to meet you!"

"You too!"

You waited in the wings, nervously tapping your foot because it's the first performance.

"You got this! I believe in you." Blitzo whispered.

"Thank you." You whispered back.

You waited until it was your cue to go on stage. Once ready, you walked out to the middle of the "stage" and threw your hands in the air like a gymnast.

There was a trampoline next to you, and on the other side was a tall metal pole with a very tiny platform on the top of it.

You jumped on the trampoline, making cute poses before finally landing on top of the platform with your hands.

Your legs did a split in the air before putting them together, and then gently took your other hand away. The crowd cheered seeing a 10 year old hold herself up with one hand. Blitzo’s eyes lit up.

You pushed your body weight up with your hands and landed on the tiny platform on your feet. The crowd cheered for you as you bowed and slid down the metal pole.

You ran inside the wings and saw Blitzo with a huge smile on his face. "That was AMAZING!"

"Do you think your dad will let me join?"

"He better."

"Good job, Y/n!" Fizzarolli hugged you.

At the end of the show, Cash pulled you aside and told you that you're officially part of the circus. You began to thank him, trying to act professional but on the inside you were screaming.

Your parents called you over, "Did you see my performance! Mr. Buckzo likes me!"

"Yeah, yeah look sweetie," Your mom started, "You need to keep it up and do better. The better you are, the more he's going to pay us, got it?"

You agreed, but didn't mind getting better. You always believed that there's room for improvement.

During your time at the circus, you would do routines with Barbie, which just consisted of dancing with silks. Very few routines with Fizz, but the audience goes wild whenever the two of you swing on trapeze's.

But you would always prefer to do routines with Blitzo. Your favorite one was when you both are on tight ropes.

You would do some tricks and flips on it, and at the end Blitzo would come swinging in and catch you by the hands.

Two years later the routines became harder. Fizz would outshine all of them, but you and Barbie didn't care, Blitzo however became jealous.

And so did your parents.

"Y/n!" Your mom called. You were out in the wings, shaking your head no, mentally telling that her that you can't come because your act is coming up soon.

However, your mom kept calling you over. You sighed and ran over to where she was. "Yeah?"

"Take these." Your mom handed you a bottle of pills.

Curiously, you looked at the label, "Adderal?"

"It'll help you perform. Outshine Fizzarolli." Your dad commented.

"But I don't need these." You handed them the bottle.

"Come on, please? Do it for us. We need the money you know." Your mom begged.

You didn't have enough time to debate. You opened the bottle and poured 3 pills onto your hand and quickly popped them in your mouth.

You dried swollowed and gagged a bit, making it in enough time to where it was your turn.

Fizzarolli just ended his act, the crowd cheering his name. He bowed and gave a thumbs up to you whenever he made it back to the wings.

You felt your heart race before the euphoria. You had so much energy that you wanted to add more to the routine.

You ran out there and tumbled, doing cartwheels, back handsprings, and back flips. The crowd cheered, making your smile grew bigger. You loved this attention.

You climbed up the metal pole, thinking about the routine you were supposed to do when you were 10, but adding in a backbend onto the tiny platform.

But you wanted to do something that you didn't practice yet, a backflip.

You took a deep breath in and out, preparing yourself. You jumped up and did a back flip before landing perfectly onto the less than-shoulder-width platform.

The crowd cheered for your name way louder than Fizzarolli's. You looked for your parents approval and they were astounded.

After the show Blitzo and Fizzarolli ran into the dressing room.

"Holy shit!" Fizz yelled, "That was amazing! I'm jealous." He faked frown.

"I just feel SO energized! It's crazy! Oh my god I love you guys!" You pulled them into a bear hug.

"Woah calm down Y/n." Blitzo pulled away.

"Sorry! I feel so euphoric! Where's Barbie?"

"Hanging out with her friends," Fizzarolli replied. "No but seriously how did you do that?"

"My parents gave me some Adderal or some shit to help me not get tired." You didn't want to tell them the complete truth about how your parents wants you to do better, better than anyone. Better than Fizz.

"Isn't that cheating?" Fizz questioned.

"No, it's just stronger coffee." You smiled.

"Mr. Buckzo wants me to rehearse singing while doing tight rope. Sounds stupid but I don't want to make him mad, see ya guys later!" Fizzarolli ran out.

You started to lose your energy. You sat down in the chair, Blitzo pulling up another chair to sit across from you.

"You did amazing." He smiled.

"You did too!" Your voice started to get quieter.

"Eh you're just saying that. You look tired."

You yawned, "Because I am. I guess it's leaving my system."

"Can I have some?"

"It's my parents. I don't think they'll let you."

"You can sneak it to me." He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh, "True."

From ages 12-13 you would take Adderal, but your performance got sloppier again. Your body acclimated to the stimulant. You didn't care too much about it. Every once in a while though you'll crave more adderal to help you perform.

Before another performance your parents pulled you aside, "Got you something," Your dad pulled out a baggy full of white powder.

"Is that coke? You can't bring that in here!" You lowered the baggy.

"You're getting sloppier Y/n, the last performances we can see that you're losing your skill. Snort a finger nail size of this for us tomorrow, please?" Your mom begged.

"We need the money, we're doing this for you."

You looked down at your feet and took the baggy, stuffing it in your bra. "I'm gonna go hang out with my friends." You mumbled, walking inside the tent that Blitzo and Fizzarolli was at.

"You okay?" Fizz asked.

You gave them a prompted smile before sitting down crisscross on the floor.

"You stuffing your bra now?" Blitzo laughed, pointed at the bag that's in your shirt.

You placed a hand over your chest, "No." You snapped.

Fizzarolie glared at Blitzo.

"It was a joke." He put his hands up in defense. "But there is something in your shirt."

"Like you don't think I know that?" You blurted, looking down at the ground and shook your head slowly. "Sorry it's just.." You stopped yourself , you didnt want to tell them in fear of your parents. You're afraid that if they tell, then your parents will get mad at you, and on top of that get kicked out of the circus for cheating. "...I was wanting bigger boobs." You bullshitted.

Blitzo let out a laughter, "Sorry, that's funny as fuck."

"Why?"

He shrugged, "A lot of people do that, didn't expect you to."

"I think you look good." Fizzorolie smiled.

"Thanks, Fizz." You stood up. "I'm gonna go practice."

You ran off to your own dressing room and hid the baggy underneath the underwear. You're debating whether or not to actually do it tomorrow. You do like the feeling of stimulants. It makes you focus, energized, strong, but on the other end it is sort of cheating in a way.

The very next day was the first time you tried coke. The high was way better than adderal, by 10x. You wanted this feeling forever.

You waited in the wings on the platform. Before you had to go on, you tied yourself up in this rope, and the moment the song started playing you did the routine.

The rope swung beautifully as you untied yourself, holding onto the rope with one hand with it swinging in circles while you were "walking" on air.

The rope skinned your hands, but you didn't fall because of the strength that coke gave you, (really it's just a fuck ton of adrenaline.)

The rope was like your strip pole, doing pole dancing tricks on a single, carpeted rope. Once you were done you bowed, waved, and then ran off into the wings.

Your hands were red and bleeding from the carpet burn, but you were so pumped up it didn't matter.

"Holy shit Y/n! How can I top that?" Blitzo pulled you into a hug. When he pulled away he caught a look of your hands. "Fuck, you went hard on that routine. Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh yeah Im fine! I feel great as shit!" You threw your head back.

"How can I top that?" Fizz laughed. "No but seriously, good job! I gotta go on now."

"Break a leg! Love you!" You shouted.

Fizz made a heart with his hands before running off. You turned to Blitzo with a huge smile, "What's your routine?" You were practically shaking with adrenaline.

"Uh, I didn't get one. Are you feeling alright? Your hands are bloody and you're weirdly hyper...like it's kinda worrisome."

"Oh I'm fineee, seriously it's all good." You put your hands on your hips.

"Uh huh, right." Blitzo stared into your bug eyes, pupils taking up your irises. "Y/n...are you high?"

You giggled, "Only a little. My parents—" You caught yourself , ".... don't know about...so don't say anything."

Blitzo smirked, "Can I have some?"

You shook your head, "No, I don't want to waste them. I need them to perform for energy." You're just being greedy, you wanted this feeling forever. You feel like you can accomplish anything.

"Boo, you whore. Anyway go clean your hands."

You looked down at your hands and cringed, not realizing it was this bad.

30 minutes later you got hit with a wave of fatiguedness. You stumbled and fell onto the floor of the dressing room. Trying to get up but was too tired to do anything.

You curled up into a fetal position and rested your eyes before getting awoken by Blitzo.

"Pstt, Y/n." He nudged you with his foot.

"Hm?"

"Get up, my dad wants to talk to you."

"Mm no. Tired."

"You're making this difficult." He said under his breath and dragged you by the legs to his dad. He got stares from his circus-mates.

"Here Dad, Y/n isn't feeling too good." He lied for you. He knew you were going through withdrawals but didn't really care that much. He knows you're safe, careful, not reckless, so he figured he doesn't have to worry about anything.

"What's wrong with her?" He scoffed.

Blitzo shrugged, "That routine did a number on her." He chuckled.

"Yeah, I can see." Cash looked at your bandaged up hands. "Wake up!" He nudged you with his cane.

"I'm awake." You whined.

"You got a gig for the lust ring."

"She’s 14." Blitzo remarked.

"Chill, it's not a stripper joint, it's a dance joint. Anyway, I get a lot of money so you're doing it."

"Mm, okay." You mumbled.

"Your parents already knows, but they left already so eh, whatever. Okay Blitzo, you can drag her out now."

Blitzo sighed and dragged you again to the dressing room. He found a fluffy jacket and placed it on top of you.

Months later you would snort coke every night on top of performances. Then it was multiple times a day, multiple times a night, multiple times for the performances.

You would tell yourself that you need it to be a better performer, but in reality you're addicted to the feeling.

You're a functioning addict, hardly anybody knows about your addiction other than Blitzo, Fizzarolli, and Barbie.

Barbie keeps telling you that it's bad, and that she can tell coke is changing you physically.

"Yeah but I'm skinnier." You rebuttal.

Barbie soon got tired of you and your obsession with stimulants.

Fizzarolli was starting to worry about your safety, but Blitzo kept telling him that you're fine and safe, "She’s not hurting herself."

"Alright, folks! Give it up for the king of all things greeeed! Hell's number one clown! The money-maker himself!"

You, Blitzo, and Fizzarolie, went to the greed ring to see Mammon's show. The three cheered along with the crowd.

You just did a line of coke in the bathroom before the show started, so far Blitzo and Fizzarolli hasn't noticed.

"Heya, implings! How're you little cunts doing tonight? I hope you're ready for the best fucking show you will ever see in your...shit lives!" Mammon spins his guitar. "Right. I got tons of really fuckin' cool shit for you 'ere tonight. But, first, how many of you worthless bitches wanna be big clowns like me someday?"

"I do! I do!" The three imps cheered.

"Well, I'm happy to announce that I will be starting up a new, yearly clown pageant! You know- Like one 'a them fucked up beauty contests, but for clowns, so it's better!"

"Pick me!" You climbed on top of Blitzo's shoulders.

"Christ on a stick Y/n, damn." He positioned himself so he won't drop you.

"Hol' your horses!" Mammon pointed at you.

"I like horses!" Blitzo yelled.

"I can't wait to see all the new talent I can exploi-" He caught himself, "- u-um, fuck. Wait, I mean enjoy... uh, watching me grow my empire! Also, if you're a chick, maybe give up on your dreams now. Cause, I'm not gonna lie: women just ain't funny." Mammon blurted.

"Ugh, fuck him Im done." You tried to get off of Blitzo but fell.

"Holy shit, you okay?"

"Yeah...I'm fine." You said as you couldn't stop laughing.

Blitzo and Fizzarolli did a pronounced a sigh and helped you up since you were too busy laughing.

"Lay off the coke for a fucking minute, please!" Fizz scowled at you.

"Calm down, she’s not hurting anyone." Blitzo came in defense.

"Herself." Fizz spat, “You’re just in denial,” He said, turning his attention back on Mammon.

“I’m not!…in denial.” He mumbled.

"Anyway, CLOWNS!"

~~~

"Alright, I'm gonna say it. That was too many clowns." Blitzo laughed.

"I have to win that pageant someday. Can you imagine how amazing it would be to get to work with him?"

"Eh, he sounds like a dick." You yawned.

"You were screaming for his name." Blitzo acknowledge.

"Probably because she was on coke." Fizzarolli mumbled.

"Oh come on! I was having funnn." You whined.

"Just stop getting cracked out everyday, okay? I know you use them for your performances to make you perform better, in which by the way I'm not happy about that." He narrowed his eyes.

You were wanting to tell them about your parents, but felt afraid to. "I'll stop, I promise." You gave him a reassuring smile.

"But back to the topic, I really want to work for him!"

"What's the point? Isn't being the star of our imp circus enough? Plenty of people already know who you are, Fizz. You don't need to go work for Mammon like some creepy mascot."

Blitzo doesn't think I'm a star? Should I try something stronger? No that's stupid, I'm already on thin ice.

You were slowly going into withdrawals. You wanted to pass out so bad. The two boys were talking to each other and didn't notice how slow you were walking.

"Blitzo, do you think I could win if I worked really hard? - I think..."

" I think if anyone's gonna be the new clown face on everything...it'll be you, Fizz." He pulled Fizz into a side hug.

You felt an intense jealousy. What about me?

"Where's Y/n?" Fizz looked to the side and then turned around. "Hurry up!" He yelled out.

You groaned and slowly ran to catch up. "Sorry..just really tired."

"Yeah I bet." Fizzarolli rolled his eyes.

~~~

When you turned 17 you ended up taking Meth. It did help with the performances, hell you were great. Meth gave you the same applauses that Fizzarolli received.

He wanted to be happy for you, but you were cheating. Fizz considered you as a sibling, and he didn't want to hurt your feelings. He tried for the longest time to not talk to you about it but eventually 2 years later confronted you.

After your performance (which it will be your last) you rushed to the dressing room and did some stretching to help you be more flexible.

"Y/n? Can we talk?" Fizz wrapped his tail around his legs.

"Come in!"

"We need to talk." He pulled you up from the floor and made you sit in a chair. Your leg bouncing because you can't sit still. "You need to seriously lay off the stimulants. Which one are you on now? Because this does not sound like coke."

"It's meth." You laughed.

"Dude! Seriously? What the fuck!"

"Shh don't say anything to anybody." You stood up.

"I think I do. This is getting out of hand."

"You're just saying that because you're jealous." You placed your pointer finger on his chest.

"No, you're cheating. Look Y/n, I know you can do this sober. I remember your performances when you were 10! You were great!" He tried to give you a hopeful smile.

You let out a shaky breath. "No, I need them. I'm not good without them."

Fizz frowned. "Just try, please? I'm also concerned about your safety."

"No, I just think you're pissed because i'm "cheating"." You scoffed.

"But i'm more worried!"

You shook your head and shoved him out the way. Fizz called for you, but you didn't want to talk to him.

You made your way outside of the tents and sat on a bench, placing your head on your hands and repeatedly shook your head.

"Get it together, Y/n. Fizz doesn't know what he's talking about." You're addicted. "I'm not addicted, I need it to perform better." You mumbled to yourself. "You like the feeling of stimulants, you don't care about the circus, you're only using that excuse because you don't want to admit you're addicted...Oh shut the fuck up. I'm fine...But your-

"Are you talking to yourself?" Blitzo startled you.

"Christ on a stick you scared me. And no."

Blitzo cocked an eyebrow, "I heard your conversation to yourself." He sat down. "I know you're addicted to stimulants, don't try to hide that."

"Did Fizz talk to you." You narrowed your eyes.

"No. Just...try to stop? I don't really know what to say." He shrugged.

"My whole life since I've been here I have been constantly judged for needing a little help." Your voice sounded agitated.

"Yeah but eventually you started taking them every day. All i'm telling you is to cut it down for a bit, alright?"

"I don't need you to tell me what to do." You stood up. "Already get that enough from my parents." You mumbled, but Blitzo didn't catch that.

Blitzo sighed and stood up from the bench as well. "I'm gonna go back inside, you coming?"

"No, I just need time to think."

"Fair enough. See ya." He walked inside the circus tent.

~~~

"Y/n where the hell did you go?" Blitzo called you. As of right now you're at your dealers house.

"I quit the circus."

"No shit. You decided to leave days before Fizz's birthday?"

"I needed to get away from the circus, I'm sorry."

"Can you tell me where you're at?" His voice softened.

You scanned the house you were at. Your dealer was shooting up H8, people was passed out high or drunk, an orgy was going on upstairs, and the house was full of smoke, food, and trash.

"I'm safe." You hung up.

~~~

5 miss calls from Blitzo 🐴

20 texts from Blitzo 🐴

15 miss calls from Blitzo 🐴

"Thank you for watching 666 News, a freak fire accident happened at the local Imps circus. Total of 14 died, 30 severely injured, and 50 mild injuries. Star circus performer, Fizzarolli, lost all four limbs in the fire."

The news showed some clips from the fire, you saw Blitzo running out of the circus holding his left side of his face.

"Blitzo?..."

"Here are the pictures of the victims who had sadly passed away. Let's give a moment of silence."

You stared at the TV, recognizing some of the people, but the last picture your jaw dropped, Tilla Wire.

"Next up on the news: is piss kinks really that bad?"

Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. Your hands were shaking as you were trying to light the pipe, but got aggravated and threw it. Your screams and sobs could be heard from the entire house. Some of the imps you were living with glared at you for making so much noise.

Your phone rang again and saw it was Blitzo. You didn't want to answer him. For some reason you can't bring yourself to answer his calls or to even call to check on him. You feel like a shitty friend for ignoring him, but it's for the best. You don't want to keep hurting him, so you have to end this friendship.

It kills you, but so is this addiction.

#helluva boss #cross posted on wattpad #blitz x reader #blitzo x reader #blitzø x reader #tw drugs #angst?

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