#everybody wants to be a clown on the inside i think

[child-of-the-cosmos]

Blacked out after I watched The Amazing Digital Circus, and drew this

Behold, clown lady my beloved.

#everybody wants to be a clown on the inside i think #like #no worries #just squeaky honk honk nose #you either become the clown #or the jester #or both #there is no inbetween #no wait #technically wouldn't becoming both be like Inbetween the two?? #okay so now i stand corrected #moral of the story.... #*THROWS VERY SHINY BALL ON FLOOR* #OMG LOOK DISTRACTION LOOK LOOK LOOK- #my art #fanart #digital circus #the amazing digital circus #tadc pomni

[darling--angst-archived]

Yan!Doa and Reader who's two faced—highschool au

Pairing: Nikolai, Fyodor, Sigma x Reader (separate)

Type: Headcanons

Genre: Yandere???

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, stalking, obsession, invasion of privacy, mentions of blackmail,

Synopsis: The new semester started and a new batch of students come to Yokohama International school after JHS, that included you. However, you caught the attention of the top members of the student council

A/n: I took a break from making your oneshot requests because I'm hesitant to make one where Ranpo has an s/o who uses drugs, mind you I have no knowledge in drugs whatsoever. I literally made this a week before my semester starts.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

He is popular among all the years whether it be the seniors or the juniors.

He was what people call the perfect student.

All his grades are perfect, and he was handsome, he's also the president of the student council

Face of the council

He won many awards throughout every year.

Represents the music club with his cello

Though, he finds praises meaningless, after all they are just empty words.

He saw himself as the saviour of all the pathetic and imperfect humans.

At first he loved how when he walked in the hallways everybody would turn their attention on him and sang praises.

When he sees a new student, his first move is to make an impression(which he thinks as too easy).

He was quiet, he never got involved in trouble, he 'helped' those who asked.

He saw himself as an incarnation of an Angel, the path to salvation from their sins.

But he eventually got bored, then you came in.

He first thought to play you to 'save' you and then, he grew realize that you aren't a simple sinner but something else..

He saw you as his 'equal', and plans to have you one way or another.

Saw your true face while reading a book or smth

He'll make the first move and confront you abt it.

Will blackmail you with that information if needed only you refuse to be his.

Nikolai Gogol

He's mostly loved by the juniors but at the same is weirded out by him.

Most seniors think of him as a laughing stock

He's part of the student and always takes a seat next to Fyodor

(it means that his position is next to Fyodor's, making him the second highest in the student committee)

Which many finds shocking

He is academically gifted, when he's not paying attention and a teacher asks him to solve something, he'll joke abt it first but solves it with no struggles whatsoever.

Probably still a clown

He likes messing with Sigma.

He pranked him while sleeping one time and dear lord everybody knew what he did.

Loves to prank teachers, juniors, senior, anyone, no everyone.

Almost got expelled for a reason nobody knows

Most thinks he bribes the teacher that's why he gets top grades.

Can be smart if he wants to.

You can ALWAYS find him inside detention, the bathroom, or teacher's office.

He would go on measures just to make sure you aren't with anybody else.

Def would use the security cameras to see you.

He saw your true face because of this and he never loved you more. (He hated manipulative people but not you since you aren't manipulating them, kinda??)

Will use the information to his advantage

If you started dating someone, he'll blackmail you.

He loves the way you think and your view of the cruel people around you.

He would play along with your act.

Sigma

He's timid

Many saw him as a sweet individual who's willing to help others

He's loved by all the teachers and juniors because of how kind he is.

Loved by most of the student council.

Def has a lot of junior fangirls

He despises dislikes Nikolai Gogol. He would definitely avoid him.

Manages the complaints of the students or the internal affairs teachers are too lazy to do.

Has to clean up after Nikolai because Fyodor ordered him to.

Knows something is wrong about Fyodor but can't figure out what.

He thinks of you as an innocent angel who he has to protect.

He once saw your true face but thought that it's normal to get angry.

Hates when Nikolai touches you/is around you.

He'd be clenching his fist when monitoring things during break time.

Will never try to hurt you in anyway possible like the other two.

Nikolai's number one prank victim. Some even pity Sigma.

One time in JHS, when he was sleeping his hair had bubblegum in it(Nikolai did it) so Nikolai suggested he cut it.

...he did.. and that's the origin of his bad double bowl cut.

Would treat you to lunch on whatever you want.

Rich.

A/n: I'd make a oneshot/series about this, maybe.? Whichever you guys prefer I guess...

#bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfics #bsd fic #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #decay of angels x reader #decay of angels #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungo stray dogs nikolai #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol #gogol nikolai #nikolai x reader #gogol x reader #bsd gogol #yandere bsd #yandere #sigma bungou stray dogs #bsd sigma #bungo stray dogs #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd headcanons #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader

[compactstreamer]

(source)

Transcript below the cut:

Roscoe: You could say Jerma985 is something of a performance artist. He creates huge, elaborate, surreal productions complete with cast and crew, and it's all streaming live for hundreds of thousands on viewers on Twitch. NPR's Alex Cheng takes us inside Jerma's latest big show, a baseball game between clowns and magicians, to ask how—and more importantly—why?

[clip of Sportscaster continues in background: Welcome to Carshield Field, where we have Jerma Baseball Association action for you!]

Cheng: At a baseball stadium in suburban St. Louis...

[Sportscaster: ...a big-time match-up between the California Circus and the Maryland Magicians...]

Cheng: ...a team of clowns in full face makeup and baseball uniforms runs out onto the field. Those clowns played a four-hour game of baseball in real time against the Magicians in the opposing dugout, and tens of thousands of viewers tuned into the live-stream on Twitch. There were breathtaking acrobatic displays...

[Sportscaster: Actually we've got three outfielders unicycling currently!]

Cheng: ... and even the umpire himself stepped up to the plate.

[Sportscaster: The umpire is about to enter this game for California?!]

Cheng: That umpire was the mastermind behind the whole show, Jeremy Elbertson, better known as the streamer Jerma985.

Jerma: I'm just, y'know, calling balls and strikes and doing all these wacky things. I'm just, in my mind I'm going "I hope this is funny. I hope this is funny. I hope this is funny."

Cheng: To create this high-production fantasy world, Jerma had to hire real baseball players, real circus performers, and actors from across the country who wanted to play make-believe. He gave his cast an outline of the baseball game, along with pages and pages of gags he'd come up with, but he let them make decisions on the fly.

Jerma: It's like a live comedy improv show.

Cheng: And Jerma says the real key is his relationship with his streaming audience on Twitch.

Jerma: I'm coming up with a scenario that I think is a fun time for everybody. That's all I care about.

Cheng: Cecilia D'Anastasio covers the video game industry for Bloomberg. She says these big, performance-arty shows are unusual for Twitch.

D'Anastasio: What Twitch's bread and butter is, is a streamer going about their life quite casually and playing video games and just chatting with their fanbases.

Cheng: So why does Jerma do these shows on Twitch, instead of making a movie or a TV show? Well, for one, the liveness of the platform creates a unique sense of unreality, and of course, money is always a consideration.

Jerma: Movies are expensive. Way more expensive than trying to get a bunch of people together to do a show on Twitch for a few hours.

Cheng: Jerma studied communications and video production in college. Then, about a decade ago, he started messing around on YouTube.

[clip of Jerma continues in background: Hello Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to episode one of Jermacraft!]

Cheng: Several years later, he switched his focus to Twitch. He mostly streamed normal gaming stuff, which he still does plenty of, but he also tried a couple of small, outside-the-box experiments, like hooking himself up to a lie detector to answer questions from viewers, or...

Jerma: I hired a fake family to come be my family at a family dinner.

Cheng: Jerma built a team of collaborators, some from his tight-knit viewer community, and together they started staging bigger and bigger events. Things hit a high point in August of 2021 with the Jerma985 Dollhouse Stream.

[Jerma Dollhouse theme music plays in background]

Cheng: Imagine a live-action version of the video game The Sims, on a sound stage, with a big cast and crew, and starring, of course, Jerma.

Jerma: The nature of that whole show was "I'm a person in a house, you get to decide what I get to do."

Cheng: Over three days of streams, Jerma's viewers made him simulate eating, sleeping. They even made him fight a bear.

[clip of Jerma in the dollhouse: You wanna do what?!?]

Cheng: Or at least, a guy in a bear costume.

[clip continues with Jerma yelling, bear grunting, and audience applause]

Cheng: The show was a smash hit. The third day of the Dollhouse peaked at over 100,000 concurrent viewers. That's a lot for Twitch. Cecilia D'Anastasio at Bloomberg says popular streamers can make good money on the platform.

D'Anastasio: Subscriptions, donations from fans, advertising, sponsorship deals.

Cheng: But Jerma's big shows are way more expensive than sitting in a gamer chair playing Elden Ring. They may not be on the scale of a movie, but Jerma says some of his productions can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, so he has to find big-money sponsors for his events.

Jerma: It can be a real challenge trying to convince a team of marketing people, "Hey so there's this idea, it's gonna cost a lot of money, and it's gonna be really fun, don't you think?"

Cheng: And some big sponsors are seeing the potential. Jerma says the shows are paying for themselves. For the Dollhouse stream, Coinbase chipped in, and Jerma found new sponsors for the baseball stream. Here's D'Anastasio again.

D'Anastasio: It's not that the streaming space is maturing, it's that it has matured.

Cheng: But even if Jerma's big shows are making money now, he knows there are no guarantees in the world of live-streaming.

Jerma: Nobody really knows how long this is gonna last. Does this evolve and become even larger than it is now, or does it go bust at some point?

[clip of Sportscasters continues in background: And oh my goodness, everyone clearing the dugout!--oh, clearing the bench--the Maryland Magicians... oh my goodness, this is bad!]

Cheng: Why fight for a vision that's so hard to explain and even harder to realize? Like making clowns brawl with magicians on a baseball diamond.

[Sportscasters: Oh boy--utter chaos!--This is just an all-out brawl, the mascots are stripping down...]

Jerma: Why not? It sounds like fun, and it seems like something that could make a lot of people happy, so I'm gonna do it.

Cheng: Alex Cheng, NPR News.

[instrumental outro music plays]

#jerma #jerma985

[8aji]

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move. 

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body. 

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny. 

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard. 

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke. 

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with. 

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features. 

No. 

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got. 

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing. 

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside. 

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder. 

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man. 

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status. 

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’. 

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling. 

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue. 

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break. 

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop. 

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call. 

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out. 

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself. 

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response. 

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth. 

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go. 

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded 

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.” 

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro. 

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake. 

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him. 

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried. 

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay. 

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach. 

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.” 

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend. 

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist. 

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps. 

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real. 

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you. 

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain? 

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?” 

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench. 

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital,  you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down. 

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility. 

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil. 

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.” 

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it. 

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks. 

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there. 

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits. 

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach. 

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together. 

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor. 

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings. 

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right? 

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting. 

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded. 

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity. 

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side. 

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you. 

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you? 

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you. 

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker. 

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…” 

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up. 

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand. 

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame. 

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital. 

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups. 

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took. 

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess 

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?” 

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?” 

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy. 

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting. 

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue. 

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t. 

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you. 

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?” 

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought. 

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself. 

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low. 

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak. 

Being weak is all you’ve ever known. 

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue. 

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am, 

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?” 

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you. 

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.” 

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’. 

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips, 

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite. 

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself. 

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.” 

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.” 

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process. 

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve. 

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest. 

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!” 

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now. 

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?” 

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?” 

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines. 

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct. 

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense. 

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

© 2023 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work. affiliated with @tokyometronetwork

#shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano fluff #shinichiro fluff #sano shinichiro x you #shinichiro x you #tr fluff #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #master collection. #tr collection. #shinichiro sano angst #shinichiro angst #tr angst #tokyo revengers angst #tw smoking #tw hospitals #tw anxiety #tw mentions of death

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 5 - Turn the Lights Off

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

Pairing: OPLA Buggy x f!Reader

Synopsis: In lieu of therapy, Professor Buggy agrees to giving you pirate lessons.

Word Count: 9.6k

Notes: It's Sunday again, here is your clown. If last week was the stick, here is the carrot. Next week is the riding.

“Everybody likes to get taken for turns To see how bright the fire inside of us burns And everybody wants to get evil tonight But all good devil's masquerade under the light”

xxx

“Blink,” Pippa said. You blinked, staring up at the ceiling as she coated your eyelashes with mascara, holding stock still to avoid getting poked in the eye. There was only the one to spare. “Blink.” You blinked. She recoated the wand in product, wiggling it along your bottom eyelashes to paint them too. 

Asking Pippa to help you get ready had unearthed a long-buried memory, one of sitting by Mom’s vanity and watching her apply makeup thinking that one day, you would be a beautiful grown-up woman who would do the same. The glamor of it all enticed your childish self, the allure of being beautiful sparking up some immature fantasy of romance. To the extent that you could remember, Mom had been a gorgeous woman. 

What would Captain Buggy think of you if you looked more like her? If you hadn’t been so sickly, if you hadn’t gotten in an accident, if you had learned to make yourself look beautiful, if things had been different, would he like you more?

“Hey,” Pippa said, snapping in front of your face, forcing you back to attention. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, of course,” you said, forcing an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s creepy when you stare like that, like one of those porcelain dolls.” She pursed her lips, contemplating your face. You fought the urge to pull down your bandana. “I’ll add some blush. That might add a little life back into your face. Smile wide.” 

You smiled as wide as you could, although it probably looked like more of a grimace. While Pippa blushed your cheeks with a big fluffy brush, you kept blinking as if to free your eyelid of the extra weight of mascara on your lashes. The inky product was heavy enough, how Captain Buggy could stand wearing false eyelashes, you had no idea. 

“Do you really think Captain Buggy will like this?” you asked when she set aside the brush. You tugged at the long sleeves of the dress, nervously pulling at the skirt’s hem to bring it down a little lower. Unlike the loose, plain dress Crina had lent you, this one drew attention with its vivid striped pattern of red and white, notably fitted bodice, and ruffle trim. Wearing it made your skin crawl, made you want to shrivel up to hide from anyone who might notice you. But you weren’t allowed to feel that anymore. Determination meant squishing the part of yourself that was too weak to embrace a new version of yourself, the one that was stuck in the past. 

“I think he’s a man,” Pippa said, making a little adjustment to your twintails, spraying your hair with something to keep the strays in place. “If you really wanted to impress him, you’d be better off wearing nothing at all.” She glanced at your face, her expression softening at your horrified expression. “You look good,” she reassured you. “He’ll like it.”   

You nodded, exhaling in an attempt to ease the knot in your chest. “Thank you for helping me.”

“How could I turn a blind eye to such a tragedy?” Pippa asked. “You’re too cute for those awful sweaters.” She stepped back, taking it all in with her lips pursed before nodding with satisfaction. “Okay, you’re ready.”

You weren’t entirely sure you were ready, but it didn’t matter. 

“Thank you, Pippa.”

“Remember that you’re doing this for you too,” she told you. “You look like one of us now.”

“Right, that’s… that’s true. I’ll see you later,” you told her, smoothing the skirt one more time before taking off for the galley. 

Walking with the skirt swishing around your thighs was stranger than you would have thought. It felt flirty, in a way. Or inviting. Pippa had lent you a pair of lace trimmed bloomers that would protect your modesty while scaling the ladder or if you were caught by a stray gust of wind, but everything from your mid-thigh down was exposed. 

Ignore it. Pretend you didn’t even feel the discomfort.

You picked up your and the captain’s breakfast, following the increasingly familiar routine. From the kitchen to the officer’s mess to Captain Buggy’s cabin door. Then you balanced the tray on your hip and unlocked the door, showing yourself in and setting the tray on the table. 

“Captain?” you called, peeking around the doorway into his room. Buggy laid in bed with his eyes closed, but you could tell he was already awake by the way his face scrunched up in response to your voice. “Good morning, Captain Buggy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. A moment later, he groaned dramatically, sitting up with his eyes still shut. “Get my-” The last word was lost in a yawn. You grabbed his robe, bringing it over while he pried his eyes open. 

Sleepily, he looked at you, and then did a double take, blinking his red-rimmed eyes over and over like he couldn’t quite make out what he was looking at. You touched your hair, trying to pull it forward before you remembered it was pulled into tails. Instead, your hand dropped lamely, tugging at your bandana. He was going to insult you, or say you looked ridiculous. He was going to laugh. You could feel it, could sense it. 

Instead, he just stared.

“Sir?” you prompted, holding out his robe. 

“Did you do something different with your hair?” he asked, his voice husky and groggy.  

The question took you by surprise, it was almost a letdown after such a prolonged buildup of nerves. “Um… Yes, sir.”

“Huh.” Still looking dazed, he shook his head and took the robe, swinging his feet onto the floor to stand up. You hurried ahead into the other room, setting up his breakfast while he lumbered in. You took your seat, trying to calm down. You needed to act normal. 

Buggy didn’t seem especially interested, coming in with a massive yawn he didn’t bother to cover, scratching his chest absently before dropping into the chair. He blinked again a few times, and then looked at you. His eyes were rimmed with the same shade of red as his nose, glazed over. You smiled nervously, but couldn’t maintain eye contact, looking back down at the table. You wanted to start talking immediately, the words had been stewing in your head all night, but now that he was there, you couldn’t find them.

He looked like he cared more about breakfast anyway. Of all the meals, it was the one he took the most seriously, probably because he was so slow to wake up most days. Your stomach was a snarling nest of knots, but if you didn’t eat, Buggy would be annoyed. After so long without regular meals, and certainly not the hearty—if unsavory—foods favored by pirates, eating everything at every meal was a tough adjustment, sometimes it laid in your stomach like a brick. But you did it, gritting your teeth and choking down every last bite. When you swore to do anything he asked, you meant it. 

Reasonably, only minutes could have passed, but it felt like much, much longer before he finished his breakfast. Buggy leaned back and belched, rolling his head around to stretch his neck. He yawned again for good measure, and then looked at you. 

Now or never, right?

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, willing yourself to not be so self-conscious. “I thought about what you said yesterday.”

“What?” 

“About me,” you prompted. “Don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, right,” he said. “Of course I remember.”

You couldn’t tell if he meant that or not, but you were too wound up to say anything other than the words you had carefully prepared. “I want to fit in with the rest of the crew. Like you said, I want to—to be different. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to be a pirate, I really do.”

He blinked. “Is that why you’re dressed like Santa’s favorite little elf?” 

“Oh, I… Um. Kind of,” you said, fidgeting uncomfortably. “If you don’t like it I can-”

“Woah, woah, I never said I don’t like it,” he said, cutting you off. “Come over here, let me get a closer look.” 

You stood up, adjusting your skirt, and rounded the table so he could see the whole outfit. It was a different sort of discomfort than you felt around everybody else. Anticipatory, anxious, excited. When other people looked at you, you didn’t want to be seen. You didn’t want them to think about how pathetic you were for trying, or how unattractive you were, or judge you for things that weren’t true. When Captain Buggy looked at you, you wanted him to see your bare legs and the tighter bodice, you wanted him to think you had value, to think of you as somebody worth looking at. And you didn’t. You wanted to hide from his pretty eyes out of fear that he would think you were trying too hard, and that you were as unappealing as you knew you were.

“I like the hair,” he said. “Doesn’t really help with the whole creep thing, but it's cute that you wanna look like me.”

You reached up to tug on one of the twintails. You hadn’t even considered the similarities to how Captain Buggy wore his hair when he had his hat on. “Creep thing?”

“Come on,” Buggy said wryly. “You’re like two feet tall. Unless you’ve got the goods on display, I look like one of those weirdos runnin’ around with a kid sidekick.”

You self-consciously stood up a little taller, frowning. It wasn’t like Buggy was that tall, and it wasn’t your fault. That’s what Crina said. 

Stunted development.

“Speaking of,” Buggy said, ignorant of your unpleasant thoughts. He reached out to pinch the fabric of your skirt, using it to pull you a step closer, “aren’t you worried about wearing a skirt like this? I’m relieved you’re loosening up, but there are some things you might wanna leave just between us.” 

“I’m wearing shorts underneath,” you told him, flushing at the reminder that he had seen you in your underwear before. You still had no idea what had happened to Crina’s dress.  

Buggy’s playful smile dropped as he lifted your skirt to look at the shorts. You wanted to smack his hand away and step back, but you didn’t. The shorts were completely opaque, he couldn’t see anything. It was fine. 

“Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of wearing a skirt?” Buggy asked, releasing your dress.  

“I… I don’t think I know what you mean,” you admitted, smoothing the skirt back into place. “The purpose is just because it looks nice, right?” 

Buggy shrugged as if to concede the point, nodding as he appraised you again. You resisted the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. “Fine,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. “You got me, I believe that you mean it. Assuming nothing better comes up, I’ll take some time out of my very busy day to teach you a few things.”

“Really?” 

“Clearly I need to take a hands-on approach if you’re gonna learn anything. I can’t have you running off to somebody else for help.”

“Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, smiling. 

He stood up, stepping in close and meeting your eye. “You better be on your best behavior, otherwise Professor Buggy’s gonna send you to detention.” 

You felt your stomach drop nervously, the words affecting you in a way you weren’t sure you liked. “I will be, I promise,” you said softly, nodding.

He patted your cheek, turning to go into the bedroom. 

“And, um… Captain Buggy?” you called. He paused, half turning towards you. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really am.” 

“Ah, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you or anything,” he said flippantly. “It’s not even the worst handjob I’ve ever gotten. At least you got it off.”

He said it like a joke, most likely an innuendo, so you laughed, a little giddy with excitement and nerves and that dark sinking feeling you weren’t sure what to call. Exhaling all of the breath in your lungs, you shook your head free of all of those thoughts. The day had only just begun and you knew how quickly the tides could turn, but you no longer felt terrified of what might happen. You could do this. You would be someone worth loving.

From what you gathered, the ship was in the area where they intended to stage an attack, and that meant all hands on deck. Despite Captain Buggy’s promise of teaching you, he sent you down below to spend the morning helping with preparing the ship. You were the smallest, so you were the one who had to squeeze into the narrow storage spaces. Difficult and tiring as the work was, Marty and Pippa had been right about the previous day helping you to ingratiate yourself with the crew. Not all of them, but a few. Enough. 

When you emerged onto the upper deck, you weren’t sure you had ever been as appreciative of the scent of the open ocean air. It felt like the smell of gunpowder and rot and smoke had coated the inside of your nose. You made your way towards Captain Buggy’s office with your head down, trying to give your eye time to adjust to the blinding sunlight. 

“Hey,” somebody called. You didn’t look up until you heard the whistle, and then you realized whose voice it was. Your head snapped up and you raised your hand to shade your eye, to see a slightly irked Buggy standing by the steps leading up to the quarter deck. It looked like he’d been speaking to some people, but they walked away as you approached. “You deaf or somethin’?” 

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“We’re gonna start your lessons,” Buggy said. “Unless you changed your mind.”  

You blinked at him, your eye still slightly blind from the sun. He was without his hat, wearing his red and white striped kerchief. The one your dress matched. Was that on purpose? You doubted it, but you liked the idea.

“No! I’m ready whenever you are, Captain Buggy.”

“Come up here.” Buggy nodded for you to follow before turning around to take the steps up to where the wheel was mounted. You hurried to follow him, almost stumbling on the bottom step while he waited at the top. “Sometime today, maybe?” He called.

“Sorry, sir,” you said, trying very hard to not sound at all winded as you joined him.

“Captain Buggy,” the red-faced helmsman, Newt, acknowledged. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” Buggy said dismissively. “Don’t mind us, I’m just teaching a few things to my little protégé.”

Newt nodded, his eyes flicking to you and back. “Of course, Captain Buggy. Just holler if you need anything from me.” 

“Do you,” Buggy began, turning around to face you, “know what this is?” He gestured behind himself.

The question seemed duplicitously simple, although there was also a chance that he thought you were that stupid. “That’s the wheel,” you said, “or, um... the helm, right?”

“Very good,” Buggy said, patting you on the head as he passed by to lean against the railing. “Remember, wherever the helm goes, the rudder follows. Where the rudder goes, we go,” Buggy said. “You-” He pointed at you. “Do not touch the wheel. Ever.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Let’s try something a little harder—what direction are we going right now?” Buggy asked. You looked around at the open ocean, confused. It all looked the same, blue water as far as you could see until it met the seam of a different shade of equally endless blue sky. 

“I-I um…” 

“Here’s a hint,” Buggy said, taking something shiny out of his pocket with a dramatic roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, a compass!” you said.

“That’s right,” Buggy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He flicked it open, using his body to shield it from the glare. “Do you know what it does?”

“It tells you directions.”

“Wow, look at that. Two for two,” he said dryly. “Do you know how to read it?” 

“Um… Kind of.” 

“Come here,” Buggy said, motioning you closer.

You hesitated, realizing what he meant—how close you would have to stand to be able to read the compass. That was fine. It was silly to be uncomfortable. You crowded in close enough for him to reach his arm around you so you could both look at the compass face. No sleeves, just his bare arm. That shouldn’t have mattered at all, but it kind of did. 

“You know the cardinal directions, sweetheart?” Buggy asked. He brushed your hair off of your neck to keep it from blowing in his face. The gesture was small, but it pulled a little shiver down your spine despite the hot beat of the sun.

“Of course—of course I do,” you said, clearing your throat. “North, east, south, and west.” 

“You see the red hand there? That’s always gonna point north. Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, so what direction are we going?” 

You stared very hard at the compass, willing your brain to compute what you were seeing to find the right answer. It should have been easy, but with Buggy standing so close and the tension of nerves making you second guess yourself, you couldn’t figure it out. The more you looked, the less the letters and notches stayed in place, your vision blurring as it always did when you tried to focus on things like words and numbers.  

“Time’s up,” Buggy declared, flicking the compass shut. “There’s another way to figure it out, you know. One that’s much easier. Perfect for someone like you.”

“How?” 

“Hey, Newt,” Buggy called. “What direction are we going? Use simple terms, for her sake.”

“Simple terms? Well,” Newt cleared his throat, “I s’pose you’d say, in simple terms, we’re heading northeast.”

“There ya go, babydoll,” Buggy said. “Easy as that.”

You weren’t sure how useful it would be, especially considering you would never be in a navigating position, but you weren’t about to question why Buggy wanted to teach you these things, nodding instead. “Yes, sir.”

“Here’s an easy one,” Buggy said. “Where’s starboard?” 

“I-I don’t know. Is it… the… upper deck?” you guessed. “Because you can see the stars?” 

“Wrong, it’s—” Buggy stopped, looking at you like you were stupid. “Wait, are you serious?” 

You frowned. Realizing that you weren’t joking, he burst out laughing. 

“I told you I don’t know!” 

“Calm down, you don’t gotta whine about it,” Buggy said, patting your head. “How about port? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not in the casks down below.” 

This, at least, you were pretty sure you knew. “It’s, um, the right side? Or left?” 

Buggy rolled his eyes and grabbed the top of your head, physically turning you towards the bow. “Starboard,” he said, gesturing to the right side. “Port.” He gestured to the left. “Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough ship stuff. If I wanted to sharpen my knife, what would you call that?” 

You hesitated, confused by the sudden shift in subject matter. At least you knew this one. “Honing.” 

“Edging,” he corrected. “As in, refining the edge. It’s really an all-purpose term, you can use it when you want to perfect anything. Like you, for example,” Buggy explained with a growing smile. “You’re not that different from a dull blade I wanna shape up, so you could say that I want to edge you to my personal satisfaction.” 

Newt burst out laughing, and Buggy’s amusement dropped, his head snapping towards the man. “Something funny?” he called. 

“No, Captain Buggy,” Newt said, his laughter dying out immediately. 

Buggy rolled his eyes. “You see what he’s doing right now?” he asked you. “The helmsman has to hold onto the wheel. It’s what pirates call rimming. Newt’s good at it ‘cause he’s got so much experience. Isn’t that right?”

“Er, yes, Captain Buggy,” Newt said.

Buggy looked back to you with another big grin. “Got all that? Great, let’s go back down.” He didn’t wait for your response before going back down the steps, leaving you to trail behind, confused about the contents of the ‘lesson’ and realizing more than ever how completely in over your head you were.

A couple more hours down below left you exhausted as you returned to the upper deck to ask Captain Buggy where he intended to eat supper. It wasn’t as busy as it had been for most of the day. Ahead, you recognized Marty and a couple other crewmates, people you weren’t as familiar with.

As you passed them, the banged-up, disembodied arm of a mannequin flopped onto the deck in front of you.

“Ahhh, my hand!” one of the men cried. “Pick it up, pick it up!” 

You frowned, flushing with embarrassment at the reminder of yesterday. 

Marty patted your shoulder, his smile much nicer than the others. “They’re just teasing you, girlie. Don’t take it too seriously.” 

You nodded. It was just teasing. You could handle teasing, Captain Buggy did nothing except tease you. So you steeled yourself, stooping down to pick up the fake arm. 

“Mine was a better handjob than yours,” you said, using Buggy’s joke from that morning. “At least I actually got it off.” You held up the arm, which was intact from elbow joint to fingertip. More of a forearmjob, if such a thing existed. “It’s all about the wrist.”

Marty, at the very least, found that funny, setting you at ease the tiniest bit.

“Got a lot of experience with it, have you?” one of the women asked. You were pretty sure her name was Pogo.

Was that another innuendo? Or was she talking literally? “Probably not as much as you,” you told her, smiling to try and make light of it either way.

Marty let out a barking guffaw, although the reaction of the group seemed mixed otherwise. Flushing, shaking from the rush of adrenaline you got from speaking up like that, you handed Marty the mannequin arm. 

“I have to hurry, sorry.” 

You heard more jeers as you walked away, going as fast as you could. What you said was wrong, you should have held your tongue. Even if it was teasing, telling a joke you didn’t understand just to try and save face was childish. 

Don’t think about it. Just pretend it didn’t happen. 

Once you were in the map room, you could see that Buggy’s office door was open. He was sitting sideways in his chair with his boots propped up, reading a book. You knocked, leaning in the doorway. 

“Captain Buggy?” you asked. 

“What do you want?” he snapped, irritated.

“I, um, I came to ask if you would be dining in your office. I’m sorry to disturb you.” 

Buggy looked up at you over the top of the book, his scowl softening before he sighed, throwing it down and massaging his temples. You looked at the book curiously. For some reason, the red leather binding seemed familiar to you.  

“You’re not much of a reader, huh? ‘Cause of the-” He gestured to his eye.

“No, sir. I’m sorry.” 

Buggy sighed dramatically. “Maybe I’ll get Mohji to look this over. He’s so concerned with that lion. It better dance like a goddamn ballerina, otherwise it’s gonna be dinner.” 

“What are you reading, captain?” you asked. 

“It’s a trade route log from that shithole town we ransacked the other night.”

You went still, realizing why the book looked so familiar. 

“Do you know where it was found?” you asked.

“Big, fancy house—same place as the maps. Apparently the idiot who lived there forgot to lock his safe.”

Dad always, always kept his safe locked. Not only that, but he had it set so that the contents would be destroyed if anyone were to attempt to force it open. He had no idea you knew how to circumvent his security, you couldn’t even begin to imagine his fury if he did. But you did know how to get into his safe, and you had opened it on the day you ran away to steal Buggy’s poster, some money, and get a last look at the pictures he kept hidden. Had you reset the security measures and locked the safe when you left? You couldn’t remember, but the answer was probably no. 

But you couldn’t tell Buggy about any of that. It was almost dizzying to realize how deep into the lie you were, almost completely by accident. You didn’t tell Buggy who your father was because you didn’t want him to know you were related to a retired Marine. If you said it now, he would wonder why you hadn’t mentioned it when you saw the maps, and you would look even more suspicious. 

Uncomfortable indecision consumed you as you stood there, stringing together stilted explanations you weren’t even sure Buggy would listen to once you admitted to lying. 

“Oh, right,” Buggy said, noticing your expression. “You probably knew the guy, huh? I bet you had no idea he was using your nice little town with its fancy little harbor to move drugs.” 

“No,” you said sharply. Then, realizing how harsh that sounded, you shook your head, trying to backpedal. “I mean, that’s not… There’s no way he would do that. He’s a retired Marine.” 

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Of course he was. Only a Marine would have the balls to traffic drugs but forget to lock his safe.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “Now there’s a lesson for ya, kiddo. Marines are dumb as shit. Stink like shit too, ‘cause of all the ass kissing they do.”

“No, there has to be a mistake,” you argued. “I know him, and he would… He would never, ever be involved in anything like that.”

Buggy gave you a flat look. “How well do you know him?”

You balked, shaking your head. “He’s Randall’s dad,” you said, the first reasonable lie you could think of. “I don’t know him well, I-I just… I just find it hard to believe. But…” You exhaled until your shoulders collapsed inwards, trying to steady yourself and not give anything away. “That’s naive, isn’t it.”

“Good thing stupid looks cute on you,” Buggy said, standing up. He circled his desk, grabbing your shoulder in a friendly sort of way. “Eventually, you’ll learn that everyone lies. Evvvvv-ryone. That’s why you gotta stick with me, I’ll set you straight.” He winked before turning towards the door, stretching his arms above his head. “C’mon. We’re gonna eat in the officer’s mess.”  

You paused before following, looking over your shoulder at the book he’d carelessly thrown onto the desktop. Was there anything in there that would tie you to dad? Probably not, most likely not. Then again, you couldn’t really believe that dad was involved with trafficking drugs either. 

“Move your ass, kid,” Buggy complained. “I’m starving.” 

“I’m not really much of a fisher myself,” Buggy said as he shrugged off his coat for you to hang up, “but I knew this juggler who was amazing at it. He could catch any type of fish. A real master baiter. So he and I were—”

Master baiter? You pursed your lips. Even you knew that one. “Captain Buggy,” you said, cutting him off. “Is this a joke?” 

“What?” he asked, clearly annoyed by the interruption as he pulled off his gloves. “No. Why would you think that?”

If he was messing with you, his expression didn’t give it up. “Just ‘cause…” You shrugged helplessly. “Nevermind, I’m sorry.” 

“Oooo-kay,” he said, drawing out the word sarcastically. “Like I said, this guy was something else, but there was one thing he never managed to catch. There’s this rare species of clam that’s pretty hard to get. Because of where they live, they get covered with seaweed, kinda like a beard. You know, bearded clams. You have to give ‘em a good in-and-out with your spear if you wanna catch one.”

He collapsed into his chair, leaning back to let you take off his hat and headscarf. His hair was such a pretty color. Buggy got annoyed if you were too rough with his hair which seemed a little unfair considering how unruly it was, but that definitely wasn’t something you intended to push. 

“This guy was desperate to run one through himself, but his technique was shit,” Buggy continued. “So I was out there with him and he just kept failing over and over before he finally gives up, coming out of the water all miserable holding something shiny. He thought they were pearls, but they were actually a set of his own blue balls.”

You snorted in amusement. “Now I know you’re making this up, Captain Buggy,” you said, combing his hair back and using some of the powdery dry shampoo to soak up the grease. 

“Nope, it’s all true,” Buggy said. He raised his right hand. “On God.” 

“Blue balls?” you repeated. “I’m not that stupid.” 

“Well, yeah. He was a juggler. Why, what do you think I meant?”

“Like…” you hesitated, suddenly doubting that you were right. Maybe you were just going to embarrass yourself. “Isn’t that something that men…”  

“That men… What?” Buggy asked, turning his head to look up at you. His eyes glinted mischievously. He was messing with you, he had to be. 

“I don’t know, but it’s… It’s something uncomfortable, isn’t it?” 

Buggy burst out laughing, shaking his head as it fell into his palm. “You know, it makes sense that this would go over your head, you’re so short that everything else does.” 

You frowned. “Will you explain it to me?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You frowned and sighed, kneeling to get his boots. Buggy had the grace to point his toes, at least, which made it easier for you.

“I keep trying to figure what might happen to a girl that she ends up like you, but I’m drawing a blank,” Buggy said, his tone becoming thoughtful. “I get the daddy issues, and I even get the sort of wacky one-eyed ingénue thing you’ve got going. I’ve seen it all. For some reason, I always bag the crazy chicks. If anything, you’re a step up in that department.”

“Have you had a lot of girlfriends, Captain Buggy?” you asked, your mind latching onto that comment over everything else. The idea of Buggy with other women made you feel oddly cold.

“Girlfriends?” he repeated, like it was a dirty word. “What am I, twelve? I don’t have time for that shit.”

“But you said that…” you looked up at him, frowning in confusion. “Nevermind.”

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Buggy asked. “Other than that shidiot from the other day.” 

The mention of Randall made your heart rate pick up, but you fought the reaction. Don’t think about it. It was fine. Instead, you focused on wrestling off his other boot. “None.”

Buggy snorted in amusement. “I figured.”

Setting aside his boots, you washed your hands and got the makeup remover. He’d made a mess of it all last night when he did it himself. You made a note to tidy up and returned to Buggy, keeping your head down. 

“Now that you’ve got this new look, you should embrace your little deformity,” he told you as you began removing his makeup, starting on his forehead like usual. Instead of waiting for your answer, he pulled your bandana up and off, a huge grin splitting his face at the sight of your uncovered eye. Your breath caught, your body freezing in place. “Might as well go all the way,” he said, tracing the scar’s jagged edge. It split the top of your cheek, a lightning bolt of white and red scar tissue.

“Captain Buggy,” you muttered softly, staring very intently at his shoulder. Losing the bandana felt like going without underwear, and having him touch the scar was almost as bad as if he shoved a hand up your shirt. “Please give it back. Please?” 

“Do you need it to do your job?” Buggy asked. 

You rolled your lip between your teeth, realizing where he was going with this. “No,” you finally allowed. 

“Then why did you stop?”

Your eyebrows furrowed to express your displeasure, but he just smiled. At least he had to close his eyes as you returned to removing his makeup, loading the rag up with greasepaint. Luckily, Buggy didn’t say anything else until you were finished. When you set the rag and oil aside, his eyes opened. The rings of pale green and blue that made up his irises made it difficult to determine their exact color sometimes, although it was always clear that his eyes were pretty and round and bright. They could have a strikingly youthful quality as well, especially without any makeup.

“How did you get it anyway?” Buggy asked. “Did daddy beat you a little too hard?” 

“No,” you said immediately, a little abruptly. Then you stopped yourself, realizing how the sharpness of your tone might sound.  “Sorry, no. Nothing like that… It was an accident.” 

“If you were even half as dedicated to me as you’ve been claiming you are, then why do you keep lying?” 

“I’m not lying,” you said. Not lying about this, at least. “It’s hard to… I don’t want to cry. It’s so embarrassing.” 

“C’mon, what’s on the line?” Buggy asked. “Your dignity?” 

Much as it hurt, he was right. What dignity did you have to sacrifice? It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Your own little pitiful tragedy. Everybody had pain. Everybody suffered bad things. You needed to be an adult about it. 

“There was… it was an explosion. I wasn’t close enough to… But I got hit by debris and…” You drew a line from over your left eyebrow and down, ending with the jagged canyon of scar tissue dug into your cheek. “My Mom was,” you had to force the words out, it was as if your body physically did not want to speak them, like metal grinding against metal, “she was in it.”

Buggy pulled in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Oof. Daddy and mommy issues, that’s… Actually, that explains a lot.”

You sniffed, carefully wiping under your eye so as to not smear the mascara. Your hands shook so hard it felt violent, your body reacting even worse than your mind. Stupid. You were being stupid and embarrassing. 

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Buggy asked.

“No, it… It was a long time ago, it’s fine,” you said gruffly. “My head hurts sometimes, but it’s fine.”  

“No, I don’t mean physically,” he said dismissively. “I’m talking about pain. Real pain. That’s why you wear this thing, right?” He asked, holding up the worn scrap of fabric. “Because it hurts.”   

You shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer, not wanting to answer. “I… I guess so.”

“That’s a good thing,” Buggy said.  

“I don’t think…” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. You didn’t want to disagree with Captain Buggy, but you couldn’t agree either. Pain made you weak, you were more than aware of that. “I don’t know.” 

Buggy leaned forward and grabbed your head, cradling it. “Pain is the foundation of all great art,” he told you, forcing you to look into his eyes. “We both know that you have absolutely zero potential, but your suffering, babydoll… Your suffering can be shaped into something brilliant.”  

You swallowed hard, holding your breath in the electric limbo of the inches between you and him, burning between the clasp of his hands on either side of your head.

“How?”

“We’ll work on it,” Buggy said, releasing you. You nearly fell over when he stood up, dazed from the way he had been holding you. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a big day, I can feel it.” 

“Yes, sir,” you said softly, clearing your throat. “Goodnight, Captain Buggy.” 

Marty was polishing his weapons when you returned to your bunk, shooting you a toothy smile. Pippa was already asleep, a mask over her eyes and arms folded like a corpse. She told you sleeping like that helped with wrinkles.

“Hey there, girlie,” Marty said. After the troublesome conversation you had with Buggy, you felt more than a little appreciative for his uncomplicated friendship. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?” You asked. 

“I got the night shift.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

He shrugged good naturedly. “It’s the job, I can’t complain much. ‘Sides, I was hoping to catch you before you turned in.” He appraised the little knife he’d been shining before flipping it closed and holding it out to you. “For you.”

“For me?” you repeated, uncertain of how to react. “Why?” 

“Every pirate needs one. It’s a part of the code.” 

“Marty, I…” You swallowed hard, surprised by how touching the offer was. “Thank you, but I can’t take your knife.” 

“Nah, I don’t want it. I thought it looked nice when I found it, but it’s too girly for me. Go on, ‘else it’s goin’ into the ocean.” 

With careful fingers, you accepted the knife, weighing it in your hand. It wasn’t big or heavy and, with the blade folded, there was nothing intimidating about it. Marty had oiled and shined it, but it was still a simple thing of metal and wood, the blade swinging out from the grip on a hinge. You had no idea what he thought was ‘girly’ about it, it seemed perfectly average to you. Plain, yes, although right then it was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. 

“Thank you,” you told him, curling your fingers around it protectively. 

“I’ve got a feeling you’ll need it ‘fore long. Some men don’t know how to act around a pretty gal.” He stood up and stretched, yawning widely. “Alright, girlie. Sleep well.” 

“Thank you, Marty.” 

You stood there even after he had gone, holding the knife in a clenched fist and trying to sort through your unsettled feelings.

It was the music that woke you up. A lone melody, perfectly in tune even a capella. Virtuosity swirled in her blood, as tangible as her flesh. Beauty was not why you caged a songbird, although the lovely color could confuse somebody who didn’t know how to truly value a canary.   

Weightless as the dark through which you traversed, you felt yourself drifting towards her voice, lured as surely as if it were a siren’s call. 

Light from the window nearly blinded you, all you could make out was her silhouette. Achingly familiar. You’d have known her anyway, from nothing more than a single breath you would know your own mother. From the shadow’s edge dripped tears, falling even as she continued to sing, looking out into a landscape too bright for you to comprehend. Brighter and brighter. Soon it would be too blinding for you to see anything at all, too loud for you to hear her. If she turned her head, even if just by a few inches, you would see her face again. You could go to her, and her song would be happy once more. But your voice was gone, and your feet would take you no further, and she continued to sing her mournful song. That’s what she had always been. Beautiful and distant and impossible.

All at once, you know where you were. When you were. Hot, agonizingly bright light consumed everything, and the first sounds of the world breaking would be loud before they yielded to silence, and the air was bad, that’s why the canary stopped singing.

“How are you?” Crina asked. She claimed this would be your last ‘check-up’ and you were eager to get it over with, to convince her of your own vitality. “Are the headaches any better?” 

“Much, much better,” you told her. It was a lie, but a small one. A harmless one. The truth was that the headaches were never gone for long and the base of your skull still thumped from the memory of whatever Ivo had hit you with and you had to sneak in frequent breaks so you didn’t pass out when you stood up, but those were things she couldn’t fix.  

“Have you been eating like I told you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Any dizzy spells? Fainting?” 

“No.” 

For a moment, you thought for sure Crina would call you out on that lie. Of course you had dizzy spells, and moments where you had to rest just to catch your breath. That was normal for you, and you could handle it. To your relief, she didn’t press the matter, allowing it to pass. 

“You look tired, are you not getting enough sleep?” 

“I had bad dreams last night,” you admitted. “I don’t usually, but…” You frowned, looking at the floor. It was because you had been thinking of her, of what happened. Dad told you that it was bad to think or talk about it, that it would only aggravate the internal wound. “It’s okay,” you said, forcing a smile. “Nothing serious.”  

“I have something for you,” Crina told you, picking up a wrapped package and handing it over.

“What is it?” 

“Pads to put in your underwear.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “For what?” 

Crina’s eyes narrowed. “For your monthly. I don’t know when you have yours, but I’m worried you’ll be too embarrassed to ask for any help and bleed everywhere. With everybody packed in like this, you have to take care of these things quickly and as cleanly as possible.”

A hot flush immediately burned your cheeks, and you shoved the package back towards her. “I don’t need them,” you said, looking very hard at the floor. “I don’t get… get that anymore.” 

Although you were avoiding her eye, you could tell Crina was frowning. “What do you mean?”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to be normal, to calm down. “The blood and everything,” you explained. “I don’t get that.” 

“When was your last cycle?” 

“Why does that matter?” 

“It’s a matter of your health.” 

You let out a shaky breath, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s been a long time. My dad said that it’s… it’s not natural, that it’s unhealthy to bleed like that. Especially since I was so sick, my body can’t handle the stress.”

“So he stopped it?” 

Crina’s tone, dangerously questioning, made your stomach drop. You closed your mouth hard, your teeth clacking together. Already you were shaking your head, although you didn’t know why. “It’s not like that,” you said. 

“I did not want to ask you this,” Crina said carefully, “and I wish I didn’t have to, but did your father ever hurt you?”

“No, it’s not like that,” you said again.

“One of the methods of stopping that process is surgical. Did he ever operate on you?” 

“No,” you said even louder, shaking your head fast. “No, no. No. It was… food, medicine. He never… I don’t want to talk about this anymore, it doesn’t even matter, it’s…” You shook your head, rejecting it all.   

Crina backed off, leaving you to shake and choke back the horrible bite of nausea in your throat. With clammy fingers, you undid the twintails Pippa had shown you how to style to let your hair hang in a limp curtain, pulling it forward to hide your face. 

“I like your new clothes,” Crina said, her tone much lighter. “I assume this was Pippa’s idea?”

You nodded, letting out a choked, “yes.”

“Do you like it?” 

“I… I think I do,” you said, wiping your eye. It was too late to pretend that you hadn’t been upset, but you could still save some face. 

“You think you do?” 

Sniffling, you tried to center yourself, to find an answer she might accept. That morning, after the dream and all of the sludge that it plunged out of your subconscious, you wanted to return to the ‘lumpy sweaters’ that Pippa hated. They kept you hidden. They were comfortable. Fortunately, Pippa did not let you make that choice, making you up like you were a dress up doll. 

When you took Buggy his breakfast, he didn’t say anything weird. He told you that you looked cute. Not cute-ish, just cute. Even thinking about it put a tingly sort of heat in your belly.

But then other people looked at you, they saw the hem of the black, puffy shorts and makeup and fitted shirt and it made your skin crawl with a million tiny little ants, your spine curling and shoulders collapsing in an attempt to invert back into yourself. When they saw you like this, did they think about bleeding and babies and sex? What could they see other than your ruined face and pathetic body?

“My favorite part of deciding what to wear,” Crina said, forcing your attention back to her, “is that clothes disguise you. The louder the outfit, the less people notice the person who’s wearing it. When they look at me, they see what I want them to see. It’s a sort of… sleight of hand. When they look at you wearing this, that’s what they see. Even your bandana looks like an intentional style.” 

You sniffled. “You think so?”

“That’s what Captain Buggy does with his makeup and the clothes. People were always going to see him in only one way, but now it’s on his terms.” 

“I guess that’s true,” you allowed. You hadn’t thought of it that way at all, which seemed silly now that she’d pointed it out. 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Crina nodded and turned away. You caught her by the sleeve, looking up at her directly. “Crina?” 

“Yes?” 

“Why are you so nice to me?” 

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I were mean?” 

“No, that’s not what I…” Your hand dropped and you shook your head with a pang of embarrassment. “Nevermind.” 

“Alright then,” Crina said. “Do you need help putting your hair back up?”

You ran your fingers through it, although the prompt was obvious. Keep it up. Be confident. Embrace the look. You sighed, nodding. You would be bold. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” you said. “I would appreciate it.”

“Zan?” you asked hopefully, tapping on the shoulder of who you hoped was the right man. A scout that had just returned from getting a good look at the ship Captain Buggy intended to capture. A man who was stupid enough to keep Captain Buggy waiting. He looked at you in surprise before recognition hit.

“Oh, it’s you. You look different,” he said, scanning you up and down. You felt bad to admit that you didn’t remember him at all, so you just smiled, trying to force yourself not to squirm beneath his not-so-subtle gaze. 

“Captain Buggy wants to see you,” you said. That was an understatement. The fact that Zan didn’t immediately give his report, instead going to the galley to find something to eat, left the captain more than a little unhappy. “That’s why… Um. I’ll go with you.” 

He took a big bite of what looked like a softened biscuit and grinned, saying something that sounded like ‘lead the way’ through his mouthful of food. You nodded, turning to cut your way towards the ladder to the upper deck. The berth was thick with activity and noise and motion and new scents and colors. Everybody had something very important to do. They were calling it a dress rehearsal, and with that came no small amount of makeup and costumes. The Buggy Pirates weren’t going to raid a merchant vessel like any other pirate crew, they were going to put on a show. Any survivors would well remember the performance.  

The upper deck swarmed with further chaos. Everything needed to be checked and double checked. Rather than the horrible nerves you felt at the prospect of violence, the air crackled with carnival-like excitement. Artistic egos and violent impulses had been building up to a breaking point with each day aboard, but now they had the promise of release. 

“Are you gonna join in the fun tonight?” Zan asked you. He’d gotten very close so you could hear him over the noise, standing in your blindspot in a way that made you jump. 

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, smiling apologetically. 

“Hm. All dressed up with nowhere to run, that’s a shame.” 

“Is it fun to be a scout?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

Zan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it’s fun, but it’s important. The captain sends men like me because I’m the best. I’ve got an eye for spotting the most profitable ships. I’ve got an eye for beautiful things too.”

“Which eye is which? Ships on the right and beautiful things on the left?” you asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from anything uncomfortable. “Or the other way around?” 

Zan laughed. “Let’s check, hm? Look at me and-” He covered his left eye, looking at you. Then he covered his right eye. “Hm. I guess both of them are good for spotting beautiful things.”  

You laughed nervously, tugging your bandana down.

“You know, while we were out there we happened upon a huge sea beast,” Zan said as you took the steps up onto the quarterdeck, undeterred by your reaction.

“What kind of sea beast?”

“It was hard to tell with all of its thrashing, but it was a frightful thing. So big that I could only see its outline in the depths.” 

“Really?” you asked without any shred of belief, opening the door into the map room.

“I damn near lost my arm.”

“How’d you get away then?” you asked, walking around the table to knock on Captain Buggy’s office door. 

“Well, that’s a tale unto itself,” Zan said. “But rest assured, the foul beast is ‘armless.”

“Come in,” Buggy said, his voice muffled. You hesitated before opening the door, registering Zan’s terrible joke. Armless. Harmless. You couldn’t help but let out a little burst of laughter, letting Zan enter as you tried to control your amusement. 

“What’s so funny?” Captain Buggy snapped, scowling. The mood of the room, of Buggy’s thunderous expression and Cabaji’s respectful impassivity finally hit you like a wall of ice. You cleared your throat.

“Nothing, Captain Buggy,” you said, bowing your head. “Just a… a joke.”

“Oh really?” Buggy asked. He smiled, but it didn’t at all reach his eyes. “Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s nothing, Captain Buggy,” Zan said. “I have the report.” 

“Do you? Here I was thinking maybe you’d taken up a career in comedy instead. It’s funny that you think you can keep me waiting while you stuff your face and try to flirt with my half-wit errand girl. Speaking of-” Buggy looked at you, nodding to the door. “Out.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Standing in the sun for too long left your head aching and sunburned your scalp, but you didn’t dare leave your post, resolved to wait patiently and professionally. It was hard to not take Buggy’s moods personally, but he probably didn’t mean it. You understood why he was unhappy, tonight was a big night and Zan was behaving unprofessionally. What worried you more was his use of the word ‘flirt’. The word was a crime unto itself, bearing down on you with suffocating amounts of guilt. That’s why you didn’t dress like this. It was an open invitation, a signal you sent out that practically begged for that sort of attention. 

You had no idea how much time passed before Zan left Captain Buggy’s office. He left with his face resolutely turned forward, walking fast without any acknowledgement of your attempted apology. Cabaji followed shortly behind him. He said nothing, only acknowledging you to nod you back into Buggy’s office. 

That did not bode well.

Steeling yourself with your hands balled into fists at your sides, you braved going in. The door into his office was open for you. Buggy was writing something furiously, muttering under his breath. After standing in the sun, the relative cool of his office made you shiver. You waited for a couple of drawn out seconds, consumed by the painful thud of your heart, the scribbling scratch of whatever he was writing, and the chaotic chorus of the crew out on the deck. 

“Should I get your lunch, Captain Buggy?” you finally asked. His head popped up so fast his hat wobbled, although his expression wasn’t especially animated. He appraised you for a long moment before dropping his pen, leaning back.

“Come over here for a minute first,” he said, gesturing you to him with curled fingers. With your hands clasped nervously in front of your stomach, you approached his desk. “No, come over here,” Buggy ordered, turning his chair and pointing at the floor in front of him. You circled the desk, standing in front of him.

Buggy grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until you stood between his legs. You stumbled, grabbing his shoulders to keep from falling into him completely. 

“I know everything that happens on my ship,” Buggy told you. “I mean that. Everything.”

That wasn’t what you expected. You nodded in understanding, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m starting to think you’re not the sweet, innocent girl I thought you were,” Buggy said, idly swaying you back and forth. Your entire body stilled, physically halted by those words and the liquid lead they injected into your heart. 

“Captain?” 

“Look at you! All grown up. Makeup and everything.” Buggy pushed you back to hold you at arm's length, his eyes slowly scanning down your body. “I might have to cover you up a little if my crew can’t behave with you hanging around tempting them like this.” 

“I’m not trying to…” you said, the words sinking cold and sick into your stomach. “No, I’m not… That’s not my-my intention.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes. “You’d never go around looking like this to tempt anybody. What would you even do if you got a man’s attention?” He sighed, nodding sympathetically. “The real question is what a man would do to you… I think it’s time you and I had the talk.”

He was clearly messing with you, but it worked, you recoiled, your skin crawling. “Captain Buggy, I don’t… It’s not a big deal, right? I would never ever do anything, I mean that.” you said, trying very hard to keep a cool head despite the way your face burned.

“I get it. It’s embarrassing to talk about this sort of thing. Normally this would be a father’s job, but I guess he kinda dropped the ball on that one, huh? The point is that you gotta be careful. You know what I’m talking about, right? The birds and the bees… No?” You didn’t respond, far too aware of the awkwardness of your body, the flush blazing all the way up into your ears. “That’s not ringing a bell?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I didn’t want to be vulgar, but I would never forgive myself if I let you go out there looking like this and you got knocked up or something. I mean, whew, better hope you brought a hanger or something. Just remember—no glove, no love.”

Knowing better than to push his hands away, you settled for covering your face in an attempt to hide the embarrassment of disgust and shame. Buggy laughed at your reaction, reaching up to tug on one of your twintails playfully. 

“Oh, come on,” he complained. “Don’t be like that.”

“Please don’t joke about that,” you said, dropping your hands a little. “I… Please?” 

“I wasn’t joking. I mean, shit, can you even carry a baby?” he teased, releasing your hips to tickle your sides. “Where would it go? Scratch that, where would the dick even go?” 

“Please stop!” you exclaimed indignantly, grabbing his hands to still them. Buggy used that to pull you back into place. 

“The real laugh is that I’d let anyone get that close,” he told you. “Oh, hey, there’s some vocabulary for ya. What do you call somebody who tries to take the captain’s property?” 

You cleared your throat. “Um… A thief?”

“Dead.”

You stopped squirming around, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your gut before the flat look in his eyes really registered.  

“What was it that you said?” Buggy asked, giving you a familiar look. A smile lurked around his mouth, but his eyes shined with a keen mania as they studied your face for the slightest trace of defiance. “When you begged to join my crew, I mean. That you’ll happily serve me for…” 

“I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life,” you finished for him, knowing better than to do anything other than wholeheartedly agree. “I-I mean it, Captain Buggy. If I—If I did something wrong, please tell me and I’ll stop or… or… Anything you want.” 

“I want…” he said slowly. Then the bubble popped, and he pushed you away a few steps. “I want you to go get us some lunch. I’m starving and as adorable as those thighs of yours are, you could use a little more meat.”

“Yes, sir,” you said.

“Oh, and babydoll,” Buggy called. You turned to him, head tilted cautiously. “Mosey on down to the brig at some point to find a comfortable spot, you’re gonna have to stay down there for our dress rehearsal tonight. Things are gonna get a little bloody up here.”

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang

[mrzombielover]

Omg I NEED a Price nsfw alphabet PLEASEEEE😭😭

price is soo daddy lana del rey coded i love him

nsfw warning (obviously) also this is not edited and probably incoherent

masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

classic cigarettes after sex (well- cigars in his case)

will light up and softly hold you close to him, mindlessly drawing shapes into your skin while you talk. loooves pillow talk

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on him, it’s his torso. he’s in pretty great shape and proud of himself, especially considering his age. (he’s only 37 in the reboot but i’m pretty sure he’s older in the OG- ehhhh either way i’m ignoring it)

for you, it’s your mouth/lips. they’re so pretty. he goes feral when you wear lipgloss/lipstick, especially if it leaves stains on things like a straw or glass

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

prefers to cum inside. not that he wants to be a father anytime soon, but he loves the thought of filling you up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

still has most of- if not all- his old dirty magazines/pinups from when he was younger. he can’t let them go.

Gaz found them one time while they were inbetween missions, and Price let everybody think they were Soap’s. soap got clowned on but he got to keep (most of) his magazines

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

oh he def knows what he’s doing. he doesn’t have the most time for relationships but he’s got plenty of experience

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

classic missionary. he gets a good look at your body and face, it feels great for the both of you, and doesn’t strain either of your muscles. it lets him be close to you, too.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

other than a little teasing i imagine him pretty serious. sex with him isn’t usually casual or goofy, its pretty passionate and he’d hate to kill the mood

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

trims but like occasionally so they’re on the longer side, along with his happy trail

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

so very. he’s usually very passionate and intimate, and on special occasions- very romantic. type of guy to pull out the rose petals and candles on your anniversary

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

doesn’t do it very often. he doesn’t really have a need for release, and enjoys sex with his partner more as a way to be close and vulnerable with them.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

i imagine him more on the soft dom side, thinks it’s so hot when you can’t really answer his questions, and likes embarrassing you a little too. maybe a little dacryphilia too. he feels so proud when you feel so good tears form in your eyes and you struggle to speak, all because of him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

prefers the bed, it’s comfortable and reliable, but also enjoys his office or a desk, especially on late nights. he doesn’t like having to rush and usually his office is private enough that he can take his time.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

domestic and soft shit. waking up next to you and seeing you vulnerable, without makeup on and hair all messy. trust is a big thing for him, it just gets him going.

also seeing you wear things he bought for you, like jewelry or maybe a nice dress. it’s another subtle sign of trust and ownership. he can be a little possessive and likes showing you off.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s much closer to the vanilla side. he’s willing to try some stuff, but certain extreme kinks he just won’t be able to do. it’ll feel too weird for him, like really heavy bdsm

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers giving. he just gives those vibes. enjoys receiving, too, but loves watching you come undone and your mind going blank from the pleasure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

prefers to go slowly. as stated previously he loves intimacy and teasing you, will fuck you deeply and sensually

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not really a big fan. if you’re needy and desperate he’ll happily finger you real quick or while doing paperwork, he likes having this affect on you, but likes privacy and time when fucking you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

game to experiment with whatever kinks you might have, at least once. while he prefers to be more dominant, he’d still indulge you occasionally.

prefers not to take risks in public places, he could probably get in trouble for sleeping with you as your captain. not that the idea isn’t exciting- maybe in some foreign country where nobody knows you guys though, but not as a common thing.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

usually only 1-2 rounds but he takes a while to cum, and likes to make you cum at least a few times before he does. big on foreplay too.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

doesn’t really own any but he’s not against them. would quite enjoy using a remote controlled vibe during meetings/in the office

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

much prefers teasing to being teased. he likes teasing you lightheartedly and taking his sweet time with you. you’ll be whimpering and sobbing before he even puts his dick in you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not super loud in terms of groaning or moans but he’s never quiet. talks so insanely dirty he’s always whispering or cursing in your ear. when you whine or moan, too fucked out to even think, he’ll chuckle and tease you, “aw, i know baby, feels good, huh?”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

loves to spoil you. even if you tell him that something is too expensive or you don’t need it he loves to buy things for you. always paying attention to where your eyes longer on products and what style of clothes you compliment on others. love languages are def acts of service and gift giving. it also drives him crazy when you wear the stuff he buys you, an expensive watch or necklace when you go out just to show everyone that you’re taken care of.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

solid ~6-6.5 in, girthy, a pretty muted pink and it hangs heavy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

pretty standard, ideally you’d probably have sex a few times a week (3-5) but between your schedules and days you might have off it’s subject to change.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he could fall asleep pretty easily, after all he’s content and comfortable and likes to snuggle up with you but it’s not a given. likes to hold you if you fall asleep against him. in an ideal world he has the time to but usually there’s stuff that needs to get done.

#call of duty #price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty x reader #john price #captain john price #!asks #!my stuff #cod x reader

[slvt4tom]

Posting this since the other one is taking to long because I've been procrastinating on it 😭 but I think this one is just the cutest thing but it also is kind of all over the place since idk what to write

Tom x F! Reader

T - tom

B - bill

Ge - georg

Gu - Gustav

Y - you

I - interviewer (maybe A for Ashley)

You and the band were on the tour bus about to go to an interview after a few minutes you guys got to the station and went inside got everything set up it was the interviewer lady she was blond, big boobs really trying to show off for someone probably tom so you just had to roll ur eye when you saw so then bill sat and then tom in the middle and then you at then georg and Gustav couldn't come since they were busy Georg seeing his Girlfriend and family Gustav seeing his family also. The live tv thing started and so the lady started talking.

A - Hello everybody! today we have the band tokio hotel! How are you guys?

The people in the crowd screamed and cheered

B - were good

After a few minutes of getting to know each other and settling down and stuff asking questions like "why did the band start" "when it started" blah blah blah. And then she started asking more personal I guess questions?

A - "Okay umm a few more and then the fans will ask okay, first tom is it true just on the first night you had 4 girls in your room?"

Tom looks down kind of sad you noticed and put your hand on his back whispering to him

Y - "hey Tom it will be over soon I promise and then we can go get you a new hat yeah? And some strawberries?"

Tom nodded his head at you the interviewer looked a bit jealous so she fixed her top so her boobs were like spilling out of her Tom you just looked away holding in a giggle you took at deep breath and looked back at the interviewer with a "🤨" look but she ignored you just asking the boys questions making them clearly uncomfortable. You wanted to butt in so bad but didn't want to make a scene so when she was talking to bill you tapped Tom on the shoulder handing him a slip of paper "this lady is annoying smh and she's clearly into you, I actually want to throw water on her bruh".

Tom let out a chuckle messing with his lip piercing and looking to you while nodding his head and passing bill the note.

After a while the interview was over and all 3 of you walked out laughing ur asses off at the note because you all added something to it somehow not getting caught just clowning on the lady trying to get the boys attention especially tom. Suddenly you hear a door open and fast footsteps and tom feels someone grab his shoulder all 3 of you turned around with a "huh" it was the interviewer

A - "tom wait! I was um wondering.. Maybe you would like to-"

Tom cut her off clearly not interested you were a little surprised since he would have usually jumped at the chance to hook up with a blondy with big boobs

T - "no I'm really sorry but i already have my eyes on someone"

You and bill looked at him with a shocked and confused look you guys knew he was gonna turn her down but didn't know he had his eyes on someone already??

A - "O-oh I understand"

She said that and walked away her head hung low

Y + B - "TOM YOU LIKE SOMEONE?!"

T - "yeah? I've liked her since we were little I'm surprised you guys didn't know, now can we please go to the store y/n promised me a new hat and I want her to keep that promise!"

Y - "I forgot I promised that, okay whatever let's go"

B - "we should get food after I'm getting pretty hungry"

Y - "yeah me too"

T - "yeah"

You guys all went to the store getting Tom his hat, you got a necklace or something, and bill got a belt and after that you guys went out to eat and after that you guys went back to the hotel you guys were staying in.

Bill had gone to sleep and you were standing on the balcony the wind blowing in ur hair the sunset lighting up ur eyes ur skiing glowing you looked stunning.. Tom came out and stood behind you holding ur waist resting his chin on your shoulder leaning his head in the crook of ur neck

T - "what is a pretty lady like ur self doing all alone out here"

Y - "Tom what are you doing goofy?"

T - "you know how I said I liked someone for a while now? Well.. I thought I might tell you who it is if you haven't figured it out by now"

You had a pretty good guess but you wanted him to say it from his own 2 lips

Y - "are you gonna tell me silly?"

T - "okay maybe it's a little silly but I think ill show you instead"

With that he spins you around to look at him pulling you in closer by ur waist and leaning his head down to kiss you softly and passionately in the sunset full of love everything was just perfect..

#bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tokio hotel #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz fanfic #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz fanfic #georg listing fluff #georg listing smut #gustav schafer fluff #gustav schafer x reader #gustav schafer smut #gustavo #early 2000s #2000s #2000s emo #2000s nostalgia #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel fanfic

[ravenbloodshot]

Can u do ateez san ideal type thanks!

Body: Big boobs, pretty smile, (he's not picky at all), darker skin, foreign (he's pretty openminded so I can't really say anything else)

I can't give a visualized example, what he likes is too ambiguous

Personality: He wants a joyous and humorous person that can laugh at themselves and just be a cute jokester. He wouldn't do well with an ultra serious person that can't be a bit child like and have fun, he wants a best friend that can understand him and love him the way he wants to be loved. He wants someone he can trust and confide his deepest insecurities/worries to, but he also wants a person that can be independent and okay with being on their own (since he gone a lot due to his job). He really wants a true friend (like that friend your joking and giggling with in the back of the class while the teacher is talking, almost like two class clowns). Another thing is 'friend' can be used for a person your sleeping with that your close with outside of the bedroom, but your not trying to label them as your girlfriend (those from the US will understand what I'm saying). But with me mentioning this, I think he could prefer to be with someone who doesn't care for commitment (as in using labels like girlfriend and boyfriend), a person cool with being called friend or introduced to others as his friend and letting ppl figure out what they mean by 'friend'. It's an inside joke he would like to share with his partner, they're telling everybody their friends for the fun of letting ppl go crazy trying to figure out what they truly are. He loves people who are great at keeping up communication with him

Sexual Wants: Quickies, dressing up in costumes, likes pubic hair, pregnancy kink, public sex, likes to be pampered and given gifts, spanking, edging

FVN by Lvl1 is a song that fits this readings energy

#kpop readings #kpop #kpop tarot #cancer sun #ateez san #san #ateez tarot #ateez

[jadedrrose]

The Silent Reaver - Ch. Two

You spend the next day preparing for your mission, thinking about the endless possibilities for when you reunite with Law.

Other Chapters Can Be Found Here

Warnings: mentions of weapons, also spoilers for Punk Hazard/Dressrosa, if you’re not there yet. I hope there are no mistakes hahalol

Two days wasn’t much time to prepare for an entire mission that required you leaving Dressrosa for the next foreseeable future.

You spent most of your first day pondering over how you’d deal with things. You had to go over every possibility, thinking things through from the start and accounting for anything that could go wrong. How would you make your entrance? Silently sneak inside the supposedly abandoned laboratory, not alerting anybody to your presence until you felt ready? Or would you need to announce to at least- what was his name? Something C… reminded me of salad? Oh! -Caesar Clown that you’d arrived? Or just make it known to everybody on the island that you were now there too? 

That sounded foolish. The best option in your mind was to quietly get inside, get a look at things before talking to Caesar. Then you had to consider that Law was there, most likely also sneaking around, searching for whatever he was looking for. Something about a substance called S-A-D? Regardless, if you wanted to try avoiding him at the beginning, you would have to be very careful; knowing what the pirate was capable of.

Your guilty pleasure for the last couple years had been keeping intel on him. Almost nobody knew about this secret, Baby 5 and Violet being the only two people to have knowledge about it. Violet was always kind toward you and you had no doubt that your secret would always be safe with her. Baby 5, on the other hand, you had to do a little bribing to keep her silent after she’d caught you sneaking off with a wanted poster last year. She was easily convinced though, always wanting to please everyone around her.

You’d always felt so shameful about it though. Even if you excuse your actions by telling yourself that this was simple research should he ever plan something against your family, deep down you knew that the childish feelings you still felt toward him all these years later was the real reason. His two most recent wanted posters were kept on your desk, along with any newspapers that mentioned him. The one announcing his Warlord status, the Rocky Port Incident paper, anything you could find. Everything that served as a reminder that the boy you’d loved thirteen years ago was still alive and thriving as a man now.

Knowing your feelings would rise through the barrier within your mind as soon as you saw him again was bothering you, truthfully. It would make your task incredibly difficult. Especially if I have to kill him…

That thought alone brought tears to your eyes. You’d watched as he struggled with knowing he’d be dead within two years. Watched as Corazon whisked him away from Doflamingo’s cruel hands and saved his life. Even if you were younger then, you still realized how significant that was to Law. And for you to be the one to take all of that away from him?

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying, feeling your knees growing weak and body heavy, you gracefully fell to the cold stone floor, letting your hands cover your face as you cried into them. You didn’t want to kill Law. You couldn’t.

A sharp knock on the door ripped you away from the terror on your mind. You rose to your feet, wiping away the tears and taking in a deep breath as you cracked it open, getting a glimpse at who was on the other side.

All you could see was slivers of a white dress and dark curly hair, but you knew right away that it was Violet- no, Viola. She’d recently requested that you specifically could call her by her true name, as she was one of the few who knew your’s.

“Y/n, are you alright? I heard crying, and became worried…”

You opened the door up more, enough so that she’d be able to slip inside. As soon as she was, you shut the door quickly and felt her arms wrap around you, being pulled into a warm and comforting embrace.

“I’m sorry… was I being that loud?” You started to apologize, “I shouldn’t have been, I must’ve scared-”

“Shh, don’t worry about it. I heard about your mission and figured it would be difficult for you, so I came down this way. I suppose I was correct about it being difficult, though.”

You nodded, pulling away from the hug. “I’m just worried about meeting him again…”

Viola gave you a warm smile, taking your hand to sit you down on your bed. She took a spot next to you, and allowed her hand to rest on top of yours, her thumb rubbing sweet circles into your skin. “Well, I never met him so there isn’t much I can say about him. But based on what you’ve told me, I think he’d be understanding of your situation… should you decide to switch sides.”

You gasped, looking at the woman beside you with wide eyes. “Viola! Don’t even joke about that, you know I can’t leave this family.”

She let out a light-hearted chuckle, shaking her head and closing her eyes for a very brief moment, all before looking back at you. “Y/n. I know how you feel about him, and you know that I know that you and I aren’t happy with our situation. Not only would I not judge you, I’d keep you covered so that the young master doesn’t find out.”

“You mean that?” you wondered, folding your hands in your lap and looking down. “You’d be okay if I… left?” 

She nodded, a smile spreading across her toned skin. “Of course.”

You hummed, before shrugging. “Well, I can’t say for certain that I want to… but it’s nice knowing you’d have my back.”

“Sure thing. So… what are you most worried about?” she asked, crossing her legs and leaning back on her arms.

“I dunno,” you answered honestly. “I’m scared of meeting him, since I don’t know how he’ll react… let alone how I will.”

“Hmm, let’s think it through, then? Let’s say he’s shocked, but happy.”

You scoffed, a light laugh escaping your lips, “I don’t think I’d be able to tell if he were happy. Law didn’t ever look happy.”

Viola rolled her eyes, “Okay… then how about all signs point to him being happy. What would you do then?”

You really didn’t know what to say to that. What would you do? What if he didn’t even recognize you? Or if any mutual feelings were gone, so you would then be stuck in a weird one-sided love? Or going down an entirely different route, what if he hated you?

“I g-guess… I’d just try talking to him… normally?”

Viola nodded, crossing her arms and sitting up now, “And maybe he’s upset?”

“If he were upset, then I’d probably just cry,” you huffed, moving to lean your head on your arms. “Because it would mean I’d have to kill him.”

“Not necessarily,” Viola disagreed, “You could just… not complete the mission?”

“And then what? Never return? We both know Monet is already there supervising things for the SMILEs. She’d call someone to get me.”

“I think, based on the information I know, that Law would understand your situation and help you. He’d be more upset with Doflamingo than with you.”

“I don’t know that for sure, so how can you? You’ve never met him.”

Viola just laughed, though, giving you a charming grin. “Y/n… You’re overthinking things.”

–

And overthink things you did, indeed. After that conversation, your mind just continued to spiral down all possible scenarios. Evening came and went, and soon, you realized you only had a few hours to pack and then sleep before departing for Punk Hazard.

There wasn’t room to bring much with you. You packed a couple outfits, non-perishable snacks and other necessities. You were thankful that all of your artillery could be worn so that you wouldn’t have to compromise space in your bag for them. 

Looking over your room, you scanned each and every object for anything that you might need, or perhaps want while away. 

Your eyes ended up landing on a particular drawer of your desk, one that you rarely ever opened. Memories flooded back into your mind as you thought of what resided in the drawer, and with a deep breath, you gathered your strength to open it.

Two items lay against the wood of the drawer’s interior. Two pieces of jewelry, both having significant meaning to you. A locket necklace, and a hand-crafted one made from junk. 

The locket had been from your mother before she died. Inside of it was a tiny photograph of your family, huddled up beneath a tree on a nice summer evening. It was the one item you had when you were adopted into your current family.

The other piece, the necklace made from junk, held a different meaning. With delicate hands, you picked it up and held it in your palm, looking it over as a small smile broke out on your lips. You fondly remembered the day it was given to you.

—

It had been a few days before Law disappeared along with Corazon. You’d been sitting by yourself, mindlessly playing with a pistol. Considering much of Spider Miles consisted of scraps and other junk, nobody ever cared that you’d been using things as your targets for practicing your aim. 

You loaded the gun before putting your hands in position, taking aim at a large pipe that you’d stuck a piece of paper to. On the paper was a poorly drawn face, meant to be your ‘victim’ for practice. You shot once, missing the eyes that hardly resemble real ones by a couple inches. Swearing, you mentally scold yourself for not hitting between the eyes. You get ready to shoot again, but were quickly stopped by someone approaching from behind.

“Y/n.”

You felt yourself freeze, a strange warmth overtaking your body as you lowered the gun. Slowly, you turned to greet the person who’d interrupted your training. 

“Law?” Your heart beat faster as you said his name, and you felt as though you were going to puke. What an odd feeling it was.

“I… have something for you,” the boy meekly informed you, holding out something wrapped in an old piece of paper. 

You approached him, taking the supposed gift out of his hands with the one that wasn’t holding your gun. Realizing you needed both hands, you quickly set the gun down on a crate nearby. Unwrapping it, a necklace made out of scraps was revealed to you. For someone who had virtually no necklace-making skills, it looked nice. There were two chains connected together, one silver and one gold. You figured he hadn’t been able to find just one that was long enough. On the end of it were some gemstone pieces clearly taken from smashed items, all strung together with some wire.

“A necklace?” You breathed, shyly looking up at Law.

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck as he started explaining. “The other day when you told me about your locket… I decided to make it. Since you like necklaces, I guess…”

You smiled, appreciating his effort to make you something. “Thank you… I love it,” you expressed your gratitude, putting it around your neck. “How’s it look?”

The way Law looked at you had your strange feelings intensifying, your stomach feeling like it was doing backflips within you. His ears were tinted red now, the only thing giving away what he really felt. “It’s nice… you look pr- it looks… pretty.”

You giggled, taking a step forward to hug your companion. 

—

A thought came to you, allowing you to zone back in as the memory faded out. If Law cared for you enough to make you a necklace back then, did you really have any reason to doubt that he’d welcome reuniting with you? Looking back on it as an adult, it was quite obvious the little crushes you’d both had for each other was a mutual thing. Perhaps now he wouldn’t feel that way, but there was no reason for him to have ill intentions toward you. That gave your mind some ease, at the very least.

Deciding that you wanted to take it with you, you put the necklace around your neck while your locket went inside your bag, as you were afraid of it being damaged from wear. 

In the small vanity mirror on your desk, you looked it over and your smile couldn’t help but grow a bit. Yes, it did kind of look like shit, but that’s what made it so special. It was made from garbage into something beautiful for you, and could you really expect a twelve year-old boy to be capable of gathering expensive materials to make you something fancy-looking?

Your eyes then trailed away from your reflection in the mirror down to the wanted poster still laid out on your desk. A part of you couldn’t believe that the boy you’d had a crush on as a preteen had grown to be the man in the photo; that he was the same person who’d liked you enough to make you a necklace, just because he’d felt like it.

What would you do when meeting him again? It was a thought that plagued your mind repeatedly all day long, to a point that you were certain you’d be dreaming about it tonight. That was, if you were even able to sleep, feeling so nervous that you couldn’t be sure if sleeping was doable at the moment.

But your body said otherwise, as you let out a yawn, feeling tired despite your mind that ran wild with thought, awake as ever. You stretched and looked over your belongings one more time, before deciding you had everything you needed. With another yawn, you fell backwards into your bed, curling up underneath the warm covers and, to your surprise, fell asleep with ease.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar d water law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #law x you #law x reader #law x y/n #law x female reader #trafalgar d water law

[bg3fan]

The devil you don't know 4

Part 3 / Part 5

After a little walk you finally arrive at Rivington, you decided that it might be the best to ask the travellers before they arrive at the city center where they would probably would like to find a place to drink and eat than waste their time with a stranger.

Hoping that they're more friendly with you here.

So, passing by the open hand temple into the busy street, you start looking around. Nobody really looks like they would have an idea who Raphael is.

It would be the best if you go down the street and just hear a bit what the others have to say.

You see a bright circus, seeing your favourite childhood clown dribble would definitely lift your mood, but Raphael would probably not be there, so with an aching heart, you go forward.

It's been a long time since you've been here, especially since the refugees came here. Everybody turned at least a little bit meaner, and some people were treated harshly just because they were poor.

You wish you could help, but unfortunately, you don't have much to offer, and it's not like you're rich. Barely making it, especially through the winter.

Suddenly, you see 4 travellers covered in blood and dirt and you can't help the feeling of hope rising inside you.

You see them walking into the sharess caress, and you hurry after them, hoping not to lose them.

Opening the door, you see that the one at the front is talking to a dwarven woman "aah the little mouse found its way to baldrus Gate." She chuckles. "Raphael awaits you. He's upstairs and has his own room there."

The traveller frowns and questions, "Who are you?" To which the dwarf shakes her head."I keep forgetting that you don't know me, even though I know you so well... think of me as Raphaels assistant, his helping hand."

The group is obviously exhausted and tired from their adventure and they have no energy left to argue any more than necessary.

Quietly, you move to the side to not draw any attention. You first want to know what Raphael would do here in such a place.

Is he working here? Or perhaps he needed something more than a boring person like yourself.

Maybe it's another Raphael, at least you hope it is. The group pass you by and go up the stairs, one of them groaning, "I hope the devil doesn't try anything stupid?" which leaves you frowning, again with the devil.

You let some minutes pass by as you make your way up the stairs, searching for the right room. You wonder, he did say he favourably works with nobels and adventurers even though this place seems like a place only for the travellers.

When you arrive at the room, you press the side of your cheek onto the door, straining your ear to hear what they're talking about in there.

Relieved that you don't hear any moaning or bed creaking.

"Why bother with trifles? When I'm in the illustrious presence of my very favourite client," you hear Raphaels smooth voice from the room, and it breaks your heart, so he does work here.

"So, apple of my eye, how have you been?" You hear his voice again, and you can't help but step back. Does he enjoy this type of work? You thought that he would only make deals and contracts like an agent.

Holding your head, you take deep breaths. It's alright. Perhaps he just has a high sex drive and doesn't want to bother you, but that's nonsense.

Maybe he has debts and need to pay them back, but he never seemed to struggle with his finances. He always striked you as someone who knows how to take care of it.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you think of your next step, just bargaining in there wouldn't be smart. It would only lead to angering him and his so-called clients.

"I suppose you'd rather suck on the emperors tentacles," his voice booms out of the room, which makes you gasp audibly. Tentacles? What kind of things are these mad people into?

Oh no, are they about to force him into something he doesn't like? Oh god, what do you do?

With panic you put your ear again against the door, but this time with a bit too much force, which causes a semiloud noise.

Unfortunately, it's too quiet now, and you don't know whether or not to just burst into the door or run away. Your body tensing as you feel the fear of confrontation creeps up your body.

To your dismay, the door opens quickly, and you fall head first into the room.

Just in time you somehow managed to land on your forearms instead of your head on the hard wooden floor. Your basket rolling away from you. Cursing under your breath you slowly lift your head and are looking up at the supposed leader of the group.

"How unfortunate Raphael, you did cut the connection to the emporer but didn´t notice your little spy over there" says the very pale man from behind, his tone mocking and dimissive.

Before you could say or do anything, Raphael steps between you and the group, ignoring you competely. "You do not need to worry about this one," he gestures behind him but still not looking at you even as you slowly stand up, "I do not expect you to make up your mind right now, as I can see how utterly exhausted and tired you all are. And how very unfair would it be of me to take this against you? Why don´t we reschedule our little meeting for another day, hm?"

Raphael´s client takes some seconds to think and then only gives him a nod, "I need to talk with Gale and La´eazel about this anyway."

As the group makes their way around you two to leave the room, you can´t help but wrap your arm around his, feeling a bit frightened. That´s the kind of people Raphael works with?

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 #raphael #raphael bg3 x reader #raphael imagine #bg3fan #raphael fic #raphael x reader #raphael fanfic

[daisyswift3]

The Alcott Analysis

So now that The Alcott has officially been released I wanted to do an analysis of some of the lyrics and how I think they might relate to Taylor. Disclaimer: I know Aaron said Matt wrote the main parts of the song and Taylor only added the dialogue parts so many of these connections might be a coincidence, but I also think it’s possible Taylor could have had more input on the song than they’re letting on since there are so many themes and motifs that perfectly relate back to Taylor’s music. This is just meant to be a fun clown theory

Like many others pointed out, the whole first verse is very “Help I’m still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross legged in the dim light, they say ‘what a sad sight’” and seems like the opposite pov of RWYLM

“It’s the last thing you/I wanted, it’s the first thing I/you do, I tell you that I think I’m falling back in love w/ you” // “I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard” // “Uh oh I’m falling in love, oh no I’m falling in love again”

“I had to do something to break into your golden thinking” // “Lost in the labyrinth of my mind…you would break your back to make me break a smile”— this is directly related to the following ⬇️

“And there you are sitting as usual w/ your golden notebook, writing something about someone who used to be me…I sit there silently waiting for you to look up” // “Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen, time moved on for everybody else, she won’t know it, she’s still 23 inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be…and you’re sitting in front of me” -> Taylor is stuck in her own head reminiscing and writing about the past (the golden age) and this person sitting in front of her is trying to break her out of this nostalgic escapist mindset. I think this may be a direct reference to the film Midnight in Paris which is all about nostalgia and escapism--much like the song Paris on the Midnights 3am edition--and specifically to golden age thinking, a phrase used in that film. Here are some tidbits that I think are worth noting

@chickawah23​ made a really great post about the possible Midnight in Paris connections. Here’s a screenshot from that post that does a good job summarizing the important parallels

There definitely seems to be a connection between Midnights, the stories of 13 sleepless nights, and the folklore chapters that were released in Aug 2020, specifically the sleepless nights and escapism chapters. I think it’s interesting that exile is the last track of the first chapter and first track of the second chapter--almost like the second chapter is a direct continuation of the first which again links Midnights to this escapism theme. And there’s been a lot of exile references lately (exile ends, doors, 8/3, etc)

Even though the back and forth dialogue between Taylor and Matt at first sounds argumentative, I think it could also be read in a positive way. This person is going to ruin and wreck Taylor’s plans and Taylor is going to gladly let them. She welcomes the curse on their house. “I’m begging for you to take my hand wreck my plans that’s my man” // “For you I would ruin myself a million little times” // “I wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed...He’s gonna burn this house to the ground...So yeah it’s a fire it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it” // “Dear reader, burn all the files, desert all your past lives” // Taylor is the one that chooses to burn the lover house down. She’s the one holding the lighter on the Midnights album cover and striking the match in the lavender haze mv (here’s a really great post about what that might signify). Furthermore, the willow performance and description make me think that the curse on Taylor’s house was actually her own doing--she’s not only letting this person wreck her plans but is helping them do so. So the burning, wrecking, ruining, cursing/spell casting are all metaphors for the same thing—destroying Taylor’s closet and possibly her career as a result of that

Honorable mention: The beat almost sounds like a heartbeat no? Wildest Dreams??

#i hope this all made sense lol #sometimes im not the best at articulating my thoughts #im doing this instead of studying for my finals like the responsible student i am #taylor swift #taylorswift #gaylor #gaylor swift #kaylor #midnight in paris #midnights #the alcott #the national #parallels #folklore #evermore #paris #exile #lyric analysis

[lnights]

Ok thoughts on the new album.

TLDR: I really like it! I would put it above LOTSAD. I think Phobia is my favorite

Me examining it like a sample in a petri dish below:

There are some similar things between EE and LOTSAD but to me it's almost like two sides of the same coin.

For example Glory for the Greedy and Not Your Bro have the same theme of people trying to act different once they started to get more popular.

While Glory was more about the corporate side, labels and producers and such that had rejected them before and then wanted to get a cut while they gleefully rejected them in turn now.

I have always supported your band" You haven't? Our last chat you were saying "ditch the rapper" "I believed in your vision" Hmm, no you didn't? You told us to lose the guitars and sing in Finnish "You're gonna be a big band, I always knew" Shut the fuck up man, no thanks to you "Prepare getting sued" Well prepare to fucking lose We ain't giving away percentages for work you didn't do

Not Your Bro is more the personal side of things.

When are we gonna hang, bro? It must be crazy touring with the band, bro Let me know if you ever need a hand, bro What can I say I'll return the favor, I'm returning the fear Your apologies only hurting my ears Call me a brother once again And I swear You'll disappear

And that theme stayed in my mind the whole album, where LOTSAD was triumphant to almost an annoying degree (I still liked it tbh) Exit Emotions is showing more of the turmoil that comes from the grind they've been putting themselves through. I think at this point we've all read or heard from them how there's been days they've been up for over 24 hours, that they were literally recording the album in hotel rooms between shows. I personally am a little haunted by the live where Niko explained that they weren't supposed to have such a packed tour schedule last year while recording the album but things just kind of happened, and Joel, Joonas, and Aleksi were just quiet but had this look of defeat on their faces. And one of them saying later that they were scared to listen to the album because they were so sleep deprived when they were recording it... Bros need a fucking break.

But back to the album, I have to admit I expected Wolves in California to be an absolute cringe fest and it was to a degree, but for as much as they've been trying to break into the American market I kind of love that the song was more talking about Finland and how they don't necessarily feel steady in the US.

The night is darkest just before the dawn But where I'm from the sun don't rise at all Damn you, now I need someone to shout at Damn you, now I need someone to shout at Damn you, now I need someone to shout We don't belong here We don't belong here, no Everybody tried to warn ya Now there's wolves in California

Yes it talks about conquering too but I digress.

Where's the Exit

Screaming rap goblin Niko my beloved, keep it up you sad clown. But again, a contrast from LOTSAD:

This life is what you fake it And everybody has a deathwish True tell me where's the exit

Red Tail Lights vs Don't Fix Me

From say Balboa that talked about getting up again and again against the odds and not giving up.

Both songs scream Joel to me, I don't know if it was him turning 30 or what but we went from Don't fix me:

Don't fix me Let me bleed out, leave me open No, don't fix me Maybe I was born to be broken I'm dead inside And it's alright (And it's alright) So don't fix me (Don't fix me) Don't fix me

Saying yeah I'm broken but it's who I am to Red Tail Lights:

I'm rolling rolling rolling rolling with the punches I need the beating 'cause there's nothing under my chest Here's something to digest

And

On the run, on the run, running from my heart Red tail lights is all I've got

I get the impression of yeah this is who I am, but there seems to be regret now, a different tone.

Autopsy and Phobia both funky little songs talking about fears. 10/10 no notes

Keeping it Surreal sounds more inline with Violent Pop or Blood Brothers to me, and that's giving me hope we'll get more songs like that when they inevitably make another album, hopefully in a year and not in like 6 months.

XOXO, I just loved it, I like From Ashes to New and hearing Matti and Danny and Joona on the song? Wonderful.

Of course we have the singles too:

Flatline is catchy and I've always enjoyed, dorky little dance aside.

Happy Doomsday, meh. It's better live but it has started to grow on me.

Deadzone, cringy but their brand of cringy, I do enjoy it.

Die Another Day, somebody correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Feel Nothing and Bad Idea from the same event in Niko's life that inspired Die Another Day? He had a lot of pain from that. Love all three of those songs.

But also fascinating looking at the progression between the three: Feel Nothing, still in the pits of despair and numb to the pain.

Bad Idea, internalizing the fallout and admitting things that went wrong

Die Another Day, trying to pull yourself out of that pit

Then we have our final song, One Last Time... Again.

Holy hell it's a tone shift from Thank You for the Pain, where TYFTP was all about their rise to fame and leaning to deal withit, One Last Time... Again speaks more to accepting things will never be the same and is a lot more driven then TYFTP.

But ffs, they need to stop putting fillers at the end of their albums.

#god that was longer then i meant it to be #i had a lot of thoughts to get out #im an awkward 🦇 #blind channel

[moochi-daisies]

2012.04.

(part 5 coming soon)

~content includes: alcohol, smoking, tension, underage drinking?, swearing and a moment~

18+, Minors DNI

Find the rest here!

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

After getting ready, I waited on the front porch. Taking a social smoke break. I wasn't used to being around this many people for so long. My dress and tights were of course, not weather appropriate so I tucked my knees up to my chest, wrapping Yoongi's jacket around myself.

The smoke I exhaled came out in plumes, making me feel like an ice dragon. The snow on the ground reflected light, shining brightly even though it was getting to be later in the evening. The front door creaked open, Jungkook shyly walking out.

He wiggled his cigarette between his fingers, walking over to the same spot he stood this morning. His cocky attitude deflated this time around.

"Hey uh, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable" he shared. Hanging his head like that he looked like a puppy getting scolded.

"No, not at all. You've actually made me feel really comfortable here" I responded quickly, waving away his apology.

"But um, I do- um, I do like Yoongi" my tongue felt thick in my mouth as I said it. Like I was sharing something trapped in mud.

Jungkook laughed to himself softly, "I figured as much" he said simply.

Smiling, he lit his cigarette and we both fell silent. Looking out at the snow covered streets before us.

Loud noises started coming from inside the house as the time for us to leave got closer.

"I'm excited for the show" I piped up, trying to return some of the warmth Jungkook had shared with me. He perked up at this, nodding his head as we both stubbed our cigarettes out in the ashtray.

"You should be" he rubbed his hands together, "Yoongi makes crazy good music. I don't think he'll be here long, I think he's going places.".

We smiled at each other as we walked back inside, Jungkook flapping his hand at Hobi's penetrating gaze which softened after I flashed him a thumbs up.

Jimin waggled a bottle of rum at the group with a devilish grin on his face, "Pre-show shots everybody" he cheered. "This is just the beginning, guests go first."

He handed the bottle to me, "shots" apparently meaning pulling straight from the bottle. I swiped it from him and put the glass to my lips, taking a few swallows and trying not to gag. Some rum dribbled down onto my chin, burning as I wiped it away. The others looked at me in surprise.

"Well damn" Yoongi chuckled, taking the bottle from me.

Everyone took their turns, grimacing at the taste.

Stomachs warm from the rum, we all headed outside. Jimin explained to me that Tae would meet us there and we piled into the car. Jungkook slid back in his spot next to me, sitting on his hands and bumping his shoulder against mine more playfully than before.

With Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Hobi and I pressed into the backseat I quickly forgot about the cold. Perhaps feeling more bold from the liquor I choked out the words, "So uh, you guys always travel like this? It's like a clown car of hot guys." My tone more grumbly than I expected.

     The others laughed at this before Namjoon spoke up, "Yeah you know, I guess we do. It's just more fun when we go places together, if that makes sense.". It did make sense, I had only been here a day and was already struggling to remember what life had been like without them. I didn't want to go back to my life back home. I didn't want to leave.

     This thought cut through the alcohol and I craned my neck to ask Jimin for the bottle.

     "Girl you better know how to pace yourself" he teased. And I didn't say anything but attempted to lift an eyebrow in response. The rum burned it's way down and I took a deep breath.

     "So what do you all do anyways?" I asked, trying to keep my thoughts collected instead of letting them float away.

     I learned that Namjoon, Jimin and Hobi were all at the same college. Namjoon worked at the bookstore there and was majoring in English Literature. Jimin was a dance major and worked at the local dance studio, he'd been dancing since he was a kid. Hobi was majoring in Music Composition, he helped Yoongi with song lyrics and worked at the music shop his dad owned downtown.

     Jungkook was taking a gap year before starting college and didn't work. Technically, he didn't even live at the house with the guys. I mean, he did. But he would go back home where he had lived with his mom to grab clothes or for the occasional family dinner. I learned that Jin was the eldest and had been working at the local radio station as well as the local theater company.

     "Wait so- hold on, you're only 19?" I looked at Jungkook pointedly, "And you're an actor?" I asked Jin, trying to make eye contact with him in the rearview mirror.

     For the first time during the visit, Jungkook looked sheepish. It only lasted for a moment though before he came back with, "Yeah sorry, I like older ladies" and an exaggerated wink. Hobi head-butted him, a laugh erupting out of me I tried to apologize for.

     Jin cleared his throat and caught my eye before speaking next, "Yeah, I majored in Theatre. I didn't really know what I wanted to do so I picked something that seemed easy." he laughed bitterly as he finished. I nodded my head as I looked out the window, "Yeah" I murmured almost to myself, "I'm sort of in that boat too.".

     Yoongi turned his head at that, locking eyes with me, a serious look on his face. "I thought you were a writer" his words cut through the air. This flustered me more than I was prepared for, "How did you- I never- I mean kind of but- when did you?" the words spluttered out of me like my system was glitching.

     Hobi and Jungkook turned to me with guilty looks on their faces, "Oh yeah, we uh, we showed him the story we read" Hobi admitted. I threw my head back against the head rest and moaned dramatically. A small "nooo" escaping me while the others laughed.

     When I brought my head up, my moodiness dissipated as soon as I saw Yoongi staring back at me. The passing lights twinkling out of his eyes while he did. We stared at each other for a moment before he reached out and grabbed the rum bottle. Turning back in his seat he unscrewed the cap, "Don't act like that" he muttered, "you're really good.".

     The boys let out a childish round of "oooooh's" and Yoongi told them to shut up while I tried to control the smile that was taking over my face.

     When we got to the venue, the boys started opening their doors and the cold air that washed over me felt necessary instead of biting.

Keep your goddamn shit together, my internal self pep talk was barking out in a commanding voice, Focus on the show. You are here for the show. You are AT the show.

     I stayed in my seat as the boys stood out around the car, I heard some muffled voices and their footsteps growing faint. Although a little frightened to be left by myself, the space to collect myself was needed and deeply appreciated. Not a moment after I started to calm down, the back door across from me opened up and Yoongi lowered himself into the back seat with me.

     Holding the bottle of rum in his hands, he held it out to me without turning his head. I took it from him, taking a swig in silence before passing it back.

     "You're uh, only 20 right?" he asked, the vibrations from his voice tickling my ear.

     "Oh yeah, this is a bar huh" I realized out loud. How had I not thought of that? Would I even be able to see the show? Jungkook was younger than I was but I don't know, maybe he had a fake ID. Why didn't I think of that before coming here? Did I think of anything before coming here?

      Yoongi's words shot through my anxious thoughts like an arrow, pinning them safely outside of my head.

     "I know the guy who runs this place, it won't be a problem. I just uh, the guys might have to get you drinks inside. I hope that's okay.".

     I giggled, his head turning with a look of confusion spread across his face.

     "I'm just so happy to be here, the guys getting me drinks is a complete non-issue. That was sweet of you for checking though, thank you.".

      All of the rum hit me at once.

     I had turned to look at him while I spoke, his cheeks flushed pink and a small smile showed on his face before he quickly looked down at his hands.

     The desire to kiss him started to consume me. Eating away at my stomach. Threatening to crawl up my lungs and out of my mouth into the real world.

     Yoongi took the final swig of rum and twisted the top back on, setting the bottle on the floor.

     The air between us was crackling, pop rocks being set off by tiny invisible water molecules.

     Staring straight ahead, Yoongi slid himself over so the sides of our bodies were pressed together like they had been this morning.

     Carefully, almost delicately, he lifted his hand and placed it on top of my thigh. My heart slammed itself between my legs, ricocheting back into my chest cavity. Staring at the headrest of the driver's seat in front of me, I curled my arm through his, gripping onto his forearm. Clutching the fabric of his sleeve so that it bunched under my fingers.

     We stayed unblinking, looking at anything but each other. I don't think either of us took a breath.

      Several moments passed before his head turned to look at me, and I turned mine to meet his gaze.

     Our eyes briefly made contact before dropping down to each others lips. His grip tightened on my thigh and my other arm reached across to hold his bicep, pulling his arm closer to my chest.

     All I had to do, was reach my hand up to his neck. To slide my fingers through his hair and pull him to me.

     All I had to do, was cup his face and lean in. Our heads already angled for a kiss.

      I wanted him to kiss me.

      Like he had read my mind, Yoongi's other hand reached up to hold the back of my neck. His fingers sliding through the hair, his thumb brushing up against the base of my skull.

     My hand drifted from his bicep to the collar of his shirt, gripping it in a tight fist before extending my index and middle finger. Resting them gently on the base of his neck, feeling his heartbeats pulsing just as strongly and quickly as my own.

     Our eyes closed shut, breathing shallow.

     Our noses lightly pressed together.

     Slightly opened mouths, feeling the oxygen leave one to be taken in by the other.

     The grip on the back of my neck grew firm as Yoongi suddenly inhaled sharply through his nose.

     "Ok" he said in a whisper, "ok.". He repeated the word before sliding out of the car.

     I gulped as the chill hit me, taking back all of the warmth that had come from where he had been touching me.

     My car door opened, and Yoongi stood there like some sort of valet service employee. One hand on the car door, the other behind his back, staring straight ahead of him. I peeked out, looking up at him. A pout beginning to form that I wasn't able to hide.

      I wanted to grab him and kiss him.

      I felt, at least a little bit sure, that the thought had crossed his mind too. Or else, what the hell was that just now?

     I sucked in some air and focused on connecting my brain to my limbs. I wasn't going to leave it at this, I wasn't going to be left the only one a tingly wreck.

     As I stood up out of the car, I turned to face him dead on. Blocking him from closing the door.

     His eyes widened and he looked at me flustered.

     I steeled my eyes with determination, stepping in closer until the front of my chest was gently grazing against his.

    I slid my hands to the sides of his face, softly cupping it and lifted up on to my toes slightly. The hand he had behind his back stretched forward, wrapping around my waist to hold my lower back, pressing me further to him and helping me keep my balance. The heat of his palm and feeling of his body against my own causing me to sharply inhale.

     I couldn't lose focus now.

     I leaned my face in close, swimming in his eyes as his expression softly melted. Pressing my forehead to his for a moment, I brushed my lips across his cheek with a feather light touch, to his ear.

     "Good luck" I breathed out in a soft whisper. I was close enough to see the goosebumps rise along on the back of his neck, his fingers pressing into the dimples of my lower back and I grinned. Pulling away, satisfied with myself.

     For the first time, he flashed a big gummy smile at me. Closing the door and shaking out his shoulders.

     "I think it's gonna be a good show after that" his remark left me blushing.

     As he walked off towards the venue, I followed behind. Trying to conceptualize what had just happened. The rum muddled my thoughts and I tried to tell myself that now wasn't the time to figure out what all of that meant.

     Yoongi dipped inside the venue and I was greeted by cheers from the boys who were standing out front, cigarettes and drinks in hand. Tae threw an arm over my shoulder, giving me a noogie. "So did he kiss ya? Huh?" he asked with a laugh in his voice. I ducked out from under his hold and took a step back, crossing my arms.

     "No? Did he say he was gonna kiss me?" I asked the group and nervous laughs rippled through them.

     Tae started to do what can only be described as an Irish jig before Namjoon whacked him on the back of the head. "Yeah I mean, he asked us about it and we encouraged him." Jin waved his hands about him, sloshing his drink and nearly burning his hair with his cigarette. His eyes had been closed the entire time he spoke, rosy splotches on his cheeks and he swayed like a spindly tree being blown by the wind.

     Jimin pushed his hair back, puffing out his cheeks  and rolling his eyes at Jin. "Jin is a lightweight" he grinned, "Look- we like you a lot. Yoongi never does anything like this and we are rooting for you two. He just, oh god he's - he's maddening sometimes.". Jimin ended with a dry laugh, gesturing to the group for help.

     I shook my head and jumped in before anyone else could speak.

     "I like you all a lot. The thing is, I came here for the show. I don't know if Yoongi likes me but it doesn't matter because I have to go home after this. Ok?" None of those words were what I wanted to say.

     The group seemed to sense that and Namjoon's sassy look made me groan. Tae grabbed my shoulders, shaking me back and forth.

    "He"

     "Likes"

      "You"

      Each word was enunciated by a pause in his shaking, making me laugh.

      "Ok, ok, ok. I wanna be where you guys are at. Can someone get me a drink?" I lifted my eyebrows looking for a taker. Jungkook and Tae both raised their hands and stepped towards me, throwing arms around my shoulders on either side so I was sandwiched in the middle.

I squinted up at Jungkook, "Aren't you a little young to be buying me a drink?" I jabbed at him. He looked down at me, pausing for a moment before flicking me on the forehead.

Stinker.

The venue was dark inside, strings of lights hung around the perimeter barely creating enough light for us to see. To the left of the entrance was a stage, where it was the brightest. A banner with graffiti style writing was strung up, surrounded by rave lights, music equipment balanced on top of fold up tables with Yoongi kneeling down behind them, fiddling with the chords.

Across the venue was the bar, where Tae and Jungkook proceeded to march me towards. Small groups of people were filling into the venue, finding their own respective places to lounge and getting in line for drinks. As we arrived at the bar, the boys swerved me away from the line and directly up to the counter. A young woman, maybe a few years older than I was, walked over to us.

"Hey boys, who's your good looking friend?" she shot a wink at me and I bashfully shook my hands.

"She's here to see Yoongi" Tae responded, lifting his eyebrows and clicking his tongue.

The girls face fell a little bit. She was beautiful. Her dark hair was thrown up into a messy bun, the underside dyed a vibrant cobalt blue. She had a nose ring and labret studded in the middle of her bottom lip, big glasses not hiding the hazel of her eyes. Even in a simple black tank top and jeans, she looked dressed up. I was intimidated and tried to ignore the floodgate of questions about her relationship to Yoongi running through my mind.

"Ahh, you're in for a show" she grinned at me, "what're you having?" and I shook the boys arms off my shoulders to lean a little closer.

"That's what I've heard, and I'm excited. I've never been to anything like this before. And a whiskey sour please!" I struggled to get my voice loud enough.

She smiled and nodded before taking orders from Tae and Jungkook.

I used the moment to look back at Yoongi.

He was standing, wrapping a chord around his hand and staring out in our direction.

As soon as we caught each other he shook his head, letting his black hair fall in front of his face. Placing the chord on the table and busying himself with the equipment.

The girl, Lacey, put all of our drinks on the counter, letting us know the first one was on the house. We cheers'd her before finding an empty table to claim. I plopped into the red leather booth and Jungkook perched on the back of it, Tae sitting across from me.

Jungkook had a simple glass of whiskey, whereas Tae had something fancy. A tall, thin flute with a pink paper umbrella placed on the top, the wooden toothpick bottom skewering a maraschino cherry and piece of pineapple. He caught me staring and offered me a sip which I gladly took him up on. It was delicious and sweet, making me wonder why I ordered a whiskey sour.

 

     We sat and nursed our drinks, looking around as the venue continued to fill with people. Nervousness started pounding in my chest when I realized that half of the city's population appeared to be here. Jungkook grabbed the back of my head and leaned his face down to my ear, "Yoongi is really popular. You gotta dance once he goes on ok? I'll dance with you." He was decisive with his words. I nodded and tried to swallowed down my nerves.

     The lights suddenly went dark and a shadowed figure on stage spoke through a microphone, introducing the first act that was opening for Yoongi. I turned to tug on Jungkook's sleeve and he leaned down towards me, "I'm gonna go find the guys and smoke before Yoongi goes on. I'm a little nervous" the words spilled out of me.

    He nodded and I let go of him, turning back to Tae and making a smoking gesture towards him. Tae had his pinky lifted as he sipped his drink, closing his eyes and nodding back to me. The rave lights were the only ones that came back on as I stood up out of the booth, pumping colors as the beat dropped. I made my way towards the front door, making a point to not look towards Yoongi as I made my way outside.

#bts scenarios #yoongi imagine #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfction #yoongi angst #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #bts angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #suga fanfic #suga angst #bts suga #bts slowburn

[imeverywoman420]

Fashion IS an art…. And art has many purposes. Sometimes art is supposed to make you feel all crazayyy and O.O sometimes art is supposed to be technically skilled and beautiful. Everybody wants to be a fashion Duchamp nowadays and its like. Well doesnt that ruin the novelty of abstract art. If everybody is looking ugly and crazy to “send a message”…. Maybe we need to consider most people ARENT fashionistas and thats fine. Maybe thats the reason so many people feel the need to uglify themselves, to show that they “get it”. Ugly fashion is praised and people that “dont get it” are simple minded.

i “get” the cowboy boots and denim maxi skirt and oversized blazer. Its ugly. Theres nothing there. You could have just worn a nice wrap dress and everyone would think thats lovely. Now you’re wearing literal clown pants and an argyle sweater vest. Crying on the inside. Screaming “I GET IT. NOTICE ME. HUMANS OF NEW YORK GUY TAKE MY PICTURE PLEASE”

maybe fashion doesnt have to say anything if you have nothing to say. Its clear you follow trends and can’t dress yourself thats why ur wearing clown pants. Just wear jeans and a t shirt you basic bitch.

#F

[the-mxster]

Tensimm+Donna incorrect quotes (pt6)

Pt1 Pt5

Master: I’ve lost like 35 pounds in like 3 months from just not drinking beer

Doctor: Has that been tough to cut out beer?

Master: Not really, I just replaced it with vodka

Master: Your existences are confusing. 
Doctor and Donna: How so? 
Master: Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to any of you upsets me.

Donna: Sure, you're verified on twitter, but are you verified in the eyes of god?

Master, tearing up the room: Where are they?

Master, looking under a pillow: Who moved them? Who moved my children?

Master: Somebody moved my M&M's, and now I am going to start killing.

Doctor: No thanks.

Doctor: I'm god.

Master: I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly.

Donna: "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."

Master: ...

Master: What a stupid fucking quote.

Master: I'm killing way more than two people, idiot.

Master: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles.

Doctor: Seize the day, seize the night, what’s the last one?

Master: Seize the dick.

Donna: Hey, what’s the name of the guy who lives down the hall?

Master: His cats' names are Walter and Rose.

Donna: That's not what I asked.

Master: That is all the information I have.

Doctor: Some people say that I have a god complex. I’d like to think that I’m a complex god.

Master: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person.

Donna: How stupid do you think I am?!

Doctor: You really want an honest answer to that?

Master: Hey there demons, It's me, ya boi.

Doctor: Master, NO!

Doctor: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

Master: It'll be fun.

Master: We'll make a day of it.

Master: Come on you punk bitch.

Doctor: I can't believe I have to say this.

Doctor: I don't have time to get tested for sti's with you tomorrow.

Doctor: I printed up a bunch of fake safety inspection certificates. Go slap one on anything that looks like a lawsuit.

Donna: Doctor, is that legal?

Doctor: When the cops aren’t around, anything’s legal!

Master: I think I mostly want to see what happens when this whole place breaks apart.

Doctor: Astrology is fun because i can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Gemini and not symptoms of mental illness.

Donna: Being a Gemini is a mental illness. That’s not hate it’s just a fact.

Master: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go.

Donna: Those are wanted posters!

Doctor: The time to act is now.

Doctor: Wink, wink.

Donna: Don't say "wink wink". Just wink.

Doctor: Oh, sorry.

Doctor: Wink.

Donna: You want to know why people are so afraid of clowns? Well you know what people say about how their feet aren't the only thing that's big? And how people who drive really big cars have small dicks? Well clowns are out there with their big feet and tiny cars...

Doctor: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might.

Donna: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY-

Master: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name?

Donna: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though... I don't know.

Master: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

Doctor: That's not funny.

Donna: I thought it was funny.

Doctor: You don't count. You started laughing in the middle of a funeral because you started thinking of a meme you saw on Facebook.

Master: The only thing I'm guilty of is being adorable... ...and also assault with a deadly weapon.

Donna: It’s funny how well you and the Master get along. Didn’t they hate you at first?

Doctor: The Master hates everybody at first. It’s their way of reaching out to people.

Doctor: I came out here to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now.

Donna: Truth or dare?

Doctor: Truth.

Donna: How many hours have you slept this week?

Doctor:

Doctor: Dare.

Donna: Go to sleep.

Doctor: I don't like this game.

Master: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

Doctor: What are you in the mood for?

Master: World domination.

Doctor: That's a bit ambitious.

Master: You are my world.

Doctor: Aww...

Master:

Doctor:

Master:

Doctor: OH.

Donna, to Master: You're not Mario. Lets get something fucking straight, you're Luigi at best.

Donna: Well, has the Doctor been wrong before?

Master: How wide are we willing to open this up?

Donna: I know you love them.

Doctor: I am not in love with Master!

Donna, staring at Doctor: I never said who...

Doctor: *realizes*

Doctor: Shit. Well, anyways-

Master: I have seen a lot of murders in my time, and all six of them were today.

Donna: As someone who has a long history of not understanding anything, I feel confident in my ability to continue not knowing what is going on.

Master: Here you go, Doctor, a nice hot cup of coffee!

Doctor: It's cold.

Master: A nice cup of coffee.

Doctor: It's horrible!

Master: Cup of coffee.

Doctor: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee.

Master: C U P.

Doctor: Sorry I’m late, I was doing things.

Master: Hi, I’m ‘things’.

Donna: You don't think I can fight because of my gender!

Doctor: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Master can fight in that dress either.

Master: Perhaps not. But I would make a radiant bride.

Doctor: I love murder mysteries!

Master, trying to impress them: I've been a suspect in four murder cases.

Master: I can’t believe we have to be stuck in this room together!

Doctor, swallowing the key: Truly unfortunate.

Doctor, putting their hands over Master's eyes: Guess who!

Master: It's either the Doctor or the cold, clammy hands of death.

Doctor, putting their hands away: It's the Doctor!

Master: Dammit.

Donna: Your lab is in the bathroom?

Doctor: The Master says this is the perfect place for my work. I’m just now realizing that remark may not have been entirely complimentary.

Doctor: What do we say when making bread?

Donna, glumly: That's the dough rising.

Doctor: And what do we NOT say?

Master, sadly: That's the yeast fucking.

Master: I am so horny and angry all the time.

Master: I know we’re not exactly friends, but-

Donna: What do you want?

Master: I've been stuck with the Doctor for 2 weeks and they've been drinking all the soy sauce.

Master: Help.

Donna, to Doctor: ...And I need you and Master to help, and by "help" I mean "do everything."

Master: Not gonna lie, I'm kind of afraid of Donna...

Doctor: As you should be.

Master: No, for real, they're kind of-

Doctor: As. You. Should. Be.

Doctor: *out cold on the ground*

Donna: Oh my god, do you think they’re okay?!

Master, holding a bucket of ice water: Who cares?! *dumps all of the water on Doctor’s face*

Donna: I like your top, Master!

Doctor: I have a name, you know.

Master: *sighs* Why. Why are you like this.

Doctor: You ever see something that changes your life and you're just like "huh.."

Donna: I saw you.

Doctor: Honestly that's so cute and sweet but it kinda makes this awkward because I was gonna show you a picture of Master in a turkey costume.

Donna: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.

Doctor: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.

*Master walks in*

Doctor: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.

Donna: What are you drinking?

Master: Tea

Donna: What type?

Master:

Master: Tea-quila

Doctor: Can I be frank with you guys?

Donna: Yeah but I don’t see how changing your name will help.

Master: Can I still be the Master?

Donna: shh, let Frank speak

Master: I am a law abiding citizen and politician #VoteSaxon

Donna: Really? Name one law

Master: Don’t kill people

Doctor: Didn’t you start a war?

Donna: I would fix them but I think whatever the hell is wrong with them is much funnier.

Master: Which one of us are you talking about?

Donna: Both of you

Donna: The results are in…I have updog

Master: What’s updog?

Donna: I TOLD YOU I COULD DO IT DOCTOR

Master: Just ask and I’ll guess how many bitches you get

Master: Donna, 0

Donna: I DIDN’T EVEN ASK?!?

*The Doctor fast asleep, not waking up to anything*

Master: we could always try prodding his *gestures towards the Doctor’s crotch*

Donna:No!

Master: No?

Doctor: He’s called the Master for a reason

Donna: But he’s a bitch for no reason

Doctor: In my humble opinion-

Master: Your humble opinion can suck it’s own dick

Donna: *Signs legal document with a glitter gel pen*

Doctor: Just a reminder it costs £0 to be nice

Master: How much is it to be mean?

Doctor:

Donna: I can venmo you

Doctor: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.

Donna: You okay?

Doctor: The Master stole my fucking garlic bread

Judge: How do you plead?

Master: *looks over at the Doctor*

Doctor: *mouthing ‘not guilty’*

Master:

Master: Hot…Milky?

Master: *goes on a date*

Master: *looks around*

Master: Sorry will the cat in your pictures not be joining us?

Doctor: *starts crying*

Donna: What’s wrong?

Doctor: Oh nothing, this just happens sometimes

Master: I’d be sorry for that but I’ve done much worse

Doctor: Your honour, I’d like to plead guilty as well as request the death penalty

Judge: This is a parking ticket

Doctor: Why aren’t you attending your therapy sessions?

Master: I didn’t even attend my own funeral Doctor

Donna: Valid point

Rando: THE GOVERNMENT IS CONTROLLING US ALL

Donna: Okay? Do I look like Katniss Everdeen, the fuck am I gonna do about that?

Master: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds

Doctor, immediately grabbing them into a huge hug: Fourty-five second?!?!

Master, struggling: No! FOUR TO FIVE SECONDS!

Doctor: Did you know that it takes a plastic bag 20-100 years to break down, yet it takes me approximately one minor inconvenience

Doctor: Why did you give the Master a knife?!?

Donna: They felt unsafe

Doctor: Well now I feel unsafe

Donna: I’m sorry

Donna:….Would you like a knife?

Donna: This is my wall of inspirational women

Master: That’s just a picture of you

Donna: I’m big enough to admit that sometimes I inspire myself

Master: I can explain

Doctor: Can you?

Master: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie

Donna: Do you know how we’re made of atoms?

Donna: And atoms never touch each other

Donna: So in my defence, Doctor, I did not punch the Master

Master, holding a bag of frozen peas up to his face: LIAR!

Master: The next time I’ll open up for someone, it will be an autopsy

Therapist: *aggressively writes something down*

Doctor: Remember when we built that book shelf together?

Master: haha yes so fun

*cuts to Master facing the camera*

Master: That was my Vietnam

Master: And I was in Vietnam

Pt 7

#simm master #tensimm #donna noble #incorrect doctor who quotes #incorrect quotes #tenth doctor #10th doctor

[incarnateirony]

It's kind of a sad statement of the LGBTQ community's fakeness and digital structure online when the only person I've been able to openly talk out my trans bullshit with is my het dude military buddy, and trust me, what I rage about would get me hung online by people with agendas, but I have a feeling they're things other old queer people sit on while we stare at this digital shithole making us all look like clowns.

On the other hand, it's particularly affirming when the same issues I deal with are things that set him off on Manrants.

Like listen, I already had to accept the terrible string of "i am a straight man" in order. Like man, do you know how long i clung to he/him lesbian and just avoided talking about what I can only call Phallic Issues?

Cuz there's not even anywhere to talk about it. For one it's difficult and often inappropriate and for two, a bunch of digital goblins that aren't looking to Pass As A Life They Live, but rather Stick Out In Digital Arguments With A Rainbow Label have made this fucking conversation ungoddamn navigable to the people it was actually originally about. There's some bored person with 2.5 kids who's husband still hasn't found their clit trying to figure out their sexuality coming in fucking up literal like neuroscience and other dialogue because, how dare the *straight man be here at all, much less like, talk about sexual shit. People can't do that, that's illegal.

So where am I left going? Literally to my dudebros, that say all kinds of shit I generally don't even agree with politically, but they're the only motherfuckers who haven't set up so many fake social justice fences based on their own personal garbage comfort demands so I can literally go, no. Can you believe these dipshits want me to explain like they're five what happens inside a man's head?

And they be like nah man that's a trap the second you breathe a word about it you're cancelled.

Yeah, no shit.

Honestly I'm tired of so many things. I mentioned recently that coming out as a trans straight guy is a trap. You're man enough to be the token straight punching bag, but not enough for your perspective to be considered in conversations, without being grilled to justify Basic Truths until you have to say some shit someone can act offended about. And boy are the terfs pissed and happy to blow them dogwhistles on us

God i'm tired

it's not the gamerdudes on reddit driving up the trans suicide rate. it's you assholes. They genuinely Do Not Care if you identify as attack helicopters. They don't. They don't care I'm a dude. They were basically like yeah what about it you've always been dudegirl that's whatever dude. It's this digital shithole that turns it into a whole goddamn ceremony fused with astrophysics.

I'd rather hang out with dudes I've known for 20 years that occasionally fuck up a pronoun by force of habit and actually laugh at how it looks/sounds now, than deal with you assholes acting like i skinned your child because I didn't read a 3 page Carrd about your narcissism or people who decide every convo is a chance to proselytize their own personal label's struggle.

And that says nothing about the fact that people have set up this conversation so we can't even address that YES, THERE ARE FAKERS. Are trans people dangerous, no. Are narcissists that can play boggle with gender arguments dangerous? Yes.

Think about 2po. I still call him him, because his friends, like his pal snotrag that doxxed my friend with him, even still calls him pat. But see, when he went viral as a proven fail and everybody was talking about pat, suddenly, pat had a gender discovery and was they/them will. Nevermind the more masculine name and that the person was initially a cis man, I guess they had a deep come to jesus moment and deeply identified as the Fail Gender. I guess that script blast was so hard it knocked the he/him right off of them. Considering the pepe memes his buddy uses, I wouldn't be surprised if 2po logs onto his personal to psot attack helicopter jokes and laugh at this godforsaken shithole.

(That's not to say all they/them nb is invalid either before some titanic dickhead proves the real point of this whole post and the need to add constant asterisks to avoid some shitheaded bored kid seeking attention starting a fight)

People only make the bad, dead, beat out joke at our expense because of the people that make us look like fucking comedy with their weird bullshit. Stop it.

But sure keep hyper obsessively segregating us into microlabels and pretending it's helping trans people or breaking down gender roles or what the fuck ever.

Yeah them microlabels are decent ways to describe facets of human sexual potential, and can/should be tools to help you sort your head out. But my bio shouldn't have to look like an ingredient label on processed food to engage in this conversation. It's not fucking complicated, Karen. If you have to do that many goddamn backflips to argue your way into this conversation maybe stay the fuck out of it.

Just because it's true that you don't need active dysphoria to be trans (and sometimes almost have Triggers specific to things like, I dunno, sexuality) doesn't mean it gets to be the jungle gym of every fucking teenager on the internet trying to figure out their general identity, and stop trying to call my still untransitioned trans ass a terf or a truscum for it, you fucking terfs. Stop flipping this shit around.

Literally if you look at twitter/tumblr, 50% of the world is trans. And while that's a charming thought for a dialogue about the repressed minority or the truth of Gender or whatever the fuck, in the real world, less than 1% identify, and those of us that exist in real world queer spaces might GENEROUSLY estimate maybe 5%? like cap? If I took 95% of you motherfuckers, unplugged your internet and dropped you in the Appalachians, you probably wouldn't be trans or care about trans issues by the time you stumbled out. But that's the life some of us have actually been through, so stop shitting on the mountain trail, it's rough enough out here.

Most of you are logging off to your 2.5 kids and husband anyway. Don't call me a biphobe for it. By all means sweetie go figure your shit out, fuck up and out whatever storm with whomever you want, go figure out your bullshit, but stop trying to make your bullshit the communal bullshit. We fucking get it. You got to the party late and your shit still has you uncomfortable. Stop trying to take over the fucking party, your music choice sucks. Back to the hetero world with you.

But most of you never will. You're never gonna pursue it. You're just gonna fuck around in our conversation to try to actually make it to conform to you, which somehow always makes the hets and terfs the dominant force on this conversation under all the screaming noise. You won't LET it impact your lives the way it has those that have lived experiences, you try to make US clean up and sterilize OURS. Lived experiences also doesn't mean Have Already Fucked And Found Out, and if you even thought that argument, disqualify yourself from ever speaking on this again, because you clearly aren't even vaguely in touch with the queer experience, you're in touch with the Seeking A Place To Belong experience. It's adjacent, but not the same.

Realistically, 99% of the supposed digital queer community are, at best, Questioning, and using digital personas to fuck around and find out. The fucking LGBTQ conversation has been just. utterly hijacked and clowned unto itself by people Questioning, but not willing to ask the hard parts, and demand those uncomfy parts stay away from their LARP.

Hard pass.

#lgbtq #trans