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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers.

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves.

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable.

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement.

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance.

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you.

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety.

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

#this is not very edited but i am BEHIND #this was originally gonna have like two more scenes but then it started to annoy me #i am coming to you again to confess: i did not read through this #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 15 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023

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thecrazygamingzombie · 2 months

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Season 2 of Helluva Boss is the 'Blitzo relationship arc'

I just picked up on a running theme in the second season of the funny demon show: every episode, in some way, addresses Blitzo's relationship with those around him

The Circus establishes how he met Stolas for the first time and why the prince is so utterly infatuated with him. That one day he shared with Blitzo as a child clearly had a massive positive impact on him and may very well be one of the few happy memories he still retained from his childhood.

Seeing Stars gives us insight as to how Loona came into his life and why he so fiercely defends the girl despite her often acting like a brat, he likely sees a lot of himself in the girl. Especially in their shared scars.

Exes and Oohs shows us how Moxxie and Blitzo first met and why Moxxie puts up with everything Blitzo does. Moxxie's life was literally in shambles when Blitzo found him and not only did the former clown help Moxxie put himself back together but gave him a fresh start on his life, free from his father's shadow.

Western Energy further develops on his relationship with both Stolas and Loona. In the former case it establishes how Stolas and Blitzo perceive each other, Stolas having built Blitzo up as this grand fairytale knight who will always save him and Blitzo having built up Stolas as this untouchable god who can't be harmed, only for both of those perceptions to be shattered by the end of the episode. Whereas in the latter case, it shows Blitzo basically acting like a normal dad to Loona. Serving as moral support while she's getting her vaccine.

Unhappy Campers provides context on his relationship with Barbie, namely how his sister utterly despises him for something that occurred in the past. A stark contrast to the photo we saw at the end of Ozzie's

Oops furthers that plotline with Barbie and gives us some good insight as to WHY Barbie hates her brother with clever context clues, while also showing why Fizzarolli hates Blitzo before allowing them to mend their relationship.

And of course Mammon's Magnificent Musical Mid-season Spectacular furthers the Fizzarolli plotline by establishing the sort of relationship they had before, not only showing why Fizzarolli was willing to forgive Blitzo but also why he trusts the imp so much.

Full moon is undoubtedly going to further the Stolas and Blitzo relationship plot further, I feel that 'Apology Tour' is going to be Verosika centric, and Octavia and Barbie are undoubtedly going to pop up again.

It's amazing how deep the writing can go if you can pick up on the underlying threads isn't it?

#helluva boss #moxxie #blitzo #loona #stolas x blitzo #helluva boss stolas #stolas ars goetia #stolitz #stolas #barbie wire #verosika #verosika mayday #helluva boss verosika #fizzarolli #fizzaroli helluva boss #media analysis #i love this show

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 years

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Is there any chance we could have a round up of the Circus? I am so lost on how the dominoes fell over the last 40 days

Okay this is not comprehensive, because (a) my husband the politics nerd is currently on his way to a gig in west Wales somewhere and so cannot chime in and also (b) all our political journalist friends are understandably quite busy right now doing political journaling, but I seem to have an influx of new followers who are also very confused and don't understand what's going on, so I shall try.

Alright so what we're seeing here is the Second Clownfall of 2022, the hotly anticipated sequel to the Adventures of Big Dog the Clown. However it revolves around the character of Liz Truss, and will use some terminology, so

Previous Reading

Important Terminology - Required Reading

What is a Whip?

How do Whips work?

Shadow Cabinet

Front Benchers, Back Benchers and the Cabinet

What do we need to call an early General Election?

The Adventures of Big Dog the Clown - Suggested Reading

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Elanor's Guide to Liz Truss - Suggested Reading

Character-based prequel

...okay I think that's everything. On with the show!

The Premiership of Liz Truss (2022-2022)

Week One

We begin our tale on September 5th, 2022. Coincidentally, that was also the date that I personally started my new job. Let's see which of us does better!

The Daily Mail is delighted, and runs a headline proclaiming "Cometh the hour, cometh the woman". Tory rag in a frock coat the Financial Times runs an op-ed:

So the results ARE IN! She will definitely fuck us up! But that's a good thing for vague reasons! Blitz spirit everyone. Tally ho, pip pip, shoot a servant and have sex with a wall, hey what. Good old Blighty.

(That's my best impression of Tories I'm good at their accents I hope you like it)

Truss does an interview with Laura Kuenssberg, and fellow guest and comedian Joe Lycett wildly and effusively applauds her every word. Even Liz realises no one would sincerely applaud her. Bafflingly, the entire right wing press and every member of the Tory party freak out about this, because they don't understand the function of a satirist and don't know how to defend against it. It is extremely funny. Joe Lycett announces he's a right-wing comedian now, and begins a new extended career bit effusively and sarcastically praising right wing politicians. They all cry extensively and call him mean.

SO, it's been a long hard leadership campaign! But she made it. For years, Tories have been blighted by the curse of the PM/Chancellor relationship, backstabbing and cheating and lying about each other to try and get power. But not our Liz, oh no; her Chancellor is Maths Mate and BFF Kwasi Kwarteng, an insipid and poisonous gnome known for three (3) things:

He once wrote a stupid book with Liz Truss about his stupid opinions on how he thinks economics work and everyone laughed at him and stuffed him in a locker

On the night of the Brexit vote he was overheard by a journalist gleefully saying “Who cares if sterling crashes? It will come back up again“ which are of course the words of a man who knows all about economics and how they work

This fucking bullshit back in July:

But hey IT'S OKAY! Everything is fine! Because Liz and Kwasi are BFFs who certainly never had an affair and are marching in lockstep and have each other's backs and both love maths more than their own children if they had any! Maths Friends!

Multiple resignations immediately follow.

Among them is Ben Elliot, the Tory Party chair, which is a pretty big deal from a man who just lived through the Johnson years; also, shockingly, Priti Patel, the deportation-happy Home Secretary, decides that even as an animatronic goblin she cannot support this nonsense.

It's not a resignation per se, but at ten to seven in the evening it's announced that Andrew Bridgen, the Troy MP for Leicestershire North West, has been evicted from his home and ordered to pay £800,000 in legal costs, and a possible £244,000 in rent arrears. Also described as "dishonest" by a judge.

This is not directly relevant to Liz Truss but look, it was a staggeringly weird day and this was basically the topper.

Anyway.

Liz goes to the Palace and is duly sworn in by the Queen, who promptly keels over and dies the very next day. Parliament is instantly shut down for mandatory mourning. As omens go, this one was not subtle.

This triggers the circulation of some very awkward footage of Young Truss talking about how she thinks the Monarchy should be abolished for being a gross relic of horrifying social stratification. However you must understand that it's not awkward because anyone thinks she murdered the Queen. It's because Liz Truss's attempts at public speaking are like sitting through a children's Christmas play when you're the only person in the audience and they can all see your face so you have to look encouraging for four hours when inside you are shrivelling into something approximating an apricot pit travelling to the core of Jupiter.

Take a look at her acceptance speech and wither.

Anyway we're now several MPs and a queen down so she's got to get on replacing those so she can focus on her real love: the much-anticipated mini-budget that she is preparing with Kwasi to save the UK from the harrowing quagmire of crippling poverty that Big Dog managed to drive us into (all while pretending it wasn't Big Dog who did it.)

Fortunately, she does not need to replace the queen! Monarchies take care of themselves, which many people would argue is very much the problem, of course. They had a proper reunion with Meghan From Suits and Meghan From Suits' husband, both of whom were banned from visiting Balmoral, and also the Nonce flew in, who was allowed to visit Balmoral. Such heartwarming scenes.

But the Cabinet, that's another matter. That's something Liz DOES have to do, and it's important she gets it right, Tumblrs, because you see, every time a Cabinet minister is replaced it's expensive and a hassle and it weakens a government by making them look all crumbly, like a packet of biscuits that's been rammed against a wall and now someone is opening it and everyone is bracing for Crumbs.

So, step forward to the Cabinet soulless ghoul Suella Braverman, the new Home Secretary. She immediately distinguishes herself by trying to legalise torture.

And then, naturally,

YEAH THAT'S RIGHT IT'S TICK TOCK TERF O'CLOCK also FUCK the sovereignty of the Scottish Parliament amirite ladies lol Girl Power uwu

Not that she can actually do anything at this point, of course. As I say: Enforced Mourning is in process, which means Parliament is shut down for ten days. No work, no speeches, no appearances, no announcements, just taxpayer's money going on legal fees to see if she can interfere with another nation's elected government in order to strip away the human rights of queer people.

However, while we all weep over the corpse of Queen Lizzie Two and beat our breasts in grief, the already-beleaguered pound is slowly bleeding out through this inaction. And this, to the Maths Mates, is unacceptable.

Two things get quietly slid into the news cycle.

Thing the First:

BIG YIKES LADS

Thing the Second:

Fracking ban in England lifted in bid to boost UK gas supply - BBC News

For those who don't know, fracking is an energy extraction process. Water, gas and dust are pumped at high pressure into shale bedrock to crack it open, releasing pockets of natural gas that can then be harvested for fuel. It's environmentally disastrous for multiple reasons, both direct (earthquakes, groundwater pollution, social impacts) and indirect (IT'S STILL A FOSSIL FUEL YOU STUPID CUNTS ARE YOUR SKULLS FUCKING EMPTY). The Welsh and Scottish governments have both banned it outright, a straight-up "Foot down no, petal". England, though, is the Tory paradise, so the ban was less complete.

However, this is still a Huge Deal - the 2019 Tory manifesto was very clear that fracking would only be unbanned IF "the science shows categorically that it can be done safely". In fact, most Tories don't like it either. Their constituents REALLY don't. Also in March Kwasi Kwarteng literally went on record and said it wouldn't lower European gas prices anyway; but not anymore! Now he thinks it's a zippy idea. Just spiffing. Top hole, pip pip (I'm so good at their accents :))

Scientists who have been studying the environmental impacts of fracking produce their report -

And it is quietly buried, so as not to offend the corpse of Lizzie Two.

Here ends the first four days of the Reign of Liz Truss.

Second Week

Anyway, royalists have gone insane and started a REALLY BIG queue to see a box that supposedly contains the rotting cadaver of the old queen. Multiple people have to be hospitalised because they join the Queue and don't take food, water, warm clothes, or essential daily medications with them, even though the Queue is literally days long. Some die. Many take the ashes of their own loved ones so they can wave them at the box for the thirty seconds they get to be in front of it, like a sort of play date for ashes.

Prince Charles, now King Prince Charles, starts swanning about as King, demanding everyone be sad for him and clap him to cheer him up. Someone holds up a sign saying 'Not my King' and gets arrested. This triggers a whole wave of protests and arrests as free speech slides out the window, until the Met Police chief has to step in and explain to the police like they're five-year-olds that they can't do that, actually, and need to cut that shit out.

But we can't wholly blame the police, because the main pressure to clamp down on protestors actually came from...

The government.

Meanwhile the country goes bat shit fucking insane. In order not to offend the fragile sensibilities of royalists, now so brittle they need to be treated with the same delicate touch normally reserved for unstable nitroglycerin, the UK sees supermarkets lowering the volume of self-serve checkout desks, people's funerals cancelled, vital operations and other medical interventions postponed, Centre Parcs cancelling holidays, FOOD BANKS CLOSING, Nintendo Direct cancelling its live stream in Britain (but not cancelling the release of the recording onto You Tube an hour later because as we all know Queen Elizabeth II was a MASSIVE livestream fan and would have been DEVASTATED to miss it but she was very 'meh' about YouTube), cycle racks being closed, and this unhinged shrieking harridan:

Very normal, lads. Very normal.

Oh and also they cancelled Owain Glyndwr Day so as a Welsh person I am now legally allowed to forcibly ram a daffodil into the urethras of the landed English gentry.

However, the protests grow as the suppression wanes. By the time King Prince Charles comes to Wales, he is met with silent protests, this guy who learned a sentence in Welsh specially for the occasion, and a petition to abolish the Prince of Wales title.

Except government is still shut down, so the petitions are all suspended.

But not to worry! That gives the Maths Mates more time to work on their special mini-budget.

Week Three

More of the same at first, really, but she finally addresses the nation to announce that the Queen was the "rock" on which "modern Britain was built".

Also someone finally spots that the necklace she always wears is a day collar, so that was fun.

BUT THEN

The moment we have all been waiting for, with baited breath.

On the 23rd September, 2022, the mini-budget finally arrives. The golden egg of Kwasi and Liz, their beloved, beautiful child, the crowning glory, the culmination of their economic beliefs and values. They are so proud of it, so sure of it, that they do not even submit it for the approval of the Office for Budget Responsibility. Why should they? This is the moment Kwarteng can finally show the world that he was right; that this is the way to do economics after all; that he alone in his brilliance and genius has reinvented the field and will lead the country to a new era of riches and prosperity.

And the pound does this:

Yikes.

Truss goes into hiding for a day and a half, during which time her aids claim all her relatives have died so she won't have to speak to the press, which is obviously a simply fantastic quality in a Prime Minister. Finally, she resurfaces by doing a series of radio interviews for regional stations around the UK, hoping they'll be easier on her, starting with Radio Leeds. The good journalists of Yorkshire eviscerate her and strew her corpse through Adel Woods. It's downhill from there.

Week Four

One poll puts Labour 33 points ahead of the Tories.

It can be a little difficult to translate polls, because the electoral system is complex, so I asked my journalist friends. They cheerfully informed me that, if translated into a General Election, the Tories would have just 3 seats left.

Except! Of course, naturally, that is me reporting naught but the most extreme result, Tumblrs, dancing upon the bones of my enemies as I chant the rites to make the Tory party die faster. If I were to be fair about this - and I am, of course, a journalist of Integrity and Morals - I would actually give the average poll result. And I am wise and fair to all, ancient rites aside, so I shall.

The average poll result is still 19 points ahead.

Tony Blair's landslide Labour victory in 1999 was 12 points.

Rounding off the day, Labour declare that they are backing a change to a proportional representation voting system in place of the UK’s archaic first past the post system. Funny that.

Anyway, that mini-budget is going poorly. Realising unlimited borrowing rather than tax cuts for the rich is maybe Bad Actually, the Maths Mates decide to get the money for their bail-outs some other way. Can you guess, Tumblrs? Can you guess where they decide to get the money from?

Naturally.

Week Five

In a fascinating little twist, the papers claim Liz banned King Prince Charles from going to the Climate Summit in Egypt. This is interesting for about a billion reasons, not least of which is that the papers seem very angry about this and yet also that it's an unsubstantiated rumour - the phrase "it's understood that _" gets a hell of a workout.

She then does not go herself. Makes sense. They'll probably be mean to her about the fracking.

She then loses the support of the Daily Mail, a paper that five weeks before were ecstatic about her rise to power :( so sad. But why? What made them change their minds?

Well. What else from Truss, but a massive and catastrophic u-turn on the economy?

And she does! The absolute nutter!

Plans to cut the 45p tax rate for those earning upwards of £150,000 were abandoned, as were:

abolishing the planned rise in corporation tax

cutting the basic rate of income tax

the two-year energy bill support plan

scrapping the planned dividend tax hike

VAT-free shopping for international tourists

freezing alcohol duty

easing of IR25 rules for the self-employed

ALL GONE! All gone. The mini-budget is not working so lol jk we'll think of something else, that's how government works, right? The pound promptly implodes further. Of all people, Nadine Dorries is the one to criticise

WE ARE IN A TOPSY TURVEY UPSIDE DOWN WORLD

The Daily Mail still finds a way to say it's all Michael Gove's fault, though.

Anyway, the 5th October dawns bright and beautiful and YouGov polls rural voters:

THIS IS HUUUUUUUUUGE, because farmers just will not fucking stop voting Tory, AND YET. Wowsers. Not just popularity. Voting intention. She might as well have personally infected every farm in the South Downs with foot and mouth disease.

Truss realises her popularity is plummeting and she needs a new audience. She tries to appear down with the kids and declares that she's the only PM to have gone to a comprehensive school.

This is not true. Gordon Brown and Theresa May both did. However, it's certainly true that all three of them became PM by ousting a sitting PM, so there's that I guess.

Week Six

At this point I can start putting in PRECISE DATEs just call ME Robert Peston.

13th October

News reporters start speculating that she'll be done by the end of the month as the first rumoured letter of no confidence reaches us. People realise that her competition for shortest serving PM was a guy who died in office of TB at about the four month mark RIP king sorry about your lungs.

(A reminder - normally, if MPs want to oust a party leader, they must send in 54 letters of no confidence. This makes the 1922 Committee - a bunch of back benchers who preside over this shit - hold a vote of no confidence. A leader who loses gives way - this is very rare. A leader who wins is then immune to another such vote for 12 months, but they almost always crumble within a month or two anyway - this is much more common.)

This is extremely funny, because a newly-elected leader of the party has a 12 month immunity to votes of no confidence, same as people who've won such a vote. Likes charge reblogs cast apparently. MPs are getting desperate.

Pressure mounts. Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng announces that he is "Not going anywhere."

14th October

Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng is sacked and blamed for the entire economic mess.

Incredibly, Liz does this without first planning a replacement, so it's several hours before Jeremy Cunt suddenly reappears like the spectre at the fucking feast.

Meanwhile here's Ed Milliband on Twitter

Seven and a half years he waited to retweet that. Seven and a half long years, look, to have the last laugh.

In the end, he still went too soon.

15th October

Deputy PM and also Health Minister Therese Coffey (side note - have they always doubled up in roles like that? Or are there just not enough of them anymore?) announces that she loves antibiotic resistance and dead kids and also breaking laws:

16th October

The Sunday Times calls for Extremely Corrupt Former Grand Vizier Rishi Sunak to take over, and then a General Election so that Labour can take the reins.

The SUNDAY TIMES

Calling for LABOUR

The Sunday Mail tries to stir up support for Ben Wallace taking over, because no one has heard of Ben Wallace so he needs the boost, but then accidentally publish their front page with a different man

In another YouGov poll for the Times, not a single political group, age group, area of the country, gender, or other demographic said that Liz Truss was the right choice for PM

This is the new predicted election graph:

Yikes

17th October

The projected election results are a Labour victory so complete the opposition would be the SNP. Legend suggests Nicola Sturgeon's cackle on finding out was so powerful she accidentally resurrected a witchfinder.

18th October

Meanwhile in the Senedd, Welsh Tory leader Andrew RT Davies, a sort of humanoid boil dressed in ham, tries to accuse placid and gentle First Minister for Wales Mark Drakeford's Labour of being responsible for long ambulance waiting times.

T'was a mistake.

youtube

19th October

Oh boy.

Well, first of all, Suella Braverman sends an official email from her private email address, and then promptly leaves the Cabinet at cannonball speeds as though she's seen a brown child about to be given citizenship. Was she quietly fired by Jeremy Cunt? Did she do it deliberately to resign? On her way out, she blames the true source of our problems - the Guardian-reading, tofu-eating Wokerati.

Nigella Lawson spends the day tweeting tofu recipes.

Meanwhile, Graham Brady, the Chair of the 1922 Committee, comes to Liz Truss to inform her that he has in fact now received 54 letters of no confidence. Normally, of course, that would be considered enough to trigger a vote in her leadership; but not now.

However, these are unprecedented times. So he changes the threshold - if half of the Tories send him letters, her immunity will be revoked.

But the thing is, Tumblrs, the thing is...

It is all about to kick off in the most spectacular and catastrophic fireworks since Guy Fawkes had a dream.

Because Ed Milliband, once accused of leading the country to chaos and now riding high on the joy of his well-timed Twitter jab of Some Days Ago, wakes this morning and chooses violence.

He has spotted, of course, that no one likes fracking; even the Tories are against it.

He has also spotted that Liz Truss is very stupid.

So he goes into the House of Commons, and he digs a big pit and covers it over with twigs and leaves so it can't be seen, and he bakes a big cake and he places it in the middle of the twigs, and he sets up a net to fall as well and a big stick of ACME dynamite, and he hammers in little signs everywhere saying CAUTION - TRAP, by which I am of course being metaphorical because what he actually does is table a motion to extend the moratorium on fracking. The signs aren't necessary, really. This trap is easy to avoid.

All Liz Truss has to do, you see, is not use a three-line whip on this vote.

The three-line whip, as you'll all recall, is the highest level of coercion. MPs cannot defy a three-line whip. MPs cannot even abstain on a three-line whip. MPs have two choices on a three-line whip: to vote as they're told, or to be removed from the party. You obey or resign. That's all.

For this reason, it's sometimes called a 'confidence vote', as it is effectively a stand-in for one. The vote is not about the issue at hand - this is now a vote of confidence in your leader.

(He's also laid lesser traps. Years back when fracking was first being heavily discussed, Ed was Labour leader and one of the main figures in those discussions. During today, before it all Kicks The Fuck Off, a Tory stands and challenges him on previous statements about fracking, trying to accuse him of hypocrisy.

He was fucking ready for it.)

Graham Brady pops his head back around the door. He's changed his mind - a third of the party is all that's needed now to trigger a vote of no confidence in Liz Truss. And legend says he's only 17 off.

This is presumably the reason for what comes next.

Liz panics. Liz sees she's desperately unpopular. Liz sees that she has to do something to shore up support; and she sees that her important fracking rule, which her party hates her for, is now being challenged by a former Labour leader, and if he wins (which he will) she'll lose all credibility and maybe they'll take her nice office away and tell her she was a Bad Girl.

And so, with the inevitability of gravity on the now-leaden pound sterling, she makes it a three-line whip, and a confidence vote in her government.

INSTANT CHAOS.

There is uproar! There is rage! There is blinding fury! Tory MPs are standing up in the Commons and snarling and pissing and moaning! No one likes fracking except Jacob Rees Mogg! For TWO HOURS they shriek and scream and gnash their teeth, yelling at Liz Truss, demanding to know why this is happening.

(Legend has it chaos-deity Ed Milliband simply leaned back, put his feet up on the chair in front, and made Christian Wakeford hand-feed him grapes and fan him with a palm leaf, but this is unsubstantiated.)

And then, at 6.55, FIVE MINUTES before voting is ready to begin, the Tory Minister for Climate Graham Stewart stands up and declares that everyone should vote how they want because it's not a confidence vote.

Did I say there was chaos before?

Lol. Lmao, even. Rofl, in fact.

Now Tories leap to their feet and basically all scream one long, unending breath of WHAT-DO-YOU-MEAN-IT'S-NOT-A-CONFIDENCE-VOTE-WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-HAPPENING-IS-IT-OR-IS-IT-NOT-A-CONFIDENCE-VOTE and so Stewart gets up again and says, right to everyone's faces, "It's not for me to say whether it's a confidence vote or not," which is an even faster and more spectacular u-turn than Truss herself could pull off given that he literally just said it wasn't and did so while being a minister.

And then the voting starts. MPs are now milling about like chickens who've sighted the hawk, clamouring to know if they're going to lose their jobs unless they vote for Satan. The Whips - specifically Chief Whip Wendy Morton and Deputy Chief Whip Craig Whittaker - descend upon them like fucking wargs on the hunt. They don't just spit vitriol and blackmail into MPs ears. They fucking bodily drag people into the right voting lobby. MPs are legitimately screaming. Grown men are crying literal tears. Labour's Chris Bryant reports holding multiple Tory MPs as they sob into his shoulder. Multiple MPs report similar scenes.

And Tories still don't know if this is even a damn confidence vote, or if they should just knock the Chief Whip's teeth out.

And then the Whips, filled with bloodlust and frenzy, suddenly realise that NO ONE IS LISTENING TO US, YOU'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO LISTEN TO US SO WE FEEL POWERFUL -

Cue sudden meeting in a locked room with Liz Truss. For over HALF AN HOUR.

So is it a confidence vote? No one is sure. Deputy PM Therese Coffey thinks so, so in the absence of the Whips she decides physical assault is her job now and is seen by David Linden MP (SNP) physically carrying someone into the voting lobby. Jacob Rees Mogg thinks not and starts yelling "It's not a confidence vote!", to which his colleagues reply, "Fuck off." Meanwhile the Whips have possibly resigned, no one is sure. It is still uncertain if this was a confidence vote.

And Ed Milliband basks in the chaos, playing the fiddle while it all burns around him.

Finally, voting concludes. The Whips reappear to lurk.

The votes are in - the government wins, and fracking will go ahead. But.

32 MPs abstained.

And one of those is Liz Truss.

Which is WILD??!? What possible benefit could she get from that??? No one knows. Everything is uproar again. Guess who else abstained? Well, riveted reader, here's a list with important names highlighted:

Nigel Adams, Gareth Bacon, Siobhan Baillie, Greg Clark, Sir Geoffrey Cox, Tracey Crouch, David Davis, Dame Caroline Dinenage, Nadine Dorries, Philip Dunne, Mark Fletcher, Vicky Ford, Paul Holmes, Alister Jack, Boris Johnson, Gillian Keegan, Kwasi Kwarteng, Robert Largan, Pauline Latham, Mark Logan, Theresa May, Priti Patel, Mark Pawsey, Angela Richardson, Andrew Rosindell, Bob Seely, Alok Sharma, Chris Skidmore, Henry Smith, Ben Wallace, Sir John Whittingdale, and William Wragg.

Kwasi still smarting about that p45, I see.

In any case it then turns out that Liz DID vote, but incompetently, because her voting card didn't read properly, which is actually fair given that she was being screamed at by angry Whips waving Graham Stewart's severed dick and balls around while they demanded power and authority. While she's clearing that up, the press are understandably waiting open-mouthed for comment, but don't worry Liz! Your old pal Jacob Rees Mogg is here to fill in for you!

And thus it is that JRM willingly chooses to go on the live news and calmly confirm to the nation that no one knows if it was a confidence vote or not.

Chaos. Chaos again. Unbridled chaos. The Whips are furious. Everyone is furious. The rebels are now in limbo, unsure if they're now out of a job. Tories are weeping, trying to work out if Rees Mogg WANTS to sink the party. Back bencher Charles Walker MP delivers a frank interview to the press absolutely SHIVERING with rage, like the drummer in a Fleetwood Mac concert. Ex-Lib Dem leader Tim Farron, a bland man known only for the time he himself willingly chose to go on the news and calmly explain that he's a homophobe without provocation, tweets that Liz Truss is a Lib Dem sleeper agent they sent in to destroy the Tories, sparking what is likely to be a whole slew of conspiracy theories by next week. No one knows what is going on. They all decide to sleep on it.

The good folks at Wikipedia ultimately decide to make three separate pages for the UK 2022 government crisis, and to label them with the month "to leave room for another by the end of the year."

Ed Milliband skips all the way home, and treats himself to a bacon sandwich.

20th October

Okay, Liz thinks, the morning after. Okay. Last night was bad. But today will be better.

So first... the vote.

Because there's bad news for Tories who like money and good news for people who like liveable planets - there are problems with the vote. For one, the vote counts are being called into question. Are the results reliable?

For another, the Speaker of the House of Commons calls for an investigation into the reports of, um, assault. So will the result stand?

It's so unclear! And so is that ongoing issue of whether or not the damn thing was a confidence vote. Angry whips say YES, JRM says NO, Downing Street refuses to pick up the phone to the BBC, but does send ITV's Robert Peston a text at 1am to say it was definitely a confidence vote and, unrelatedly, the Whips aren't resigning :)

I think we have found the price paid to keep the Whips.

Meanwhile. Let's see what this has done for Liz's leadership stability!

13 letters of no confidence are confirmed submitted by Sky, 5 of which came in overnight. The 1922 Committee reconvenes the coven to discuss matters. Simultaneously, the One Nation Conservatives reconvene their coven to discuss the same. Presumably there is much "Girl what are YOU doing at the Devil's Sacrament?"-ing and "Same cloak, how embarrassing"-ing. MPs are CLAMOURING for her head. It is VICIOUS. It's like cartoon piranhas in a supervillain's lair; which is highly appropriate, because that's exactly what Tory MPs are.

Graham Brady, head jester of the 1922 Committee, demands to see Liz Truss.

He walks into a room with her, and the doors are closed. Half an hour later, he walks back out of the room.

Ten minutes later, she calls a press conference.

45 days after being appointed, Liz Truss breaks the record, and becomes the shortest-serving British Prime Minister.

#politik #the second clownfall of 2022

2K notes · View notes

agent-cupcake · 4 months

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

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

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

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

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

Word Count: 13.9k

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

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

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

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you lose it?”

“I didn’t… lose it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

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

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, captain.”

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

“A cage?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“He… killed them?” you asked.

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

“It sounds like you don’t like him.”

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

“Yes, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

Vinegar, oil, wax.

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

Twine, needles, thread.

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

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil-

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

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

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

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

You stared and stared and stared and-

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.

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

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

“Then how did he find this place?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s true,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And after that came the chaos.

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

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

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”

A gloved hand waved in front of your face.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know you were there.”

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

“I guess I… zoned out a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

“I-”

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

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

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

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

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, urging you on.

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

“What if I get drunk?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, let me hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg me again.”

You blinked. “What?”

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

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”

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

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

You frowned.

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

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

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

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

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

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

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

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

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

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

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

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

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

Once filled her vagina with glue,

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was nothing left.

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

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! You started it!”

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

“I don’t!” you insisted.

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

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

Bad. Very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you… talking about?”

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

“How d’you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’m fine,” you told him.

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

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

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jubileemon · 23 days

Text

While Blitzo was paid to be Stolas' playmate and was manipulated by his sleazy father into being a thief, Stolas was genuinely happy to have a friend his own age in childhood, which probably saved his sanity from Paimon's less than competent parenting.

When Blitzo explains his dream of running his own circus business, Stolas is incredibly supportive, if somewhat amused at a circus having an office. When the prospect of Blitzo hiring him comes up later, Stolas says he hopes he'll qualify and that Blitzo will make a good boss. While the start of their playdate had Blitzo being bored and clearly not thinking much of Stolas, and even if it comes after Blitzo tricking Stolas in helping him rob the palace, by the end they are laughing together and happily discussing their futures with mutual interest.

During the anniversary party, Stolas was so desperate for emotional connection that, when he met Blitzo again, he convinced himself that the imp was sneaking into his room to seduce him. Blitzo, who hadn't seen him in 25 years and was only after the book, took advantage of this not realizing Stolas was after a genuine connection and leading to the collapse we saw in "OZZIE'S".

It also turns that Blitzo was planning on just tying up Stolas so he didn't see him steal the book...then changed his mind and decided to give Stolas a fun night after discovering just how empty Stolas' life was, looking genuinely guilty upon realizing what kind of emotional damage that abandoning someone in makeshift BDSM would do to him. Especially someone who, in that bondage, called Blitzo his “first ever friend”. "OZZIE'S" has made it very clear that Blitzo might put on a front for everyone else, but I.M.P is his attempt at creating a family "circus", and he doesn't actually have very many friends of his own, having pushed his old friends away years ago (Fizzarolli, Verosika and even kept Stolas at arm's length as a child), and continuing the pattern with Moxxie and Stolas.

Stolas and Blitzo's relationship seem to have been very much headed for doom from the beginning, and it's clear that both Blitzo and Stolas has never had a healthy and meaningful relationship with anyone except maybe Octavia for Stolas and M&M and Loona for Blitzo, and even those relationships are fraught. It probably isn't a coincidence that both Blitzo and Stolas seem to be trying to make up for their horrible fathers by being better father figures to the people in their care. Stolas has been so deprived of love and affection for his whole life, other than Octavia, that he has no idea how real, non-transactional relationships work even though he desperately wants one.

Blitzo's the same, though he's spent more time hiding that, which is understandable given that he's a trained clown that has to hide his emotions. Just like Stolas, Blitzo desperately craves intimacy and a relationship of his own, but he doesn't understand intimacy without some non-love motive behind it, and he pushes others away to the point of resentment because his upbringing/mistakes with relationships in the past have led him to see himself as a failure and horrible person who doesn’t deserve love, despite being terrified of dying alone as a “wrinkly, old, withered waste”. Not to mention that Stolas, being a very sheltered member of the Goetia family, has a very poor understanding of power dynamics and as such, his "kinky fantasy" of “favors for favors” has real implications that he failed to consider, which may have permanently impacted his relationship with Blitzo. Only time will tell if they can make things right.

#helluva #helluva boss #hb blitzo #blitzø #blitzo #blitzo helluva boss #blitz x stolas #blitzo and stolas #stolas #stolas goetia #paimon #stolas x blitz #stolas and blitzo #helluva boss stolitz #stolitz #the circus #vivziepop helluva boss #helluva boss the circus

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celaenaeiln · 6 months

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Based on the posts I've been reading, the Titans rlly dislike Bruce xD

Do you have a list of stuff of the Titans clowning/making fun/hating Bruce? 👀

If there's too many (omg is it??), maybe just your faves or those that rlly impacted you

They do!!

I had the post mostly done in my drafts when I saw your ask and decided this was the perfect opportunity to finish it!

BUT I DEFINITELY HAVE MORE!

The tug-of-war between the two groups comes from the fact that Bruce canonically has codependency issues with Dick. He honestly needs his son at all times for everything.

The source of Bruce and Dick's relationship problems all sum up to this:

Nightwing (2016) Issue #7

"I wanted to give him the freedom to make his own choices. To do things his way, even if that meant making mistakes. And then...well, then I blamed him for how difficult it was for me to let him go."

He's so, so proud of Dick but he refuses to release him to be free. When Dick manages to get away Bruce hisses and shrieks in rage and fury and hurt that Dick left. Even those long stints where Dick was ignoring Bruce after being fired or after Jason's death, Bruce never ignored Dick. Sometimes going as far as stalking him like at the circus.

This one is post-Jason, pre-Tim era.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #61

Ignoring the self-realization backtrack, it's applaudable that Bruce was even able to get those words out at all. Usually it's just heavily implied.

So the reason why Bruce hates the Titans so much is because they're his biggest threat. They have the possibility of taking Dick away from him forever and he's terrified of such a future.

It wasn't originally like this though. In the beginning when Dick said, I'm gonna hang out with the Titans, Bruce'd be like "Sure, Chum, have fun!"

Teen Titans: The Silver Age Issue #1

But as Dick grew older, there was increasing animosity between the Titans and Bruce. It got so bad that Bruce gave Dick an ultimatum: Me or the Titans. Choose.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

"I know, I know...I'm late. Titans Business. We just shut down Brother Blood for...good.."

"Save it."

"Look, I don't know how many hundreds of people we rescued from Blood's cult, but it was a pretty important mission."

"I said save it."

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

But here's where it gets worse. Bruce and Dick are too busy fighting that they both missed Clayface recovering, obviously in the end they defeat him but neither of them are happy for the oversight which leads to the final scene.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

Bruce literally fired Dick because he couldn't stand him staying with the Titans.

"Robin is my second...my lieutenant. Anything less that total devotion to this cause is simply wasting my time."

Devotion to the cause or to you, Bruce? He's freaking Batman. He's done solo runs and Dicks done solo runs as Robin just fine but for some reason whenever the Titans are involved, he loses his goddamn mind.

But hey. Bruce isn't the only one who gives Dick an ultimatum.

Titans (1999) Issue #15

Damn, Roy.

He came out swinging with a chainsaw.

Both sides want Dick for themselves. About 80% of the Titans problems with Dick lie in the fact that they want him to have nothing to do with Bruce.

Batman (2016) Issue #19

Titans (1999) Issue #15

They just want Dick's priority and loyalty to be to them, undivided. Unfortunately, Bruce expects the very same-only it's for himself.

The Titans get so angry at Dick for going back to Bruce and Bruce gets so mad at Dick for favoring the Titans. But Dick loves both of them so there's literally no winning for him. The successful periods for Dick are when both sides comprise for him.

They're willing to work together to protect him though.

Titans (2008) Issue #1

Outsiders (2003) Issue #50

The instant de-escalation at protecting the reputation of Nightwing and her girlfriend. Not to mention how it was Batman who wanted to keep the dirt off Dick.

But the issue is, like Victor said,

Titans East Special

Titans are family.

But Bruce can't bear for Dick to have a family of his own that's not him.

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth #roy harper #arsenal #victor stone #cyborg #dc titans #titans as family #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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silverzoomies · 1 month

Text

Flower

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, clunky writing

word count: 458

a/n: sorry this is so short! i wanted to knock out a little drabble, just to get myself in the writing mood again! honestly, it's crazy how filthy this one is. apologies in advance if it's a little too filthy for so few words!! also, i fear i'm posting this on the most non-ideal day! oops!

You go to da circus and youre really excited because da circus is fun and theres lots of things to do. You go to the circus and youre getting popcorn. You like da popcorn. Or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter but you get something. Your favorite circus snack. Time to see the elephants and the clowns and the tigers and the other stuff at circus I forgot.

No animals were harmed in the making of this fanfiction. All animals are ethically handled.

You sit down in da audience and da clowns come out. They all dancing and stomping their big clown shoes. But then something amazing happen. One of the da clowns spots you in da audience. He is such a pretty clown. He move fast and his hair is funky and silver. And he got big puppy dog eyes. And a big grey clown nose. He waddle over in his funny silver clown fit. With the big pants and big shoes. How does he run in those shoes?

He approaches you and you are heart eyes at him. He give you a clown flower because you are just so pretty. But the clown flower is a prank and it sprays you in the face with water. Haha! He tricked you! It was part of the show. You are kind of sad but you are also laughing because it was very funny.

You watch da rest of da show and see that clown out there running fast like sonic around the stage. He is just so cool. Some more sights come out. Elephants that are ethically handled and tigers which are also ethically handled. They roar and stomp and do cool things. And the trapeze artists fly all around. You’re like whoa this is so cool.

When the show is over you are feeling brave. So you bring your popcorn and you approach the silver clown. He is so happy to see you because it turns out he thought you were pretty that’s why he wanted to prank you. You spend two minutes talking before fanfiction logic kicks in. And now he is boning you in da other room.

He make the sexy with you against a wall but every time he do the pap pap pap it’s actually a clown honk. Every time he meet thrusts it go honk honk honk. He make you laugh so much and he go so fast oh no don’t go too fast!! Why he go so fast!!! Slow down mister clown sir! You squeeze his nose and it honk and it make him bust a nut. But don’t worry he pull out so silver clown does not get you preggers. Unless you want him to. Have fun raising mutant clown baby.

Happy april fools 🤡⚡️

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #smut drabble #txt

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muffymello · 28 days

Text

Handsy- ii

(Buggy the Clown x f!Reader)

A small-town shopkeep makes the second biggest mistake of her life by humouring a pirate captain's idea.

1.2k Words

Another boring day working in that stupid shop had taken a full 180 to you now being sat in the lap of a feared pirate captain as you watched the theatrics and insanity of his ship’s circus tent. The one constant of the last few hours was the detached hand holding yours tightly, the white cloth of his glove not concealing the warmth of his palm against yours. The hand, now reattached to Buggy’s arm, didn’t seem intent on letting you go any time soon.

He sat wide-legged with you wedged sideways in his lap, your back resting against the high-set arm of the throne with his other arm right behind it. This positioning had your faces set awfully close together as he grinned maniacally. “So, doll, what’s the story? Kidnap my hand for attention, hm?” He prodded, his arm now snaking around your back to hold you in place. You tensed a little at his words, brain going blank for a minute before you could respond.

“I found it in an alleyway- just a few hours ago! Came here right away…” You lied with a forced smile, not wanting him to know you’d unknowingly caught the hand in the first place. Your best bet was to change the subject a bit, avoid any more suspicion than what you could already see in his narrowing eyes, smudgey makeup framing pretty blues.

“Is that so? Well then, someone as loyal as you should be a part of my crew!”

The certainty of his tone as well as his bold statement caught you off guard, planning to ask something meaningless about his crew or outfit when he proposed such an absurd offer. You squirmed in his lap, only prompting him to give your hand a squeeze and tighten his arm around your back, moving it to rest comfortably on your waist as he pulled you in close to give you nowhere to look except right into those eyes of his. “Whaddaya say, then? Life of a pirate ain’t so bad, y’know~” He teased, still grinning like a maniac.

Alam bells blared in your head at everything going on, but you couldn’t fight off the part of your heart that wanted to accept immediately. The makeup and showmanship of it all wasn’t what enticed you, but the way his hand had remained gentle in yours, keeping you from feeling any real fear at all. You’d assume a fearsome pirate like this to be brutal in nature, but the way your fingers interlaced with his so easily, such a soft and simple gesture, not painful or distressing, had your ever-sappy heart doing cartwheels. “I- uh…”

Mumbling was all you could manage, breaking eye contact and looking around the tent. Everything about this was the exact opposite of your normal. Unpredictable, seemingly no routine or discipline. Still, everyone smiled and shared in eating, drinking and laughing as they performed. It was like a happy family amidst how chaotic it felt, and the rumbling laughter you could feel in the clown’s chest only immersed you further in the experience.

“Not to worry doll, run along for now to think.” He said, amused by how dumbstruck the simple ask of joining his crew had rendered you. His hand once more popped off of his body, less unsettling than it should be to you. The hand led the way, guiding you through the crowds and wild motion, seemingly sure of how to take a path without intervening or colliding with anything.

Buggy the Clown was surely the only man in the world who had any sense to navigate chaos such as this, and as his hand led you all the way to the edge of your ship, you couldn’t help one last gentle squeeze before watching it fly back to its owner.

Your heart panged with guilt as you knew better than to even consider his wild ideas, there was no way you were cut out for being a pirate. The shop hadn’t exactly trained you for something like that, the closest thing had been lifting heavy boxes and fighting off rude customers. That was nothing compared to the dangers faced at sea, especially as a part of such a well-feared crew.

The idea of the brutality was too much to even weigh out as an option, and you sighed as the music faded and the ship went out of view as you walked home to sleep off the insanely fast beating of your heart in your chest.

_____

The next morning was a new day. New wasn’t the best word for it, as it would all be the same. Same breakfast, same clothes, same walk to work at the same time as usual. Normally, the monotony was no bother, but after seeing the excitement of the pirate ship you’d boarded the night previous the dullness of it all felt suffocating.

Your coworker didn’t even believe half the things you told her as you recounted the encounter with Buggy the Clown himself, her face paling as you told her about his offer. “Hell, you said no right away didn’t you?” She practically begged, grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. “I didn’t exactly say yes, or no. He told me… to think.” You said causing your coworker to pale even further at the glint she saw forming in your eyes.

“Oh God, you know all the things that could happen to you?” “Yes, I do. I hear stories all the time.” “It’s no joke! This is serious!” The two of you went back and forth, even if you hadn’t fully convinced yourself her words didn’t faze you in the slightest. After a few minutes, she huffed and pulled a backpack out from under the register, red in the face.

“Just go.” She muttered, not looking you in the eyes. “Pack this up and get going, who knows when they’ll leave port.” Her words were practically a whisper as you saw tears begin to bubble up along her lashes. She didn’t even give you a chance to question her motives here before speaking again.

“I’ve never seen you so… bright. You’re glowing, you’ve been practically dancing around the store all day. This small town isn’t big enough for that mind of yours, take your chance before I change my mind and never let you go… and quick, their boat won’t stay docked forever!” She practically yelled at you, holding the bag out.

You gave her a quick hug and nod before grabbing it, shouting out your thanks as you ran from the store to grab anything and everything you’d need for life as a pirate before the Big Top took off again to the seas.

As you stumbled out onto the dock you saw the ship begin to move, but the panels around the ship’s cannons were big enough to squeeze through. With a great leap and a bit of wiggling, you were officially a stowaway beyond the point of return as the storage room you’d ended up in greeted you merrily with the clanking of what you assumed to be alcohol bottles and sloshing of sake in large, hefty barrels.

You could hear the sound of another outrageous party over the deafening beating of your heart as you curled up in the corner, reaching into your pocket to give Buggy’s hand a squeeze but realizing it obviously wasn’t there anymore.

You wondered what your fate was on this ship, if the great clown would pay you any mind, but your thoughts were cut short as loud, sluggish footsteps echoed louder and louder down the halls.

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olinblogin · 3 months

Note

Can you write clown!child!reader that plays silly innocent pranks and honks whenever they're really happy? I prefer if you made some headcanons/one shot with Kaufmo or Jax, if you want to add more characters then be my guest! Believe me, I don't mind at all lol

Ohhh I’ve been waiting for a clown reader tbf!

In the long run I don’t know to much abt Kaufmo bc duh he literally abstracted in the pilot— so please take my limited info about him with a pinch of salt

This one is gonna be relatively short because I don’t have much to work on plot wise since only the pilot of the show is out

(Theres no normal Kaufmo gifs so here 💀)

(WARNINGS - CHILD!READER, SLIGHT ANGST AT THE END)

When you’d first arrived, a lot were shocked to see you didn’t freak out like most would when first entering the Amazing Digital Circus.

In fact, you were quite ecstatic.

They were all shocked to see a child of all to be transported into the Circus. But you adapted quickly to your surroundings, even becoming comfortable with everyone, especially Kaufmo.

You spent most your time with Kaufmo, actually. You both took the form of clowns in a way, so it was bound that you two would get along.

To you he was almost like an older brother, always scolding you when you’d play little pranks on your friends. Some harmless, some a little less harmless.

Like the time you glued Caine’s staff to the floor.

Usually when you wanted to play pranks you’d go to Jax for help carrying them out, seeing as you’re the smallest of the group you had a hard time doing things as easily as the others did.

It was so fun all the time, every time you’d get caught doing your pranks you’d squeeze your little nose and make a honking sound as you dashed away.

Then, there was a new member, Pomni.

She was a jester of sorts… but oh, so jumpy. You tried greeting her with Ragatha, only for her to break out into a string of curses—which despite censored by Caine—Ragatha still covered your ears.

Eventually Ragatha was down on your level, “hey, sweetie? Can you do me a small favor?” She asked softly, to which you tilted your head in response, as you didn’t often talk so you used body language instead. “Please don’t play any pranks on Pomni, okay? She’s really jumpy and she might get hurt if you do.” You put a finger on your mouth in consideration, nodding happily.

“Thanks, sweetie. Go have fun, Caine is making us play capture the Gloinks again, I know that’s your favorite.” With that you zipped off and chased around the little shapes, while Ragatha took Pomni on a little tour with Jax.

You played the game for a while until you stumbled across the hallway of rooms, where some faces were crossed off with a big red ‘X’ for a reason you didn’t know, nor would you understand.

You were searching high and low for those little Gloinks but.. you soon came across Kaufmo’s door, it was wide open with signs of struggle being visible.

You peered into his room, he was no where to be found. You now had a new objective from the game, to find Kaufmo.

You searched everywhere, you even managed to get out of the circus to look for him.

But no matter your efforts you just couldn’t find him at all… soon, Caine caught you outside of the circus and brought you back, all of the group together, save for Kaufmo.

You made your way over to Ragatha, tugging her skirt, “Ragatha, where’s Kaufmo?” You asked in your quiet voice. Ragatha couldn’t bring herself to say it, only looking away in a guilty manner.

“What happened to him.. where’s Kaufmo?”

#TADC #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #child reader #tadc kaufmo #tadc ragatha #angst ending

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shiroisotto64 · 8 months

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😍OK OK I JUST GOT THIS IDEA (you can do it if you want, if not then it's completely ok)😍

HOW ABOUT POLY ASMO AND FIZZ WITH BLITZ'S BORTHER (they're are not as chaotic as him and they love to play piano)

Nah cause this is actually hilarious

- fizz probably developed a crush on you back during his circus days ! But he never acted on it. And when he was gaining the courage to do so? BAM A FIRE!

- you were probably allowed to visit him but you’d probably be trying to console your brother tbh. 🤷🏽‍♀️

- anyways after the whole mammon and Ozzie thing. Life is great for him! He’s a super star and he’s happy with where he is now. Aka (he’s mentally stable enough for a relationship YAY everyone clap. 🗿)

- you probably met up at one of his gigs! He’s a clown and a performer! Wouldn’t it be so funny? And so ironic if you’d been playing the piano at one of his shows and he noticed you?

- and he’s all like. 😱 y’all catch up after that! He introduces you to Ozzie. And as we all know Ozzie LOVESSSSS passionate people and music! Win win. After a while fizz begins to crush on you again and tbh Ozzie does to. He likes your vibe.

- so when fizz nervously confesses this so Ozzie? He’s not against giving a poly a try. I mean why not?

- you all end up having a blast! Musical duets all the time! And ozzie finds it so calming to listen to you play in his down time or when he’s reading those boring contracts.

- you and fizz have lots of fun just like old times sake. And when you run into blitzo with fizz or ozzie by you? Ozzie would pick you up and just walk past him honestly. And fizz would…I feel like he’d tease him however after they made up? Not of completely bad will. You know?

- I feel like he’s now trying to cope with the fact that he’d been lied to and blitzo actually cared. But he’d try to hide it from blitzo. So playful teasing.

Damn I really got carried away huh? 💀

#fizzarolli #asmodeus #fizzarolli x reader #asmodeus x reader helluva boss #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #asmodeus x reader #ask #asmodeus helluva boss #anonymous

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kix-mm · 6 months

Text

Before & after Charlie’s disguise was revealed

@inkydoughnut gave me the suggestion! I haven’t drawn these two in forever

Remember horror clowns? Murder clowns? Well in this world they’re a very real, and very much known about thing. These creatures are not human, they are ACTUAL monster clowns. All out for flesh. What they consider fun usually is morbid in the eyes of humanity. They are especially dangerous to those with a childlike mind. Spreading both laughter and screams across any town they enter.

Charlie was one of these monsters. Infected with the spores while still in the womb… making him rip his was out of his mother which lead to her death. Now he only has his father, who also got infected, but still managed to keep a sliver of humanity… whenever he does manage to grasp back those small moments it’s usually to grieve the loss of his wife.

Harold on the other hand, is human. That works in the circus. He’s well aware of these monsters. But somehow never suspected Charlie to be one, even if his friend was rather odd at times. Like the fact that Charlie never went out of “character” and always wore his face paint… or that Charlie seemed genuinely disappointed when he saw Harold out of character. Or the endless amount of stunts Charlie could pull without a drop of sweat. That Charlie was always so close to telling him something but could never build up the courage to just tell him. The list goes on…

So imagine Harold’s surprise when Charlie was finally forced out of his disguise… there was a lot of panic, screaming. Running. And Harold ran too, hiding the best he could. But it didn’t take him very long for Charlie to find his friend…

The two once inseparable friends… now looking at each other with such worry, grief… they both knew things wouldn’t be the same from then on… it took 6 hours to calm Harold down, and another whole day before he would say something to Charlie. The first thing he asked was why he had joined the circus, to which Charlie responded that he just wanted to make people happy without hiding what he was.

#oc #my ocs #my characters #own character #my oc art #clown art #clown #clown posting #clown husbandry #horror clown #clown.txt #clowncore #horror original character #horror oc

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ghiradellidarkchocolatebrownies · 11 months

Text

STORYTIME: DO NOT FEED YOUR CLOWNS THIS!!

I volunteer a few days a week at a clown shelter. Earlier this month, a Teacup-Birthday mix named Kiki was adopted by a (seemingly) very nice middle aged couple, and we were very happy to send yet another clown to a good home. But disaster struck this afternoon when the couple returned to the shelter, wanting to surrender Kiki back to us. Their reason? She was not performing any tricks and had been biting them nonstop for weeks now. I was of course very shocked and confused by this. Kiki was one of the most playful and least temperamental clowns I had ever cared for.

I asked them if she had the proper environment, if they had changed her costume or markings in any way, if they were feeding her the proper diet. They said that they were doing everything right, and were following the care instructions we had given them. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, but their story just wasn't adding up. And they were shifting nervously, and talking quietly to each other when they thought I wasn't looking. I told them to wait while I took Kiki for a checkup. As I took her to the vet's office, I couldn't help but notice that she seemed to lack any energy at all. When I tried to tickle her stomach (something that she normally loves), she snapped at me (Luckily, I jerked my hand away before she could bite).

When the vet examined Kiki, it was revealed that she was suffering from malnourishment and a button infection. I went back out to talk to the owners, and they continued to deny any mistreatment. After some more questioning and prying, they finally broke down and admitted what they had been doing.

They had been feeding Kiki a mix of mice and small bones (no problem there). But for her candy intake, they had been feeding her SUGAR-FREE candy. My heart sank as soon as I heard those words. No wonder Kiki had been so sick.

Every clown owner should know that (in general) Clowns need a healthy mixture of raw meat and sugar in their diets. Feeding them sugar-free stuff can be very bad for them and cause a LOT of problems.

For one, they will not be getting their much needed sugar intake. A sugar deficiency will lower their mood, make them more easily agitated, make them sick, and can even be deadly for some clown breeds (such as Birthday and Circus). As Kiki is a Birthday clown, she might not have survived another week without sugar.

Another thing to keep in mind about sugar-free products is that they often have artificial sweeteners in them. These sweeteners are not ideal for clowns, as most clown breeds have sensitivities or allergies to them. Simply put, most clowns' digestive systems are not properly built to process sugar-free foods. Feeding your clown artificial sweeteners over time can even weaken their immune system (This is likely what contributed to Kiki's infection).

The owners claimed that they had no idea that sugar-free candy was bad for clowns (very unlikely since the care instructions specifically list sugar-free foods under the "DO NOT" section). My boss suggested to them that we take care of Kiki for a few days, but they told us they weren't coming back. As soon as they left, we informed other local shelters about them and even posted on internet forums about it, as they may go somewhere else and find a different clown to mistreat. They clearly only see clowns as entertainment and nothing else.

We gave Kiki some cotton candy, and she's already starting to return to her old self. Unfortunately, though, this means that she's back in the system. There's no telling how long until she's adopted again.

Before anyone asks, we make sure to look into anyone who's interested in adopting one of our clowns. We run background checks, call character witnesses, make sure they have the proper environment for a clown and have the money to support one, etc. Overall, the process takes about a month or so. Sometimes it can take even longer if we have a waiting list. It is extremely rare that a clown adoption goes wrong. In fact, this is the first time it's happened in the year I've been volunteering here.

TL;DR

Don't feed clowns sugar-free foods! It can make them very sick and cause a lot of complications.

#dont feed your clowns sugar-free candy #clown husbandry #clown posting #clowncore #clownery #kiki the clown #clown care #clownblr #pet clown #my post

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blacklegsanjiii · 3 months

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i think truly the most absurd parenting scenario we could put sanji in is with Real Pirate King Buggy 🦅🦅🦅🦅

Sanji would really suit that like. commedia dell’arte venetian theatre. Sanji would make a fine Arlecchino or Tartaglia (both lover roles, but Arlecchino or ‘the Harlequin’ is often a trickster character too)

Buggy would unironically be an incredible father tho. like. i am fully confident that there is nothing Buggy doesn’t excell in despite his pathetic soppy wet cat existence. He’s a COMPETENT soppy wet cat.

Sanji growing up as an acrobat in Buggy’s circus and getting doted on by all the crew oh ya know he’d love the dramatic flamboyance of it all.

Listen.

Listen, you're cooking. And it smells GREAT! But I think we need to adjust the seasoning a bit. Buggy managed to successfully hide in the East Blue and be forgotten from Roger's crew and all his adversaries. Like Buggy has to be running a network of some sort. He probably has informants in the New World ya know? For sure in the Grand Line.

I don't really fuck with Shuggy ATM(crossguild brain rot) but like also Buggy probably knows about Usopp and Luffy and that's part of why he signed the(forged) adoption papers. Sanji is also probably skilled with all sorts of weapons? His kitchen knives are not weapons but like he has a set of knives that are always hidden on him. He probably shows Usopp a bunch of spices and stuff that are good for bombs and Nami and Robin are confused about exactly how much in universe Shakespeare, albeit Robin is impressed. Luffy just knows but imagine Zoro finds out when the cook, who doesn't fight with his hands just swallows a Marines sword to distract them right before Luffy Gum Gum Pistols them.

Rayleigh talks more about Shanks and Sanji is just looking at his nails and briefly brings up Buggy. And Sanji can't help himself when he says "at least he's not a dead beat, he didn't abandon me" which makes Robin laugh and Luffy and Usopp ask what means and Sanji is like "you both haven't seen the Redhair crew since you were in the single digits, Buggy saw me at Baratie three weeks before you lot wrecked it and he would stop by every couple of weeks normally" And the crew is shook.

Like then Sanji just proudly showing everyone his photo of the Buggy Pirates, him, and Buggy in the adoption office and then again with just Buggy and Sanji and the paper and the jolly Roger. Rayleigh is having heart palpitations as Nami, Luffy, and Zoro scream at how lame his dad is and Sanji is like "oh you guys are the reason he's in Impel Down this makes sense" and Rayleigh is losing it. Shakky is laughing so hard. Rayleigh asks if anyone is planning to get Buggy out of prison and Sanji shrugs and says the lion is in charge now.

And then after the time skip to the forming of the crossguild everyone keeps shitting on. Like imagine Mihawk and Croc walking into Buggy's tent and seeing Black Leg Sanji as a child in full clown get up sitting on his own head in a photo and next to it is the adoption photo. When they ask Buggy about it hes just like "oh yeah, I adopted him at ten. Saw him all the time after he started at Baratie. Unfortunate he's not out of his civilian phase yet." And Croc and Mihawk are reeling. "Then again I think having to relive his trauma in Germa and with Big Mom probably didn't help, oh well. I'll talk to him about it when I see him."

When they see each other is some meeting between the Hats, the Guild and Redhair Pirates Luffy and Usopp are really happy to see their dad's. Sanji is probably being passed around by Buggy's crew and petting Richie who has him pinned to the ground and Crocodile is groaning that the clown's kid did the whole Mr. Prince thing and Shanks is confused because "you didn't tell me you had a brat?"

"well I legally adopted him eleven years ago and when Garp found out he said I was a better dad than you and Roger and Rayleigh so."

#black leg sanji #buggy the clown #silvers rayleigh #clown!sanji #these are going off the fuxking rails recently jfc #i love it #vinsmoke sanji #answers #cross guild

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jintaka-hane · 25 days

Text

Run, baby (don't) run

(Cabaji x gn!reader) NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Your former crew lost in the Davy Back Fight and you are the tribute to pay. As you step aboard Captain Buggy's ship, your mind begins to conjure ideas for escape, but there's someone who will make your stay not so unpleasant. You might consider yourself clever, presuming to completely know him because you have explored every inch of his body, yet you remain unaware of the deeper emotions he conceals within. Notes: I tried to stick to my initial plan (short smut) and I couldn't... Sorry, I am a hopeless romantic! 💕 Simply wanted to delve into a relationship where intimacy precedes love, rather than the other way around. Warnings: +18, NSFW, MDNI, smut (but there is plot I swear), Sub!Cabaji x Dom!reader (Cabaji is shy, reader is bold), Sub!reader x Dom!Cabaji, oral, teasing, wall sex, wall pinning, idiots in love, some angst with happy ending. Words: 6800 Songs that inspired me: Run, baby run - Garbage

Thank you, my beautiful @fanaticsnail for your help with some parts 🙏🏻 💜 🐌

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The captain walked with lengthy, intentional strides atop the wooden deck, his footfalls resonating across the damp planks of the ship as he solemnly advanced along the line of awaiting pirates.

Thud, thud

"... too serious".

Each time he took an aggressive step, he would pause to scrutinize the pirate directly in front of him, a contemptuous critique reserved for each of them.

Thud, thud

"... too tall".

Thud, thud

"... too dull".

Thud, thud, thud…

...thud

His strides came to a halt mere inches from where you stood, and you averted your gaze, fixating instead on the weathered floorboards. Time appeared to freeze as you sought to go unnoticed, your gaze focused on his worn pointed brown boots.

“YOU,” he said.

You dared to raise your eyes, hoping he might be addressing the next in line, only to find his azure eyes, heavily lined with kohl and blue eyeshadow, fixed squarely upon you.

"Though you'll be needing some makeup…”, he added with a mischievous grin, gazing you up and down, “... and a more colorful attire”.

Satisfied with himself, he spun on his heel and headed back towards his circus-like ship, making a gesture for you to follow him.

You cast one last glance at your companions, giving yourself a few seconds to compose.

“Come on, buttercup!” He barked out at you without turning around, "Where's the enthusiasm?!”

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

Turning down a challenge was a display of cowardice and shame in the pirate world. And this shame was even greater if the challenge in question was the Davy Back Fight, which stipulated that if two captains accepted, their crews would endure three trials, the losers facing the penalty of crew members theft and the destruction of their pirate flag.

Captain Buggy and his followers had encountered your ship, and in an act of whimsy and boredom, had challenged your former captain, who felt compelled to accept in defense of his honor. Against all odds, your old crew ended up losing to the picturesque and colorful crew led by the sea's most renowned clown, resulting in you being chosen by their captain as a reward for their victory.

You had to quickly adapt to life in the Big Top, vastly different from the customs you had known so far. Made up and dressed in tight circus attire that revealed your midriff, you tried as best you could to fit in with the crew and carry out your tasks amidst the chaos that reigned in that disorganized and eccentric group.

You didn't yet know much about your crewmates, though you could glean some idea of each one's personality: the captain, ambitious, whiny, and extravagant; the first mate, fiercely protective of his captain and always accompanied by an immense circus lion; the unicyclist swordsman, solemn and mysterious, constantly honing new juggling tricks that he later deployed as precise attacks.

It was the latter who particularly had caught your eye, mainly due to the vibrant colors of his attire and the uniqueness of his hair, straight and streaked, pulled to one side. The fact that he always was bare-chested, showcasing his sturdy pectorals, also added to his allure. But you never entertained the thought of getting close to him; after all, you were eager to leave that ragtag crew of pirates behind and join a more formidable crew as soon as possible …

You had sworn allegiance to the captain, but that didn't bind you to servitude for eternity. Perhaps in a few months, slipping away from the ship wouldn't raise too many eyebrows.

Life aboard wasn't entirely unpleasant. The parties were frequent, which helped time pass more swiftly, and you found amusement in watching the crew's constant juggling and tricks. Yet, you couldn't envision yourself aboard the Big Top for the long haul. Sometimes, unable to bear another note of the incessant circus music, you would retreat to your cabin, bury your head in the pillow, and scream.

One night, an excess of alcohol coursed through the veins of the crew — including you — celebrating that your captain, the great Buggy, had acquired a treasure that would significantly increase everyone's wealth and allow you to afford even more luxuries and extravagances.

You still didn't quite feel like you belonged with them, so you spent the evening watching and analyzing the group of pirates, noting the wildest, the toughest, the most loquacious, and the most reserved among them.

In your analysis, you caught Cabaji looking at you several times, his elongated lined eyes trailing over your abdomen, lingering a bit too long on your navel. The first two times, when your eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, feigning interest in something else. The third time, he held your gaze and gave you a somewhat hesitant smile. The fourth time, he grabbed his unicycle and some juggling balls, tossed them in the air, and headed towards you, boasting about his sharp reflexes and impressive balance.

As the acrobatic act concluded, he deftly caught the dancing balls in mid-air one by one with a single hand and, skidding lightly, brought his unicycle to a halt right in front of you, one foot on a pedal while placing the other on the ground to maintain balance.

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or simply a desperate need for distraction that night, but you summoned a boldness from somewhere unknown.

“Hey handsome, think you can ride anything besides bicycles?”

He stood there, his eyes locked onto you, lost for words.

You thought he was an idiot.

And yet, within seconds, you were ravenously making out with that idiot, stumbling through the hallways of the ship as your bodies clumsily bumped with the walls and other unnoticed obstacles making your way to his cabin.

As you reached his room, you paused the kisses momentarily so he could open the door. With a gallant gesture, he ushered you in first, and you entered, casting a swift glance around the space.

It resembled a quaint juggling studio, albeit with the added quirk of a bed positioned at its heart. Disheveled shelves lined the walls, adorned with an array of juggling paraphernalia - diabolos, balls, ribbons, and hoops - alongside an assortment of edged weapons, including swords, knives, and daggers. Atop the floor lay a pair of weathered unicycles, seemingly forgotten.

You took a few steps forward, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim light within, then turned toward him, watching as he closed the door behind him. With determination in your stride, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his neck before pressing your lips to his again, this time slow, lingering, and deep, while he embraced your bare waist. Tilting your chin slightly, you sought a better angle to kiss him, a low moan rumbling in his throat, barely restrained.

Still emboldened by the courage perhaps instilled by alcohol, you brought a hand to the center of his chest and with your fingers, you traced the outline of his pecs.

“You’re so tough, aren't you?”

With a caress, your hand descended down his muscularly defined abdomen until reaching the edge of his pants, where a fine line of hair disappeared. Loosening the waistband slightly with your fingers, you created enough space for your hand to venture further, slipping beneath the elastic of his underwear. Cabaji froze in place, his muscles tensing around his stomach. With just one finger, you traced the length of his cock gently, from the base to the tip, while locking eyes with him. He was painfully hard.

“My, my… I think you need a bit of help with this, don’t you big guy?”

His cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but he didn't avert his gaze from yours. You noticed the goosebumps prickling his neck and shoulders, and every muscle in his body seemed to be rigid. Seeing he wasn't taking the lead, you decided to tease him further, this time more cruelly.

Removing your hand from his pants, you brought it to your mouth and provocatively licked the palm, coating it with saliva. Then, you slid it back into his pants and grasped his hard cock, your fingers wrapping around it completely. With a soft motion, you pumped it slowly, a moan escaping his lips as he closed his eyes.

“You’re so tense… you need to relax”.

You lifted your other hand and softly brushed his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes, his dark and dilated pupils locked onto yours, filled with a mixture of admiration and lust.

“Tell me… do you wanna fuck me, big guy?” You picked up the pace, pumping him faster.

He nodded slightly in silence, trying to maintain his composure and stay on his feet, while desire consumed him. You smiled, seeing him so vulnerable under your hands.

“Cat got your tongue, huh? Use your words, pretty boy” you teased him.

“Yes…”

“Oh, he speaks,” you smirked. You found it amusing how shy he was. Accustomed as you were to dominant, proud, and selfish types, he was turning out to be a rare gem you were eager to enjoy.

Devouring him eagerly, your lips swollen from the fierceness of your kisses, you gradually guided him to the bed, stepping forward while he took slight steps back, just to maintain balance. When the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the bed, you pushed him, his body falling onto the mattress and pulling you with him into a tight embrace, with no intention of separating from you.

You bent your legs, placing your knees on the mattress to straddle him, seeking his neck with your desirous lips, alternating between biting and licking. His hands began to roam your back, desperately searching for the edge of your shirt to help you discard it. You pressed your hips against his, feeling the massive bulge beneath his pants pulsating against you. His hands slid down to your ass, grasping both cheeks and pressing you down against him harder as he moaned, his hips rising in sync with yours.

At that moment, you sat up to look at him, his eyes ablaze with desire as his tongue darted between his lips to catch your saliva, his cheeks flushed, the vein in his neck pulsing frantically and the muscles in his arms tense as he gripped your ass firmly. You smiled to yourself, wanting to etch such a spectacular sight into your memory forever.

"Grab onto the headboard and don't take your hands off unless I tell you to," you ordered.

He obeyed instantly, holding his breath, eager to see what your next move would be.

"Good boy," you praised.

You lifted yourself slightly and crawled down his body until your head was level with his abdomen. Lowering your mouth to nibble on the soft skin around his navel, you made him whimper while your fingers slowly pulled down his pants.

“Relax…”

Directing your mouth to the lower part of his belly button, you continued kissing his tan and sea-salt coated skin, proceeding down to his pubic area as your fingers lowered his pants further and further.

You focused your attention on his groin, this time positioning your head right above his cock, the fabric of his pants the only barrier between you. With the tip of your nose, you briefly caressed the throbbing bulge hidden by his pants, then pressed your lips against it and began to kiss him through the fabric. You felt him gasp, his hips involuntarily rising to meet you, his cock twitching against your mouth. You smiled at his reaction and decided to tease him further, sticking out your tongue and tracing it softly against him while staring into his eyes.

“Please…”

Already begging?

If teasing him was the only way you had to get him to express himself, so be it...

“Tell me big boy, what do you need?”

“... my pants… too tight, I’m so hard I can't stand them anymore”.

You smiled to yourself and decided to indulge him. If he spoke, you would obey. With a gentle motion, your fingers lowered the edge of his pants, freeing his dick, which sprang from its captivity making him sigh with relief.

He was large, but you were sure you could handle it. You ran one finger gently over him, caressing the crevice of its tip, and collected some of his pearly fluid. As you pulled your finger away, a silver thread followed connecting you to him, and you looked at it, fascinated.

"I’m going to suck away and swallow that shyness from you… " your resolved words made him moan.

You paused to look at him, his eyes locked desperately on you, consumed by excitement. Without taking your eyes off his, you proceeded to lick him, your tongue stroking his head, gathering all the precum.

Opening your mouth wide, you surrounded his cock with your lips, capturing it in a sweet embrace, and began swallowing it slowly all the way down to the base, giving yourself time to adjust to its size as you noticed him holding his breath, the muscles of his abdomen stiff, his gaze attentive to each one of your movements. You kept advancing until you felt the tip in your throat, where you paused for a moment to concentrate and relax your gorge so that it could enter all the way. With one final push, you managed to take him all in. He exhaled all the air from his lungs.

With upward and downward movements, you began to suck him with a light pressure, seeking the perfect angle to take him into your mouth whole, your senses attuned to his reactions, his breathing, and whimpers, to match the right pace. His eyelids fluttered closed and his head tilted slightly backward, savoring every moment, while his obedient hands remained on the headboard, his knuckles white from the pressure his fingers exerted. He opened his eyes to look at you again, fascinated by the sight before him.

“Damn… you’re perfect”, Cabaji sighed out.

Encouraged by his praises, you lightened the pace and pressure, sucking hard as you rose back up to his thick tip, repeating the process over and over again, coaxing songs from his throat. His body stretched, further exposing his bare chest while his hands gripped the headboard of the bed more tightly, causing the wood to groan.

“W-wait, slower... I won't be able to hold it back.”

Knowing that you were making him lose control led you to want to torture him more. You extended your arms, and your hands traveled to his chest, where you began to caress the curves of his muscles, as you worked at the same time with your mouth at a frenetic pace. Cabaji groaned in frustration as his head lulled to the side, his dark eyes meeting yours with a desperate look. He bit his lip and gently bucked his hips so his cock went further down your throat, causing a small gasp to escape from you.

"S-slower, I don't know how much lon... aaah…”

Your refusal to slow down appeared to prompt him to ignore orders as well, and unable to contain himself any longer, his hands disobeyed your command. With a swift movement he released the headboard and firmly grasped your nape, exerting pressure to thrust deeply into your mouth several times as you sucked him down. It didn’t take long for him to reach his end.

“F-fuck!”.

With one final, deep thrust, he came hard, his hips stuttering as his cock throbbed and released its thick load into your throat while his fingers threaded tight against your scalp. As he filled you up letting out a low groan, you did your utmost to swallow everything he gave you, just as you had promised.

Panting, Cabaji ran a hand through his dark hair, gathering his composure as he looked down at you, admiring how beautiful you remained with your tousled hair and flushed cheeks. You released him gently, freeing your mouth to speak.

“You didn't keep your hands on the headboard," you smiled. Getting up and crawling up his body, you pressed your lips in a fierce kiss against his.

"You didn't slow down," he kissed you back, his hands encircling your back to pull you closer into an embrace. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, he turned your bodies, positioning you beneath him. Looking down at you, he bestowed another passionate kiss.

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

It couldn't happen again.

In your bed, as your cabin mates snored around you, you gazed up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, reconstructing in your mind all that had occurred during the night.

His head nestled between your thighs, coaxing waves of pleasure with his mouth while he firmly gripped your quivering abdomen against the mattress…

The sound of the headboard banging against the wall, your face buried in the hollow of his neck….

You hastily grabbing your clothes to leave…

You shook those thoughts from your mind.

As enjoyable as it had been, it couldn't happen again.

Having sex with a crewmate wasn't usually a good idea, as it sometimes led to misunderstandings, grudges, jealousy, and troubles entirely to be avoided in life on board. And you couldn't afford that luxury, you needed to keep as low a profile as possible, so that when you vanished, nobody would notice your absence. You couldn't let it happen again.

But of course, it happened again.

After that initial encounter, many more followed, each one spontaneous and unplanned, sometimes occurring in the most clandestine of places like the pantry, the cellar, or even the armory. With each subsequent meeting, his initial shyness seemed to vanish, replaced by a more possessive and dominant Cabaji.

When the intimate encounters were spurred by the revelry brought on by alcohol during a celebration, Cabaji was accommodating, willing to let you take the lead and set the pace you needed. Those moments were for experimentation and delving more deeply into different ways to pleasure each other, and you quickly learned what things truly drove him wild and made him lose control.

Other times, your sexual liaison served to relieve stress following a violent encounter with an enemy crew, discharging onto each other the adrenaline surged after a victory or the accumulated frustration following a defeat. In these latter cases, you both usually got carried away by fury, and endured energetic sessions of possessive and rough sex, each fighting to dominate the other, focused on pursuing your own pleasure, using the other's body in the process with a frenzied and furious pace.

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

"No," he reprimanded, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, pressing your back firmly against his chest. You struggled against his embrace, striving to break free and reclaim control, attempting to twist around to meet his gaze.

That day, he had fought with Mohji. As often before, it had begun with a petty dispute that had escalated into the first mate challenging Cabaji to a duel to establish his dominance within Buggy's crew. They had fought for quite some time, and in the end, despite their evenly matched skills, Cabaji had lost, albeit narrowly. It only took you one look at him to realize that he would need you that night, and one way or another, you two would end up having vigorous sex.

Seizing you firmly, he steered you towards the wall until your entire front was pressed against its surface. Before you could plant your hands against it to attempt to pivot around, he captured them and pinned them securely against your back.

"NO," he growled as you fought harder, prompting him to tighten his grip even more aggressively, nearly cutting off circulation in your wrists.

"Against the wall," he pushed your head, forcing your cheek to press against the wooden panel.

In moments such as these, your attempts to assert dominance were in vain, for though your speed could sometimes surpass his, his agility and strength were greater. Nevertheless, you persistently resisted and sought to challenge him, driven by primal instincts and an unspoken understanding of the effect it had on both him and yourself.

You attempted a backward kick, swiftly dodged by his agile maneuver, his smirk amused by your futile efforts. He seized the opportunity to slide his leg between yours, forcefully nudging one aside to spread them apart. Drawing near, his heartbeat thundered against your back, while his hips roughly met yours, allowing you to feel his arousal. He gradually lost his grip on your wrists as he sensed your progressive relaxation and surrender.

"Give up, I know you want this too," you heard his voice, a mere whisper against the curve of your jawbone, “don't make me tie you up like last time”.

As his grip momentarily loosened around your wrists, you futilely struggled to break free once more, only to find yourself pinned even tighter against the unyielding wall. Seeking retaliation, you snapped at the air, growling, attempting to capture his lips between your teeth, but he withdrew just in the nick of time.

“Tsk,” he tutted, “I'm going to have to tame you like the wild animal you are…”

“I thought Mohji was the tamer,” you let out, sharply.

You reveled in provoking him repeatedly, testing the limits to see how far you could push. However, as you concluded the sentence, you bit your lip. Perhaps, given the circumstances, you had pushed too far this time.

You had angered him.

With a ferocity that bordered on the primal, he clasped you tightly around the waist, lifting you with unrestrained force. Spinning you around to face him, he hurled you towards the wall, the unexpected impact causing you to gasp as your shoulder blades collided with the wooden panel, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed. He seized a handful of your hair and yanked sharply, tilting your head back, so your neck was fully bared to him.

In this position, seeing you completely at his mercy, with your breath catching and your heart pounding, he seemed to calm down. With the tip of his nose, he traced a path along your throat, detecting the pulse of your artery, lingering where adrenaline surged through your bloodstream.

“I’d slit his throat before he could lay a finger on you”, he kissed you right at that spot.

Without shifting his attention from your neck, his hands explored your body, seeking the elastic of your underwear. He slipped his hand inside, gauging your arousal before assisting you in discarding it with a determined tug.

Grasping one of your legs by the back of the thigh, he raised it as high as possible, locking it around his waist. Feeling your calf pressing against him for balance, he repeated the action with your other leg, pressing your body firmly against the wall, making it your support point. Secured in that position, he undid his pants, freeing his swollen and pulsating cock which quivered in search of your warmth.

“Tell me you want this”, he whispered in the shell of your ear.

“I want you, baby”, you uttered the words that drove him mad.

Without further delay, he bent his knees, causing you to descend, your back sliding down the wall slightly. Gripping his cock, he eagerly directed its tip to your sweet entrance, then thrust into you forcefully, impaling you and causing your hips to collide sharply upward against the wall as he held you securely by the thighs. You panted at the impact, both arms draped around his neck.

Cabaji remained completely still in this position, giving your body time to adjust to his and relax. He closed his eyes, focusing intently, and pressed his cheek against yours, awaiting a subtle signal from you to indicate that he could proceed. After a few moments of concentrating on the rhythm of your heartbeats, he felt your cheek press back against his, signaling your readiness. Firmly securing his grip on your thighs to prevent any slippage, he began thrusting into you with increasing intensity.

"Tell me you're mine," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the moans escaping your lips as his hips relentlessly collided with yours.

You didn’t answer.

He always asked you once, and you never responded, leaving him to content himself solely with your kisses and whimpers, something he always tried to counteract with a firmer grip on you, as if the fact that you didn't respond implied that you might escape at any moment.

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

Beyond your intimate encounters, there were never interactions between you: you neither spoke nor sought each other out. Your meetings were never premeditated, but rather fortuitous and accidental, and the absence of contact outside of these moments left you questioning whether the rest of the crew suspected anything about what was happening between you two.

One night, you returned to your cabin after having a horrible day. You had been particularly clumsy, and while organizing the juggling room, hundreds of balls, diabolos, and hoops had fallen on you. You had to endure some crewmates' shouts and spent hours putting everything back in place just as it was. All you wanted was to lie down in your bed, rest, and hope that the next day would be better.

Upon reaching your cabin, you noticed something small resting atop your pillow. Intrigued, you approached, picked it up, and examined it closely: it was a delicate handmade paper flower, its exquisite petals meticulously folded to resemble a real blossom, alternating between shades of blue and white, reminiscent of Cabaji's scarf.

With a bitter chuckle, you cast it aside.

"What a fool..."

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

The following night, you found yourself in his bed once more. Throughout the day, the crew had been reveling and drinking, and a chance encounter in the evening had led you to end up as you always did, enjoying each other's bodies.

On this occasion, you were lying face down, bearing the weight of his body, your legs spread to welcome him inside you as his hips delivered his final thrusts against you. Moaning deeply against your neck, he chased his release for the second time that night. With one hand pressing firmly your lower abdomen, he lifted your pelvis, seeking the perfect angle to discharge himself as profoundly into you as possible.

With one last, deep thrust, you noticed his body shaking against yours, his cock twitching as he poured all his tension into you, relishing the moment and taking his time, deep growls escaping from his throat.

Panting heavily from the exertion, he collapsed on top of you, his forearms bracing against the mattress on either side of your body to avoid bearing down his full weight on you. Once he had emptied himself completely, he withdrew, pressing his lips briefly against one of your shoulders in a sort of farewell kiss before falling exhausted by your side.

Typically, after finishing, you didn't waste time and returned to your normal routine, either heading to your cabin to rest or, if it was during the day, continuing with your everyday tasks on board. But this time, particularly, you were exhausted, and for the first time, you lingered a bit with him between the sheets.

“I’m drained,” you murmured.

“Hmm”.

You remained lying face down, arms folded beneath your head, forehead resting upon them, taking deep breaths as you tuned out the world around you.

Suddenly, you felt fingertips caressing your body, gently trailing down your spine, tracing an imaginary line over your small back and descending to follow the curve of your ass, the contact making your skin goosebump.

You lifted your head immediately, surprised by the sudden display of tenderness, and found Cabaji lying on his side, beside you, his arm bent and his head resting on his hand. His gaze fixed on your body with an intensity that bordered on... devotion.

His fingers traced the same curve again, drawing delicate patterns on your back and causing you to shudder again under his touch. Your body tensed up as the air seemed to freeze in your lungs.

What was that?

Was that an expression of…

… affection?

Your heart began to skip beats as anxiety invaded your chest.

NO.

Immediately, the memory of the beautiful flower resting on your pillow the previous night flooded your mind, triggering an internal alarm.

No, no, no, no.

No feelings.

NO.

You sprang from the bed in a swift motion, your naked body fully exposed to him. He looked at you, surprised by your sudden movement, yet a smile played across his lips, seizing the opportunity to admire your figure once more.

“You’re so pretty…”

“Cabaji,” your expression darkened.

“… yes?”

“... you know this is just sex, right? Nothing more.”

His smile faltered momentarily, yet his gaze remained inscrutable, making it difficult for you to discern his thoughts. Those stupidly beautiful, lined eyes fixed on you.

“Yes, of course I know,” he responded promptly.

“Good.”

You stepped away from the bed to gather your clothes, an awkward silence filling the room. You dressed as swiftly as you could, the oppressive tension in the air making it hard to breathe normally. As soon as you were fully clothed, you opened the door, eager to make your exit.

“See you,” you bid him farewell, casting a final glance at the bed where he sat, still unclothed, with his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room.

“Bye”.

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

Following that last conversation, two long weeks went by without any form of contact between the two of you.

At first, you didn't understand. You were used to not having any kind of relationship with him outside of your sexual encounters, but even though you didn't talk during the day, no more than two or three nights would pass before you found yourselves in each other's arms again. However, there was no trace of Cabaji wherever you went. The only news you had of him were snippets of conversations drifting from afar.

"Hey, did you hear? Cabaji threw a knife in target practice and he missed. He stabbed a man right in his hand."

"No way! He's never missed!"

"Yes, yes, he did. He's been a bit lost lately…"

Occasionally, you would catch sight of him from a distance, whether in the galley, the juggling practice area, or on deck, where he was often engaged in conversation with the captain or involved in heated exchanges with Mohji.

As days went by, you began to believe that his interest in you had waned, signaling the end of your clandestine affair, perhaps for the best.

You carried on with your life without giving it a second thought. Your days were a whirlwind of tasks, leaving little room for contemplation or reflection, and if you had any time left, you spent it plotting the best way to leave the ship and find another crew.

A few days later, you were walking down a narrow hallway that connected one cabin to another below deck. You walked calmly, lost in your thoughts, when suddenly you felt a strong grip seize your arm, pulling you sharply towards them and causing you to collide against their chest, momentarily throwing you off balance.

Startled by the abruptness of the action, you glanced up to identify the assailant, only to find yourself met by the sight of a blue and white scarf—Cabaji.

"What are you doing?!" you asked furiously, attempting to wrench your arm free.

"We need to talk".

"Let me go!" you used your free hand to shove him off.

At that moment, as if the capricious universe were mocking you, a crew member attempted to pass through the hallway, causing you to pause momentarily your movements. The space was so narrow that, to make room for him, you had to move closer to Cabaji, causing your bodies to touch completely. You felt a strange sensation at the contact, like a familiar warmth that your body had unconsciously longed for.

"Hey," the shipmate greeted as he advanced down the hallway.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in that position, standing so close to each other that you could feel Cabaji's agitated heartbeat, your chests pressed against each other. As the shipmate passed by your side, he appeared startled by the sight of Cabaji towering over you, firmly gripping your arm.

“You two okay?”

“We’re fine”, Cabaji snapped curtly, his eyes still fixed on yours.

The crewate, sensing the odd situation and not wishing to get embroiled in any trouble, hurriedly made himself scarce. As soon as he disappeared and you were alone again, you pulled your body away from Cabaji, and gave another strong tug to release yourself from his grip.

This time he let go.

With your arm now free, you turned around to continue advancing down the hallway.

"I have things to attend to."

"Wait..." he said frustrated, stepping in front of you to block your path. You attempted to go around him, but he stopped you. Letting out an impatient huff, you tried to shove past him once more, your hands trying to brace against his chest.

"Hold on…" he grabbed your wrists mid-air to hinder you from pushing him, and you sharply twisted your hands, freeing yourself again. With an angry snort, he swiftly seized you by the waist before you could escape again, lifting you off the ground and pinning you against the wall. As you tried to push yourself away from the wall to break free, he grabbed your shoulders firmly, thwarting your attempts to flee.

"Damn it, you're so stubborn," he muttered in frustration.

Cornered and feeling the firm pressure of his fingers grasping your shoulders, you surrendered. You shut your eyes and drew in a deep breath, attempting to rein in the anger bubbling within you. As you exhaled, you steeled yourself to confront him, reopening your eyes to meet his gaze.

Upon closer inspection, you were taken aback to see the fatigue etched on his face and the deep circles beneath his eyes, clear signs that he had been suffering.

"Are you going to listen to me?" he begged you.

“Fine.”

"Good.”

His eyes darted between yours, seeming to take a moment to arrange the words in his head before speaking them. You waited quietly, somewhat concerned because you had never seen him so distressed. His eyes then moved to your lips, lingering on them for a few seconds.

"And?" You asked haughtily, titling your chin up. Your question seemed to bring him back to reality and his dark, lined eyes refocused on yours.

"Okay... ,“ he inhaled deeply, struggling to find the right words and not mess things up. “Well, I… I knew the rules... but …," he paused again.

"What rules?” you asked, urging him to continue.

“Listen, I know we… No, I… I was not supposed to fall…,” he halted abruptly. He seemed to be delivering the most complicated discourse of his life, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You could almost hear the neurons in his brain, racing to find the right words.. “I’ve tried, I've tried hard but I…”.

Without understanding anything of that nonsense, you lost your patience.

“Cabaji, what the hell are you talking ab...?”

“I miss you,” he cut you off.

You arched an eyebrow, taken aback.

"What?"

“I miss you,” he repeated, more confident this time, finally finding the courage to deliver a somewhat coherent speech. “I … can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even hit a target. I can’t live like this''.

Your eyes widened as your brain processed his words gradually, incredulous at what you were hearing.

“... I'm craving you”.

You were speechless, bewildered by his desperate words, which caught you completely off guard. Time seemed to stand still, the creak of the wood and the gentle sway of the boat the only signs that the world hadn't stopped.

Your eyes briefly darted to his hands, your shoulders flushed from the pressure of his grip. Following the direction of your gaze, he suddenly seemed to realize that he was still holding onto you and immediately released you.

"Forgive me," he apologized in such a low tone that it was only audible to you.

You stood there, staring at him intently, your back pressed firmly against the wall as your head spun.

“Y/N, please… please, come to me tonight. Please, let me have you again tonight, I … I rather jump overboard than deal with another night without you”.

He was pleading with such desperation that you felt a tightness on your throat, overwhelmed by everything you were having to process in that moment. A sense of infinite sadness engulfed your chest, releasing all the suffering you had been denying yourself from feeling these past few weeks.

"And…,” he continued, “I can't stand you leaving afterwards. I’d like to spend more time with you… I want to be able to caress you without you fleeing from me in fear."

You remained silent, unsure of what to say. It was too much, too many thoughts, too many feelings, and you didn't know which path was the wisest to take.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” he smiled sadly.

You turned your face to the side and averted your eyes from him to give yourself a few seconds to think without feeling the pressure of his hungry eyes staring into yours, desperate for a response.

“I am not scared of you,” you managed to say with a thread of voice.

He lifted one of his hands and brought it to your chin, gently holding it between his fingers to guide your face back to his and meet his gaze head-on.

“No…" he sighed, "you're scared of us. Of what we could become… if you let me”.

His fingers moved from your jawbone to your cheek, his thumb softly caressing it, causing you to shiver. How was it possible that after all the physical contact you had shared for weeks, after all the scratches, licks, bites, grips and thrusts, what you found most challenging to endure was a simple caress?

“... would you? Would you let me?”

Your mind scrambled, attempting to swiftly piece together a response. The plans to abandon the boat flashed through your mind, as until that moment, leaving within a few months had been a firm decision. But now, as you stood there, your thoughts became a tangled mess, forming a lump in your throat that silenced any reply.

Sensing your distress and hesitation, Cabaji gently eased the pressure his fingers exerted on your cheek and seeking to grant you some breathing room, his body appeared to drift imperceptibly away from yours. You perceived the shift, and in that instant, realization dawned. You understood then, deep in your core, that you truly were afraid.

It was the fear that Cabaji might let you go and turn away. The fear of him never touching you again, the fear of never feeling his lips against yours, the fear of him never looking at you with the intensity he did in those moments. The fear of him disappearing from your life forevermore.

You lifted your hand, letting it hover momentarily before cupping his own, cradling it against your cheek. Meeting his weary gaze, you smiled softly at him and offered a silent affirmation with a nod.

“My love…” he smiled back at you, exhaling the relief that anticipation had built up in his lungs. His hand left your cheek and moved slowly to your nape, his fingers tangling in your hair. With gentleness, he drew your head towards his until your noses brushed lightly. Sensing your breath quickening nervously, he paused, unsure if this was really what you wanted.

As he came to a halt, you let out a frustrated exhale and, gripping his scarf tightly, you forcefully pulled him towards you to close the short distance separating your lips, causing them to collide and seal in a loving kiss.

Encouraged by your determined attitude, he kissed you back, long and deep, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him as if every inch of distance between you was too much to bear. After spending so much time apart, the kiss felt so good that you began to search for more and more hungrily, hardly letting him breathe, chaining one kiss to another, eliciting soft moans from his throat.

Each time the kisses felt like they were nearing their end, your lips ravenously sought his once more, while he, caught up in the fervor of your embrace, allowed himself to be carried away. When the lack of air forced you to lower the intensity and part, he looked into your eyes.

“Tell me, are those things you have to attend to now so urgent?”

“No,” you said quickly, leaning in eagerly to kiss him again.

“Well… ,“ he stopped you for a moment, placing his index finger on your lips, “why don’t we go to bed and see if this time you're ready to answer if you're mine?” And before you could reply, he captured your mouth with his again, smiling into your lips.

You know this is just sex, right? Nothing more.

Your own words echoed in your mind as you hooked your arms around his neck and pressed him against you, angling your chin to deepen the kiss further.

Fuck it.

#x reader #one piece #jintaka stuff #cabaji #cabaji one piece #cabaji x reader #opla fic #cabaji opla #buggy crew #captain buggy #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #I am a hopeless romantic for not popular characters #cabaji the acrobat #cabaji the acrobat x reader

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