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empressofmankind · 7 months

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The Show Must Go On - Pt. 1

Buggy x F!OC

Waitering at Baratie is not a bad life, but that doesn't mean life couldn't be better. That life didn't use to be better.

It's Wednesday evening, and that means entertainment is on the menu for the restaurant's late night diners. She enjoys doing so, truly, but her mood has been spiraling and she's not feeling it today. (Un)fortunately, she is not the only entertainer in the room. And the show must go on.

Tags: Fluffy like black cotton candy. Pre-amble to a whole lotta will-they-wont-they. No smut (yet) :(

Word count: 4.7k

{PART II}

A/N: For those of you new here, coming in from the OPLA tags: I enjoy writing character driven stories - thus the OC and not a Reader-insert. I am the type of author that gleefully goes through their baggage and holds a yard sale. And Buggy has a lot of baggage.

PS. I know it's no longer the 90s, and this isn't geocities, but please listen 'Party at Baratie' with Buggy's entrance. I promise, it won't disappoint.

Baratie wasn’t full yet, but it would be by the time the clock struck ten. It always was on Wednesday nights. Shivs cleared the table as the couple rose to shrug on their coats and leave. They were regulars, a fisherman and his wife who liked their baked cod with a generous helping of Zeff’s home ground mustard. More often than not, they brought the fish for their dish. She liked them. They were nice people, quiet people. Baratie’s late night diners tended not to be.

“Ah, a free table.”

Shivs didn’t like the tone of his voice, and never had. “And you are?” she said as she turned around. Even though she knew perfectly well.

“Captain Nezumi of the 16th Branch,” the marine standing behind her said with a huff that made his mouse-like whiskers twitch.

Tall, slim and pointy-faced, he always reminded her distinctly of that rodent. Where’s a cat when you need one, she thought. Shivs crooked an eyebrow, slow and deliberate. “Who?”

“I don’t have to ask who you are,” he hissed, whiskers trilling. “Goji berry red hair, missing eye: short-straw Shivs. A pirate.”

“A waiter.” Shivs wiped down the table. “Reservations go through Xavier.” She raised her hand to alert the maître d’ at the top of the stairs.

“Illegal seaters,” she said as the timid fishman approached them.

“Well, have I never!” she heard Nezumi sputter as she left. Making her way to another table in need of clearing, she was stopped by other regulars — louder regulars. Toby and his crew. Four in all, they were about her own age. She looked at the hand on her elbow, old bruises around the knuckles.

“What is it?” she said as she turned to them and shook it.

“Will there be a show tonight?” Toby grinned, showing off a silver canine through black bangs.

“No, I don’t think so. Can I get you boys anything?”

“It’s Wednesday!” Toby spread his hands in mock disbelief. “There cannot not be a show! We put in real effort to stay sober this long.” The way his grin was lopsided suggested otherwise.

“Tough luck,” Shivs said as she stacked their pint glasses.

A hand around her wrist, the one steadying the glassware. She followed it up his arm and to his face. He’d plastered a preposterous pout on it. “I don’t need luck.”

She considered tugging her wrist, letting him smash the glasses as he pulled her back. And stabbing him in the face with one. “Does that grimace ever work for you?”

Sanji appeared at her side, a tray on his fingertips. “Leave madam alone or I’ll have you lot banned permanently this time.”

Making the smart choice, Toby let go.

“Your drinks, gentlemen,” Sanji said as he took pints from his tray and put them in front of the four pirates. Shivs left while they were distracted. There was not going to be a show tonight, she decided. Fuck them.

At the sudden shouting, followed by a deafening roar and a cackle, Shivs abruptly turned to look behind her. Yet the commotion was up the steps and near the restaurant entrance, where Xavier attempted to calm the motley crowd roused before him. Which included a lion. A large lion with a lilac coat and mane, and red face paint daubed on his snout. Customers seated below had risen to look, too. A woman screamed when the lion roared once more, the sound reverberating through the wooden beams of Baratie’s hull.

“Animals are not allowed inside, good sirs.” Xavier’s nervous voice rose only just above the ruckus.

“Animal? Richie is no mere animal —.”

Shivs squinted, her jaw jutting a little forward. Is that a clown?

“—he is a founding member of my troupe!”

“Richie?” Xavier’s voice pitched as he leafed through his register book. “Oh, ah, he’s on the list. I see. That makes, um, how many?”

“Thirteen.”

“Why yes, of course.” Xavier pushed his glasses up his nose and closed his book. He turned towards the dining room at the bottom of the stairs and caught Shivs’ gaze, motioning her towards the long table in front of the hall’s modest stage.

Taking the hint, Shiv shook out her cloth and went to it.

Xavier coughed for attention, and the few diners that hadn’t been staring up yet turned to do so now. “Captain Buggy,” he announced with sober dignity. “And, hrm. Crew.”

“No. No-no-nono. That is no good!” The blue-haired captain shooed Xavier out of his spot. In red stripes, baggy pants and schmink, he did look like a clown. One that had slept the past week in the bilge. Shivs wondered if he’d reek.

“Spotlight!” He said with a wave of his gloved hand. Benji, the techie that worked the stage lights and curtains during shows, obliged with a nice bright beam, sparkling off the captain’s wide grin. Where the jaunty music came from, Shivs had no idea.

“I am Buggy,” he announced, and it animated his whole face. “Buggy, the Star Clown. Buggy, the Flashy Fool. Buggy, the—.”

“Pirate.”

The music scratched to a stop as Buggy turned on his boot heel to the speaker. It was Nezumi, standing prim with his unit beside the table he’d been denied.

“And your name is?” Buggy pulled a grimace as if he’d found three-day-old cotton candy stuck to his glove. Then it became a grin again, though this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nooo, let me guess: Captain Obvious?”

Shivs snorted as a woman in a glittery leotard held up a sign that read ‘laugh’ in gaudy calligraphy, and the diners did.

“My sincere apologies, captain Nezumi,” Xavier said as he ushered the marines away. “But you have no reservation and I must therefore ask you to leave.”

“Toodles!” Buggy said with a little wave.

The spotlight trailed after the marines slinking away, but Buggy snapped his fingers and it promptly returned to him.

“Now, where was I?” He straightened to his full height and adjusted his hat. “Ah yes, I am Buggy!” The music restarted as he flicked out his coat tails behind him and sashayed down the steps, his timing to the tune and his own words impeccable. “Buggy, the Star Clown. Buggy, the Flashy Fool. Buggy, the Genius Jester!” He spread his arms wide as his grin. “Has come to your magnificent establishment with his fabulously flashy troupe!”

Acrobats spilled from behind him, flanking his descent with handstands down the steps and sliding along the curving railings. There was a fire-breather too, causing many ohs and ahs. And the lion, of course, roaring once more.

Shivs gave the table a quick wipe down as they came towards her, spotlight and lion and wide smiles and all. Buggy paused beside her, head cocked, bicorne comically askew.

“What?” she said.

He pouted and pointed at the table. “Missed a spot, candy cane.”

She realised her mistake the moment she leaned forward to look, but he’d already flicked her nose with a cackle. At least the laughter around her sounded forced.

She was going to say something about polishing someone’s overly large nose but didn’t. Up close, she wasn’t so sure it wasn’t real. And she’d glimpsed half a dozen stilettos lining the inside of that tacky fur coat when he bend towards her. No one carried that many unless they knew how to throw them.

Instead, she pulled out the chair at the head of the table for him, and he seemed properly surprised for a moment.

“Such service,” he said as he crossed his long legs and sat down, his grin broad and toothy. She moved her gaze up and narrowly avoided it lingering on his nose. His eyes were as blue as clear ocean skies and framed by impressively long lashes for a man. They batted up at her and that did something. She wondered if the red lipstick covering half his face would smear even further if she kissed him. Wondered if Zeff might actually fire her for it. She had a suspicion this was the ‘special guest’ the old cook had alluded to.

He certainly looked special.

The lion’s grumbled roar drew both their attention.

“There are only twelve seats,” Buggy observed with a note of displeasure.

Xavier all but appeared at his elbow out of nowhere. “Apologies, truly. Perhaps, a divan for the noble beast?”

Buggy glanced at Richie, who sat down with a plop like an overly large dog. He motioned between his own and the seat of a man in a poorly done bear costume. Or was that meant to be a lion also?

“Put it here,” he said, then turned to Shivs, an edge of teeth peeking through his red smile. “Honey cake, the menu?”

“I’ll fetch the chef,” she said. “Would you like something to wet your tongue, in the mean time?”

“North Blue gin?”

She’d somehow expected him to order a cocktail. “Not something sweet?”

His grin managed to split wider yet as his blue eyes flicked down and up. “Are you ‘something sweet’?”

“No.”

He winked and clicked his tongue for emphasis. “Then no.”

“A’right,” Shivs said and made her way back to the galley at the rear of the restaurant. She spotted Zeff by the stove, tasting a creamy-looking soup.

“Needs more oregano,” the old chef muttered under his breath.

“A whole damn circus just arrived,” she said as she walked up to him.

“Ah, good, I was expecting him.” Zeff put the soup ladle down and he turned to her. “Pirate captain. His name is Buggy—.”

“—the clown,” Shivs finished with a chortle. “The face paint gave the surprise away. You know him?”

“We met, briefly. Long time ago,” he brushed her question aside as he wiped his hands on a dishcloth.

“Haven’t seen his mug on paper?” she said. Though that in and of itself wasn’t so strange. Zeff kept Baratie free of that sort of tacky wallpaper. Those who knew, knew. Those who didn’t, dined none the wiser. And she hadn’t left Baratie in… some time.

“It graces a few towns and forts, I imagine,” he said with a smile. “Though probably not as many as he’d like.”

Yes, that ego had been hard to miss. Shivs tilted her head. “How much is his bounty?”

“Twelve million, last print I saw? Probably gone up since then.”

“That’s not bad for the East Blue,” she said, actually surprised. He must have some tricks up his sleeves. It made her think of the knives. And those cheeky blue eyes batting up at her. “Xavier seated them at the oval table. Asked for the menu, told him I’d fetch the chef.”

“Is that so?” Zeff chuckled. “I best get to them then.”

“Zeff.”

The chef paused halfway moving past her.

“I am not performing,” Shivs said. “Not tonight.”

He turned back to her, a frown drawing his bushy eyebrows down. “You like doing it?”

She set her jaw. “If you want a show, ask the clown. I’m sure, if you ask plenty nicely, he’ll have his whole freakshow up on the tables in no time.”

Zeff gave her a fond look. “Our Wednesday guests come for you.”

“No doubt he has some in his troupe as well, if that’s what they want to see.”

“If you want to become better at it, you’ll have to practice.” Humour sparkled in the old pirate chef’s eyes. “Maybe you can get some professional critique, huh?”

From a clown? Her thoughts scoffed. Although, he did have all those knives. People weren’t always 'one act' wonders.

She pursed her lips. “Fine.”

“Atta girl.” He gave her shoulder a good squeeze and a little shake. “Can you start on the dishes until then?”

“Sure.”

By the time ten o’clock came around, Baratie was packed. It always was on Wednesday nights. Shivs had taken off the blouse she wore under her waiter’s vest. This way, she had better freedom of movement. She removed the scarf she wore around her throat and tied up her red hair in a bun. Then adjusted the diving knife in her left boot, concealing it from view.

Coming out of the employee’s toilet and left around the stage from the back, she saw Xavier already stood upon the planks limed in the light of Benji’s spotlight.

“Dear ladies, honoured gentlemen,” Xavier said with solemn dignity. The diners quieted as the lights in the hall dimmed and the spotlight brightened, setting a shimmer to the maître d’s well-manicured scales. “May I introduce to you—.”

“BoooOOOooo!”

Buggy, hands touted beside his mouth like a megaphone as he rose from his seat.

“Sir!” Xavier admonished at the blatant breach of proper etiquette.

The spotlight jumped to the clown, who stood in it like a flower turning towards the sun.

You really love yourself limed in stage lights, don’t you? Shivs thought, standing in the shadows off-stage.

“This is not a show,” Buggy said in a tone as if a great offence had been committed. He spread his arms wide. “This is a farce!”

Before anyone could stop him, he’d hopped on stage, the spotlight kissing his heels. He blatantly stepped in front of Xavier and turned to the diners.

“Grand folk! Welcome, welcome!” he proclaimed with animated gestures — he talked with his whole body. “Tonight, you will have the rare pleasure, the absolute singular privilege, of being the very first to witness Buggy’s Astoundingly Flashy Impromptu Diner Show!”

The lights did a little colour switching dance at his last words. Benji was having fun, at least.

The dinner guests applauded even before the woman held up her sign. Visibly delighted, Buggy turned to Shivs. “You need an introducing act, caramel popsicle.” He beckoned in the direction of his crew without breaking his gaze away. “Cabaji!”

A lanky young adult rose, followed by several fellows. Acrobats and jugglers, turned out. The diners liked it well enough, but the applause was notably less than before. Shivs frowned at the flicker of irritation flitting under the surface of Buggy’s expression the split second before his perpetual grin reasserted itself.

“Next, all the way from the deep, dark South Blue,” Buggy announced, his tone low and dangerous. “A true wild beast, a known man-eater!”

The audience gasped unprompted as the lion came onto the stage with a great roar, the man in the poorly made suit in its wake. Its handler, Shivs supposed.

An elderly lady at a front table, attired in a fabulously expensive appearing gown, waved her fan all but on the brink of fainting.

“Fear not, sweetest of candied apples,” Buggy said, leaning forward from the stage to take her hand and allow for a dramatic pause. He kissed the air just above her silken glove. “Fear not. For the monster is no more.” He rose, spreading his arms as he turned towards the lion while addressing the diners: “He is now Richie, the dancing lion!”

And, sure enough, at a prompt of his handler, the lion rose on its hind legs and danced. It stepped from one paw unto the other, side step here, side step there, turning in a circle and pawing with a front leg punctuated by a much sweeter roar.

The applause was genuine and excellent as the lion sat down with a plop and yawned.

“And now~,” Buggy started.

“FuCk oFF!”

Toby, from somewhere in the rear. Shivs saw Buggy’s hand twitch at his interruption and knew what that meant. Short fuse.

“I am here to see my girl!” Toby added, supported by the hoots of his friends.

Buggy glanced at her and she made a puking face that returned a grin to his. He beckoned her and as she climbed on stage; she resisted the urge to ask if his act was throwing knives, perhaps? But only just. She had about reached his side when Toby opened his mouth again.

“Nobody is here to see your ugly mug, you red-nosed freak!”

Buggy froze.

His crew shrank away.

And those were all the tells Shivs needed, really.

“What did you say…?” Buggy said as he turned slowly towards the audience, a wink of spotlight along concealed blades as his coat shifted with his movement.

“Captain Buggy!” His blue eyes snapped unto her and she held them. “It is time for my act now, isn’t it? It’s been such a wait, is it my turn finally?”

“It is!” he said and his grin split to show teeth again. “It is time!” Buggy spread his arms in sweeping gestures towards her. “For the one, and only, fabulously flashy~!”

He leaned towards her, his tone and mime overacted confusion. “I didn’t catch your name, popcorn pop?”

The audience laughed.

“Shivs,” Shivs said.

He made a comically stabby gesture, and she chuckled despite herself, and the audience with her. “Yes, just like those.”

“The Superbly Spectacular Shivs!” Buggy concluded with a sweeping arch of his arms. The spotlight jumped on her as gold foil poppers showered her in glimmering sparkles and the audience clapped.

He turned to her, his smile all tooth and wide as an oar. “What is your act?”

Not what you think, she thought at the sparkle of cheek in his blue eyes. Instead of an answer, Shivs lifted her left foot slowly, and drew the arm length diving knife from her boot. She flipped and caught it midair, holding it now by the hilt, the blade tip down. Stretching her arm, she lifted it above her head, never breaking their gaze until she had to.

Shivs stretched, straightened and tipped her head back, aligning her esophagus with her spine. She took a deep breath, then let it escape as she slid the blade down her throat. Unblinking, she held her breath and watched the hilt approach. When she felt the short crossguard rest on both corners of her mouth, she let go of the hilt and spread her hands.

Applause exploded from the audience as she turned a full circle, showing a bare neck all around.

She retrieved the blade with care and bowed.

Rising, Shivs glanced at Buggy and saw his eyes were positively gleaming. He clapped no less excitedly than the diners.

“Encore!” an elderly man called as he rose while vigorously clapping, and the call was taken up by the others.

“The audience wants more,” Buggy said, chuffed as if he’d done it himself.

“This is all I can do.”

“No no, that’s no good,” he said with a click of his tongue. “The show must go on.”

Buggy turned to the audience. “Do you want to see the Stunningly Flashy Shivs swallow another blade?” he asked, and the response was unfortunately deafening. “Or two?!”

“Are you insane?” she hissed, grabbing his sleeve.

Buggy turned to her, smiling wide as ever.

And out came the knives.

Four stilettos, similar in type if not in make, precisely. He held the hilts clenched between the fingers of one fist.

“Pick any two.”

This was a terrible idea. She hadn’t done double blades before. His knives were shorter and thinner than her own blade, sure. But multiple meant more insertion time, a longer breath.

Sword-swallowers fucked up only once.

She picked the two that seemed most similar, digging the hilts from between his fingers. She weighed them, one in each hand, gauging their balance.

Then held them up to the audience, eliciting a few encouraging cheers.

She flinched at the twin ‘thunk’ of Buggy throwing the remaining two into the stage’s floorboard. “No foldables here,” he assured the diners, who held onto his every word with baited breaths.

There were many people. Familiar, unfamiliar. Sitting, shifting, fidgeting. She turned to Buggy, training her gaze on him. No distractions. Easier to focus on one face than on a crowd. His expression was eager, his mouth a fraction open. She could see an edge of teeth, the tip of his tongue.

This better not be the image I am taking with me to the grave, she thought as she tilted her head and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She flipped one stiletto, then the other, bringing the tips up above her head.

She closed her eyes.

Banished that look on his face.

Focus.

She steadied herself, breathing in time with her heartbeat. One deep breath. Two deep breaths. On the third, she blew out and let one stiletto slide down her throat.

4… 5… 6… So far, so good. No new trick, this. But now for the second one, and no deflation to aid the ease of passage.

9…10… She guided it along the blade of the first, counting her heartbeats since breathing out.

15…16…17… The slow heat of suffocation started its ascend from within her chest.

24…25… The second crossguard joined the first. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The applause came from miles away as she spread her trembling hands.

28…29…30… She turned on her heels for an eternity.

32…33…34… Her vision tunnelled as she grabbed their hilts. Her throat shifted, her tongue twitching backward.

And then they were out, and she drew in the breath of the drowning, great gulps of it as she blinked stars from her eyes.

They focussed on Buggy.

His eyebrows had drawn up into a pout, but cotton candy clouds drifted past his wide blue eyes. Her gaze dodged his nose and landed on his mouth. He was biting his bottom lip. Her eyes flicked down, but his baggy pants and sash revealed nothing, or hid everything.

She flipped the stilettos and held them hilt first out to him. “These are yours.”

He snapped out of it with a smile, taking them off her hands and bending down to fetch the ones sunk into the floorboards.

Shivs pursed her lips, watching his butt shift. It was only fair, that look on his face had been a whole lot of something. Stupid clown.

He farewelled the show with the same flourish and drama he’d initiated it. The spotlight dimmed, the curtains closed, and the audience applauded one final time.

“That was more than perfect cherry tootsie,” Buggy beamed as they walked off-stage.

“I regret everything,” Shivs said. A slow, pulsing headache whined at the back of her neck. Her throat was sore. She hoped she hadn’t nicked anything.

Buggy’s face fell faster than the curtains at her words. “You are a talent, a natural, unique,” he said, all hands and exaggerated encouragements as he spoke. “You will be great one day, the greatest! Famous! Performing on the Grand Line, in the New World!”

He was right in front of her now, all but nose to nose. “You are a class act. You are one of a kind. You are—.”

“—in pain.”

“Chocolate toffee you must rest,” he said in a tone people usually got before launching into a hug or some other type of physical reassurance. It never came. He just looked at her with a concerned pout and held his own hands.

She smiled weakly. “I’ll live.”

“You must,” he grinned, then produced a shimmering golden ticket from an inside pocket of his coat. He held it between two fingers and out to her. “You should join my crew.”

“I’ll think about it,” Shivs said as she took the card without really looking at it, and out of politeness more than anything. Short fuse.

She watched him leave with a spring in his step.

It was a long while before the last diners had left, and longer still until the gold confetti had been cleaned up. Shivs sat at the bar, broom leaned against the stool beside her. Baratie was presentable once more. There was a pile of dishes, but those could wait till tomorrow. The ticket Buggy had given her laid on the bar beside her glass of water. It was a gaudy, gold foil iteration of an old-timey circus entrance pass. The front was graced by a red-nosed Jolly Roger, and the back told her on which slip the ship was docked and when they’d leave. Big Top, slip 9. Tomorrow, at 07:00. She’d smiled at the name, wondering if it would look as ridiculous as its captain. Probably.

“Saw you talk,” Zeff said.

Shivs spooked out of her thoughts at his words, not having heard him approach. He stood beside her, drying the last of the pint glasses.

“Any good feedback?”

She pinned the ticket with her middle finger and slid it towards him across the bar. Zeff put the glass down, the dish cloth across his shoulder, and wiped his hands before picking it up.

“Asked you to join his crew?” he said as he read the ticket.

“Hah. Told me to join his crew, more like.”

Zeff handed it back to her. “Will you?”

Shivs wound the ticket around her finger, making the foil crinkle and crackle in the silence. She ran her tongue past her teeth.

“No.”

The short word sounded dry and definitive.

“No,” she repeated as she shook her head and let the ticket unfurl from her finger and fall onto the bar. “He’s weird and pushy.”

“He’s an odd one.” Zeff set the broom aside and sat on the barstool beside her. “Though all pirate captains are, this old cook included.” There was humour in his tone. “The sea gets peculiar with you, you know this.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. It’d been years since she had sailed. She’d thought it would have been different, that last time. That their bond would have mattered. She pulled a stray bang free and watched the red strands slip through her fingers. You pushed your will with smiles, but pushed it all the same.

Zeff gave her a gentle nudge. “He asked you to join his crew, not to marry him.”

Privately, she wasn’t so sure all of them understood the distinction. She did miss the ocean. Baratie was ever at sea, but it was not the same. She realised, she’d held out hope he’d come back. Even though he had told her — 'I am not coming back.'

It made her angry. Angry with him, for leaving. Angry with herself, for. For what? Defaulting to existing instead of living?

Zeff observed her in silence.

“I like my life,” she said. “Here, with you and Sanji. The restaurant, our guests. It’s nice.” And it was, and she refused to be ungrateful. To just… leave.

“Your dream is not becoming a cook,” Zeff said as he tried to catch her gaze. “You’re young yet. You enjoyed being a pirate.”

Shivs looked at the ticket, wrinkled but shining no less for it.

“What is your dream?” he asked gently.

To not be miserable, she thought, then shrugged, half-heartedly. “Swallow the biggest sword on the Grand Line, I guess.”

That drew a chuckle from the old cook. “You are still a pirate, and you want to become the best sword-swallower across the Blue.” His gaze flicked from her to the ticket and back. “Sounds to me, this is the crew to be.”

12 million, she thought. It was not nothing, but. “I don’t want to tie myself to an anchor thrown into the East Blue.”

“You know, I once met a captain along the Grand Line while searching for the All Blue.” Amusement tugged at the corner of Zeff's lips. “Decent fellow, solid crew. Though I distinctly remember being mouthed off by someone with a red nose.”

Shivs cocked her head. “He’s sailed the Grand Line? Under whom?”

“A good captain. Went before his time, really.” Zeff’s face clouded with sorrow. “Famous now only for his last words and lost treasure.”

Shivs speared the ticket with a finger. “That’s a former Roger pirate?” Impossible. “He can’t be that old.” He was maybe a few years older than her, tops. “He’d have been—.”

Zeff smiled. “—half as tall as he is now.”

Shivs sat back, crossing her arms. Thinking.

“Why would he leave the Grand Line?”

Now it was Zeff who shrugged. “Ask him?”

“That’ll go over well, I am sure,” Shivs huffed, amused despite herself. Hi, why did you tail it out of the Grand Line? Oh, it was embarrassing? Oops. No, not bloody likely that she’d ask.

Zeff observed her for a moment, then said: “Will you be skipping breakfast, tomorrow?”

Shivs glanced at the ticket. The ship, the slip, the time. She smoothed the creases out of the jolly Roger, running a finger right across its big red nose.

“I’ll think about it.”

Zeff patted her shoulder and rose. “You do that, girl.”

Shivs watched him leave, listened to the tap of his peg-leg receding. Then rose, crumpled the ticket and threw it on the ground.

Tag list: @gingernut1314 @gabegade

Stupid clown.

{PART II}

#buggy live action #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy x oc #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #captain buggy #OPLA #opla buggy #Buggy pirates #the show must go on #buggy thoughts #imperial fiction #imperial shenanigans

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liaromancewriter · 11 months

Text

Picta Problems

Premise: Cassie and Ethan clash over a Pictagram post.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff. Format: Prose + Text & Pic Fic Words: 1,100

A/N: I started with the intent of making fluffy edits; that's it. And then this fic took a life of its own. Submission for @choiceschallenge-may2023 prompt "photographs" and @choicesjunechallenge "stories". I'm using @choicesflashfics week 35, prompt 3.

Part 1: Picta Memories

Part 2: The Backlash

Part 3: The Confrontation

Cassie Valentine was having a good day until she wasn’t. Everyone knew her to be easygoing, often with a smile on her lips, but serious about her work. Her friends and foes agreed on one thing: she had a long fuse, and it took a lot for her to lose that sunny disposition.

Of course, she wasn’t a saint, and medicine wasn’t a career for eternal optimists. But she found a way to keep her balance despite everything fate threw at her.

That’s why many people milling about on the seventh floor of Boston’s Edenbrook Hospital were surprised to see her angry expression as she furiously tapped on her cell phone. Sensing her distraction, they stayed out of her way.

But the rumors spread. Dr. Valentine was in a bad mood. Best to wait until it evened out. She might be slow to anger, but she was also quick to diffuse.

The traveling nurse assigned to that floor asked his colleagues if the young doctor might just be hangry. Perhaps a cookie could turn the tide.

“She’s partial to cupcakes,” one of them commented.

“And coffee,” another piped in, having witnessed Dr. Valentine and Dr. Ramsey returning from their daily coffee run for years.

“Could she have had a fight with Dr. Ramsey?” one recently hired nurse wondered.

The idea was so preposterous that everyone around the nurses’ station laughed. They were still wiping tears from their eyes when Ethan Ramsey stepped off the elevator and marched determinedly down the hallway to his former office.

Everyone held their breath and pretended to be busy as he paused midway to stare at them. He quirked one eyebrow, a perplexed frown forming on his lips and then he shook his head and continued walking.

Still puzzling over the bizarre behavior at the nurses’ station, Ethan absently swiped his access card on the reader outside the diagnostic team’s office and strode through the sliding glass doors.

“Any idea what’s happening outside?” he called out.

Cassie was staring at scans on the digital board and didn’t respond. Not giving it another thought, Ethan joined her and shoved his hands in his pant pockets as he stared at what appeared to be a patient’s brain. The shadows told their own story about the individual’s condition.

“Hmm,” he mused and rocked back on his heels. “See that—”

“I know how to read a scan, Ethan,” Cassie said curtly, throwing him an annoyed look. “Believe it or not, I am adult enough to do my job without anyone watching over my shoulder.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m pissed off at you!”

Taken aback by her vehemence, Ethan started to reach for her, only for Cassie to evade his touch. She walked around him and took her place behind the desk, putting physical and emotional distance between them.

“Is this about my text message earlier?” Ethan asked, mentally tracking their interactions during the day.

“Partially,” she said. “It’s about you not trusting me enough to know when to draw the line about publicizing our relationship. I barely post about you. If people didn’t already know about us, they’d think I was single. But that isn’t good enough for you, is it?”

Ethan wondered how his day had gone from breakfast in bed with his lover to her looking at him as if he was a stranger. He didn’t think their text exchange had been that serious, but clearly, Cassie disagreed.

“I already apologized,” he said, sighing deeply, unable to hide his irritation.

“Until the next time,” Cassie bit out. “I can’t be in a relationship where I’m constantly walking on eggshells. I ask for very little, Ethan, but I demand your trust in this. I’ve earned it.”

She was right, thought Ethan. She’d had enough experience with tabloids to be a fiend about her privacy. And as someone intimately familiar with her Pictagram feed, he knew his presence was an exception, not the rule.

Of all the things she could be upset about, he found it hilarious that it was over this. He admitted his first reaction was annoyance at seeing a private moment shared on social media and having her friends comment. But there hadn’t been malicious intent involved.

Like it or not, he was involved with Cassie, and she had earned his trust. Not just for this, but for all other things too.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Cassie asked suspiciously, her green eyes narrowing to slits.

Instead of answering, he walked around the desk, turned her chair and placed his hands on either side of her chair, effectively caging her. He leaned in, his blue eyes intent as they locked on hers.

“I.” He kissed her forehead. “Am.” Then the tip of her nose. “Sorry.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I overreacted. Forgive me?”

He didn’t think she’d respond, but she seemed to deflate before his eyes, losing the tightness in her body as her anger left.

“Fine,” she said somewhat graciously. “But we should set some ground rules because I’m not ashamed of our relationship. I might not want to end up on HSTea, but that doesn’t mean I want to hide away completely.”

She pushed against his arms until he moved back to let her stand.

“There are obligations to who I am, Ethan,” Cassie said, deadly serious as she crossed her arms across her chest. “If we’re going to go the distance, you need to accept that being with a Valentine comes with social responsibilities and prurient interest from strangers.”

She continued, staring at him carefully. “My family tries their best to keep the limelight away from me, but they cannot make it disappear completely. It will shine on you too, and you have to be okay with it even if you don’t like it.”

“I see,” he said cautiously for lack of anything else to say.

The shrill sound of his pager cut through the uncomfortable silence. Ethan cursed and glanced at the tiny screen.

“I have to go, but I do want to discuss this, Cassie,” he said. “Meet me for dinner tonight. We can talk without interruption.”

She nodded rigidly, and Ethan exhaled. He touched her hand, needing that connection before they went their separate ways. He took comfort when she hooked her pinky around his and smiled softly.

As he walked back to his office in the administrative wing, Ethan thought it would likely be the most important dinner of his life. But there was no decision to make. He’d already decided to fall in love with Cassie. Everything started from there.

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

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

#open heart #open heart choices #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #short story #writers on tumblr #playchoices #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 8 months

Text

In the meantime, I offer the intro for a Wangxian arranged marriage fic

The betrothal was decided amongst the hissing of Madam Yu, the angry tightening of Jiang Cheng’s eyes and the quiet exasperated words of agreement from Jiang Fengmian. It had been the suggestion of Madam Yu. As if she had swallowed a lemon during the evening meal, she pinned Jiang Fengmian with a dark and deep stare.

“I have a proposal Jiang Fengmian, one you will not overlook or protest before I have had my say.”

Jiang Fengmian sipped his tea first, slow and calm, as he seemed to glance at a spot just above Madam Yu’s shoulder saying, “ I am, and will, listen, my lady.”

There was a disdainful “ha” that escaped Madam Yu’s lips. And as Wei Wuxian plated bits of spiced meat and vegetables he saw the way Jiang Cheng’s hand tensed around his chopsticks in wait for what was next.

She continued on, as she sat poised and stiff, “ I have taken it upon myself regarding a future marriage with that of Gusu Lan.”

Finally, Jiang Fengmian’s eyes met those of Madam Yu’s in weary attention. “This is the first you have mentioned anything of the kind.”

Madam Yu’s lip curled in preconstructed patience, “ If I had it would not come to anything if left to you, just as I had to take it upon myself to secure our daughter's affairs for her own future.” It was rare that Madam Yu would bring Jiang Yanli up within these conversations, and such a thing had become a marker of predicting the shift of anger when the subject was either Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng. Her marriage prospect to Jin Zixuan was all but set to stone for Madam Yu’s concern. Silently Jiang Yanli watched the exchange with wide, worried eyes.

“My lady, what is it that you wish to accomplish with such a match?” Jiang Fengmian’s eyes flickered to Jiang Cheng, as did Wei Wuxian's. It would not be unheard of to call for such an early arrangement. Jiang Cheng had turned of age, and was the heir of Yunmeng Jiangs sect seat. Still, the little of what Wei Wuxian had heard, the marriages of Gusu Lan were later in their lives as scholars and practically ascetic before marriage. For Madam Yu to have planned so meticulously, it was something she seemed unwilling to let go once seized.

“What do I wish for?” Madam Yu snapped, “What I wish for is the security of this place, you sit without worry to the advantages in front of your face you let pass by! Why do you look at him now in when you do not spare a glance for any other reason? Jiang Fengmian, when you do, you still don't understand!”

A lacquered hand pointed at Wei Wuxian suddenly and Madam Yu’s eyes narrowed, “It is for that one. You dare to suggest, Fengmian, that I am so inept, I am to throw the heir of Yunmeng Jiang, my son, towards a betrothal that the sect of Gusu would have to deny! As if I do not know what I suggest! As I would dare to suggest a marriage that is less than what the heir of Yunmeng is expected to accept! Even you know intersecting ties with another clan such as Gusu, is auspicious and is laughable to reject when it is to our favor!”

The notion was outright preposterous within Wei Wuxian’s mind, Madam Yu, who never within a day of her life spared more efforts than forced to regarding Wei Wuxian, had decided to extend a path of betrothal negotiations.

But it was Jiang Cheng who blurted out words before even Wei Wuxian himself, “He is a sect disciple! A cultivator of Yunmeng Jiang!”

Madam Yu pierced him with a cutting look, “ As you said, a disciple raised by Yunmeng Jiang. Is it not my right as the wife of this sect to do as mandated with its disciples when it calls for them?”

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #work in progress

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olddirtybadfic · 20 days

Text

Your Narf is My Drug

The mice have driven me so insane, I wrote a fic with a Kesha parody about it.

It's to the tune of "Your Love is My Drug."

-O-o-O-o-O-

(Brain sits amidst the smoking debris of his latest plan.)

Brain: This is a hot mess we’ve gotten into.

Pinky: (sing-songily) Look at all the shinies! (tosses broken pieces into the air and hops around underneath them as they fall on his head) Zounds, Brain! I caught them all! (laughs hysterically)

Brain: (glares, folds arms) Speaking of hot messes….

(Brain’s vision suddenly turns to slow-motion. He takes in the gliding of Pinky’s supple limbs, Pinky’s lithesome hips swirling like the spirals of Brain’s hypnosis machines. The wreckage rain reflects the light in such a way that Pinky glows to rival the Pleiades.)

Brain: Emphasis on hot….Egad, what am I thinking?! This is preposterous! This is absurd! This is….

(He clutches at his head, as if that would quell the desire flaring up like so many bunsen burners. He finally breaks down at the pile of smashed electronics.)

Brain: Will you never cease that infernal buzzing?! (pounds wickle mousey fists on table)

(The rhythmic buzzing from the broken contraption starts to arrange itself into a poppy synth bassline. The pounding of Brain’s fists on the table provides the beat.)

(First verse) Brain: I feel like Captain Ahab; I’m too sunken in the deep. Emotional repression Is losing me all my sleep.

There’s no time to dilly-dally; My world domination calls. I’m stuck with this dishy dope and Hearing him spew his spurtive squalls!

(Pre-chorus) Our two fates are intertwined; What far-off planets have aligned? This novel factor’s undefined. I can’t get Pinky off my mind!

(Chorus) His narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf. I say, his narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf.

(Second verse) His cranium’s harder than gneiss; I’m telling him everything thrice. My mind and heart in vises: I can chart this diacrisis.

I can’t resist his whimsy. All my defenses, flimsy. My schemes will surely be impacted If I go on being so damn distracted!

(Pre-chorus) Our two fates are intertwined; What far-off planets have aligned? This sequence is not my design. I can’t get Pinky off my mind!

(Chorus) His narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf. I say, his narf, his narf, his narf Stole my heart. His narf, his narf, his narf.

(Bridge) I must fight to gain control, But every hour takes its toll. I try so hard to keep my cool But still I fall for this fine fool!

(Pinky comes in, twirling glow sticks. He has painted geometric shapes on himself with non-toxic mouse safe glow-in-the-dark body paint. When he turns around, Brain can see that Pinky has somehow painted a neon yellow line down his own back, ending in a neon pink heart over his butt.)

Pinky: Braaiiiin~ Just a suggestion…. Why don’t we have a bath in some warm salad dressing? Does that sound like some silly-willy fun-fun? Is my fjord your drug? POIT! Your drug? ZORT! Your drug? NARF! Your drug? Is my—FJORD!—your drug?

Brain: No! Pinky, you’ll get us copyright-stricken!

(Chorus) Oh, Brain! My narf, my narf, my narf Stole your heart! My narf, my narf, my narf! You said my narf, my narf, my narf Stole your heart! My narf, my narf, my narf!

You said my zort, my zort, my zort Is your drug! My zort, my zort, my zort! You said my zort, my zort, my zort Is your drug! My zort, my zort, my zort!

(The buzzing synth line stops.)

Braaiiiiin~ Brainy-cakes… (flirty giggle) Sooooo… (delirious laughter) My narf, my narf, my narf, my narf, is your drug. I like your tail.

(A giant “DMCA” falls on Brain’s head. He crawls out from underneath it, looking especially worse for wear.)

Brain: I suspect this comedown will be particularly hard.

-O-o-O-o-O-

The abyss is quite inviting if you gaze long enough.

#pinky and the brain #brinky #patb #animaniacs fanfiction #patb fanfic #kesha #song parody #songfic #gay mice

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scapegrace74-blog · 2 years

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Don’t Let Me Fall, Chapter 6

A/N I think we have officially entered slow burn territory, folks. Hopefully you find all this world building and partnership building a halfway acceptable substitute for sexy shenanigans. I now have this story plotted to conclusion, although I won’t say how many more chapters in case I change my mind. For those holding out for a break in all of this built up sexual tension, you shouldn’t have to wait much longer.

The earlier chapters of this story can be read here.

“No, Jamie! Your timing is all off. It goes ba-DUM-dum-dum-ba-DUM! ” Lydia, our routine choreographer was yelling up at my partner, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her. We’d be rehearsing this same sequence for nearly an hour, but something about it just wasn’t clicking for him.

It was hardly the most technical part of the routine. Jamie and I were each holding a single strap while we spun in a wide circle above the stage, a twin-planet solar system. We were supposed to change positions in time with the music’s rhythm before coming back to the mat for the next sequence of moves.

“Alright, take a five-minute break,” Lydia conceded to my great relief.

I wandered over to the drinking fountain to refill my water flask. Jamie joined me, looking cross.

“I dinna ken about ye, Tourist, but I am fit to ba-DUM-dum-dum my heid against yon wall.”

“What is it about this particular move, Jamie? Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

It was a preposterous idea, me helping my far-more experienced partner. Not a day went by that I wasn’t learning something new that he’d mastered in circus school, but he had been remarkably patient with me and if I could return the favour, I would.

Jamie glanced over his shoulder, as if to ascertain whether he might be heard. I instinctively leaned closer.

“Tis the music, ye ken?” he confessed quietly. I shook my head to indicate I had no idea what he meant.

“Normally, I memorize the timing and count it out in my head as I go. Fer some reason, I canna seem to get the knack of this one.”

I stared at him with dawning comprehension. The truth, once I understood it, was painfully obvious.

“Do you mean to say you can’t hear music?” I whispered.

Jamie frowned, then shook his head slowly.

“I can hear the sound of it jes’ fine, but it doesna reconcile inta any kinda pattern inside my heid.”

I bit my lip as I considered our situation. This was obviously a secret Jamie kept to himself, protecting his weakness by any means possible. Whatever solution we found, it would have to stay between the two of us.

“Well, Tropico has a very tribal-sounding score. Lots of African and Brazilian influenced…” I petered off.

“What, Tourist? What are ye thinking?”

“This piece of music. It’s a samba.” Jamie showed no sign of understanding. “That means the rhythm is syncopated. The stress is on the off-beat. I bet that’s why you aren’t able to follow along inside your head!”

“So yer saying there’s no use? That I canna learn the stupid ba-DUM-dum-dum-BAs?” he snarled, clearly frustrated.

“No, I’m saying you’re just going to have to hear the rhythm another way,” I explained.

“I’m tellin’ ye, Claire, I canna hear music. No’ since I was a lad. Ye canna fix me.”

I smiled broadly. “Trust me, partner.”

After our break, we returned to the straps.

“Alright, from the beginning of the revolution,” Lydia coached. “Let’s hope that break did you some good.”

The music started as Jamie and I were lifted into the air on a gentle arc. I could feel the apprehension humming across his skin. Where my hand crossed his ribs, I began a subtle pulse with my middle finger in time to the music. One pulse for each syncopated beat. Ba-DUM-dum-dum-ba-DUM. Ba-DUM-dum-dum-ba-DUM. Jamie’s movements fell into rhythm with my hand as we spun and transitioned perfectly through the air. Ba-DUM-dum-dum-ba-DUM.

“Perfect!” Lydia crowed. “Beautiful! You’ve finally got it!”

Jamie’s smile of gratitude was beauty incarnate. My heart beat in time to the music. Ba-DUM-dum-dum-ba-DUM.

***

The death spiral. That was what Claire had been calling it since the first time Lydia described the signature move in their aerials routine. It was said in jest, but Jamie was superstitious enough that he wished she’d find another name.

The move was astonishing in its audacity. Hanging by one arm, Jamie would lower Claire down his body until he held her, upside down, by one ankle as they spun above the mat. One very fragile, recently injured ankle. He’d been putting off working the maneuver, trying to buy Claire’s tendon as many extra days as possible to heal, but their time was up. Tropico was going on tour in three weeks.

With each attempt, it became more and more apparent that they were in serious trouble. Claire would serpentine down his body with sinuous ease, but as he grasped her ankle, she would flinch. Instincts at war with themselves, he wanted neither to hurt her by holding on or kill her by dropping her. Fortunately, her safety harness made the decision moot, but very soon it would have to go, leaving him with an impossible choice.

“Maybe if I wrap my ankle,” Claire suggested as they sat side by side on the mat during a water break. “Or apply some sort of topical numbing cream.”

Jamie didn’t even bother articulating what they both knew: Cirque des Étoiles didn’t allow their talent to perform injured. The fact that Claire was practicing while still not one hundred percent healed was testament to the dire situation Tropico was in. One more setback, and the entire tour might be cancelled, at tremendous expense to the company.

“Well I’m not bloody well giving up!” Claire huffed. “We’ve come too far to go backwards.”

Jamie looked down at his left hand where it grasped his water bottle, then over at the mat, mind tumbling over itself.

“Actually, Tourist, going backwards may be exactly what we need to do.”

For the first time all morning, Jamie smiled.

***

“Are you out of your fucking mind!” Lydia shouted, drawing a number of startled looks from performers rehearsing nearby.

“It’s the perfect solution,” Jamie explained calmly.

“It’s the only solution,” Claire added.

“Aye, an’ that’s what makes it perfect.”

Lydia was pacing the mat and shaking her head with every stride.

“It’ll never work. You’d have to reverse the entire routine. Learn every move from scratch. In less than three weeks!” the choreographer ranted.

“It’s not as though I need to unlearn years of training,” Claire explained. “Any move I’m doing right now I’ve only known for six weeks anyway.”

“Maybe that makes some sort of bizarre sense in your unique circumstance, Claire, but this one,” Lydia gestured at Jamie, “has been performing right-handed for years. It’s vital that he has maximum strength and control for all the lift and balance moves…”

“Actually, I’m left-handed,” Jamie threw out casually.

Lydia stared at him, jaw slack.

“You’re what?”

“Left-handed. I jes perform wi’ my right hand because that’s what worked best fer my partners. Until now.”

Jamie looked at Claire and executed a facial contortion that was the bastard cousin of a wink. Claire winked back with a saucy grin.

“Oh my god, you two deserve each other,” Lydia threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine. You win. We’ll reverse the entire damn routine. But one of you is telling Marylebone. I don’t get paid enough for that shit.”

“It’ll work out, ye’ll see,” Jamie looped his arm companionably over the much shorter woman’s shoulders.

“It better. Otherwise, we’re all out of a job. Or worse. All right, from the top, I guess.”

***

“Ye’re harder to find than a parking spot in Mayfair.” Geillis Duncan’s voice echoed from the speaker I had placed on the counter while I prepared breakfast.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. It’s been utterly mad here, if that’s any excuse.”

“As yer agent, I approve. As yer friend who misses ye and wants tae hear yer news, I’m still a wee bit miffed.”

Geillis and I communicated via text on a regular basis, so her petulance was mostly for show. We hadn’t spoken live, however, since the day Jamie and I went for our hike together and I accepted a permanent place on Cirque des Étoiles’s roster for Tropico.

“Sae, tell me everything. Are ye ready tae go on tour? How’s yer ankle?”

“The ankle is holding up fine, especially now that we’ve changed up the routine. The harnesses come off next week, so I guess we’ll find out then just how ready I am.”

“I’m proud of ye, hen. Ye’ve really given this aerial thing yer all. Whoever wouldha thunk it, aye?”

I laughed, remembering my incredulous reaction when Geillis first proposed flying to Montreal for an audition with a veritable circus. It was hard to believe less than three months had passed. It felt like I was living an entirely different life. One I found vastly more appealing, for all its uncertainty and strangeness.

“Frank was asking after ye the o’her day,” Geillis said in a surprisingly neutral tone. “I gather things didna work out wi’ yon Slovenian bairn, an’ he wanted tae ken when ye’d be back in London. Readin’ between the lines, I think he wants ye back as a partner.”

A flood of reactions washed through me. Incredulity. Vindication. Curiosity. But not even a glimmer of interest.

“Honestly, Geil, I don’t know if I’ll ever return. Not to perform ballet, anyway. I feel like I finally found the place where I belong, you know?”

Geillis made a noise that was a cross between “aha” and “uhhuh”.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m jes wonderin’ how much of yer newfound love fer the circus is related tae that ginger dreamboat of a partner o’ yours,” she said with her typical bluntness.

“Jamie?” I clarified needlessly, buying time while I pulled my thoughts together and then stashed them in a well-hidden place. “He’s a thousand times the partner Frank ever was, and I’m honoured to call him a friend, but that’s where it ends.” I was silently glad we weren’t on a video call because my face felt hot all of a sudden.

“Jes business, no’ pleasure, then,” Geillis confirmed. “Well, thas’ a shame, because abs like those deserve tae be ridden inta a mattress, regularly an’ wi’ vigour.”

A mental picture of Jamie’s truly spectacular abdominals flittered across the screen of my mind. I cursed Geillis for putting it there. I’d be blind not to notice how perfectly put together he was, but when we were performing, I had no problem seeing his body as nothing more than the apparatus I was working with. Making me conscious that the apparatus was in fact a living, breathing, disarmingly attractive man was a dirty trick.

“Hey,” I realized belatedly. “When did you seen Jamie’s abs?”

“Weeeel, after ye mentioned him a time or twelve, I googled him,” Geillis confessed. “He’s got quite the female following online who gave him whole slew of nicknames.”

“Nicknames?” I was sure to regret asking, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh aye. There’s The Great Scot an’ Circus Maximus. Those are some o’ the tamer ones. My personal favourite is The Flying Fuck.”

I spat my mouthful of protein shake across the countertop.

“Word is he had a thing wi’ his former partner,” Geillis continued undaunted. “Some French-Canadian strumpet who left him fer another man.”

I’d heard that Anna-Louise was dating her new partner on Allegro. Jamie never mentioned her name, so I had no idea how he felt about the break-up. It couldn’t be easy knowing the general public was discussing your private life like the plot of the latest soap opera.

“Well, be that as it may, it isn’t like that with us,” I insisted “Jamie hasn’t shown the slightest romantic interest in me. We’re partners, pure and simple.”

Geillis hung up soon afterwards, making promises to buy tickets to Tropico when we passed through London. I robotically completed the rest of my morning routine, cleaning the kitchen, donning my workout gear, brushing my teeth, but all the while my mind was playing over my conversation with my agent. After my early infatuation with Jamie, I had convinced myself I’d transitioned rather well to a purely professional regard. With all the other changes happening around us, it made sense not to rock the boat.

If Jamie was interested in me, I told myself, he would have to make the first move.

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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possumphobic · 2 years

Note

ronance fic where nancy is tored apart between johnathan and robin

— pairings: robin buckley x nancy wheeler; johnathan byers x nancy wheeler (mentioned)

— a.n.: hope you like it! i tried to keep it short but i couldn't (and i'll probably write a second part)

— warnings: angst angst angst

Robin was driving her crazy. She's been driving her crazy for days now.

Nancy couldn't make anything out of the words that left her lips that night, the moment playing on her head again and again, searching for something, a clue, anything, that would make all that easier for the both of them.

The older Wheeler was a firm believer that things didn't just happen. Everything had a reason, even if it was the most unbelievable one. That one must have had one too. She just needed to find it.

It was a slow tuesday night when it happened, Robin sat on the Family video counter as she sorted through the tapes with surprising attention. She barely heard when the bell above the door rang, announcing a new client.

And then Nancy came in, and Robin couldn't take her eyes off the Wheeler.

"H-Hey" She greeted, wondering internally why did her voice sounded like that. So nervous, so unnatural, that Nancy must have noticed something was wrong with her. She cursed herself mentally.

"Hey Robin" Of course she have noticed it. But she put on her best smile, and ignored it altogether. For an aspiring reporter, it was surprising how good she had become at ignoring things.

"Uhm... Need anything?" Robin asked, jumping off the counter, leaving her task unfinished behind her. "Some new tapes just arrived, and-"

"No, I- I thought I'd come by and see you."

There was it, that frickin' smile again. Robin would do anything to wipe it off her face.

"Oh... Yeah, uhm, it's just me, Steve had to run somewhere, but our shift is almost ending anyway, so I didn't mind it at all." God, why couldn't her just shut up?

Nancy chuckled, walking around the empty store, the sound of her nails against the case of the tapes filling the room.

"He left you all alone, how rude of him." She joked. Robin could have been just as well imagining things to kill the time, but she could swear the tone in Nancy's voice had something else in it. A hidden flirting, her voice dripping honey as she smiled to her.

"So rude" She played along. "Look, it's already five, my shift is officially over!" Robin smiled, walking to the counter to take off a pair of keys of a drawer.

"Oh, okay... Walk with me?"

"Sure, Nance." She nodded, swallowing nervously.

By the time the reached the street of Nancy's house, it was already dark. Robin began to walk a little slower, extending the time they had together, but if Nancy noticed, she didn't say a thing.

"... And, I mean, that is so preposterous!" Nancy had spend the last twenty minutes ranting about some matter with long words Robin had little idea of what they meant. No, the caramel haired girl was too distracted to pay that complain any mind, her eyes locked in her lips, occasionally nodding along with the other's words.

"Nance?" She interrupted, the uncertainty on her voice only expressing a piece of the one in her mind. Nancy looked at her confused as she stopped in place. "Shit, I'm sorry, I... I really thought I could wait, or burry that emotion, but I can't. I like you a lot, Nancy Wheeler. Like a whole damn lot. And when you appeared in the store I- I couldn't take my eyes off you and I couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss you, but- I know you have a boyfriend, and I'm not trying to break you two apart, but I cannot live with this feeling buried inside of me for any longer than-"

She abruptly stopped. The look on Nancy's eyes terrified her. Maybe she had messed things up. Maybe she should have kept it shut, but she was never good at it.

"Robin..." She began, the kindest of smiles curling on her lips. "I- I am honoured, truly, but... You said it yourself, I have a boyfriend and-"

Robin looked like her heart was just shattered on a thousand pieces. Nancy didn't have on her to keep going.

"No, no, it's okay!" She assured, the half smile on her face only as convincing as her words. "Hundred per cent okay, Nancy. I-" She took a step back, suddenly aware of how close they have gotten. "Sorry... I'm sorry, have a good night, yeah?"

Just like that, she was gone. And Nancy never felt more lost.

#ronance angst #ronance #ronance fic #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #stranger things ronance

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silvermoon-soliloquy · 3 months

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Gone by Moonbreak

(Part Four)

Summary: You go mountain hiking in pack territory and overstay your welcome, but before the hungry wolves surrounding you can make their move, a wolf bigger than anything you've ever seen comes to your rescue, scooping you up and taking you back to his den. Will you try and escape? Or will you accept his help and find yourself torn between making your way back home or back into his arms?

cw: this chapter is sfw, but the next parts will and will not be (they will have the proper cws, so you'll know which ones are which)

a/n: this one's slight slow burn, if you're looking for immediate gratification, I have other stories in my masterlist for you

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Your home felt different when you finally reached it. It appeared almost alien as you set down your back to unpack.

Everything was where you left it as you put your things away. The bed was unmade, just how you liked, the couch covered in blankets and pillows.

The bathroom was warm as you showered off the unidentifiable myriad of dirt, grime, and werewolf slobber from your aching body.

You quickly made yourself canned soup for dinner, lacking the strength to do really much else. You ate in silence as you watched out your window, the living room illuminated only by soft candlelight and the glow of the crescent moon.

When your bed called, you went crawling in, burrowing yourself in the sheets. “Yes, this was home,” you thought.

But even as you sunk into the familiar mattress, something kept irking you, lurking at the corners of your mind, hiding in the dark recesses of your consciousness. Something was wrong, was off, different than you remembered it.

Oh. You saw what it was, now. You no longer felt safe.

Gone was the feeling of security you had always had in your home, replaces by the ever-looming presence of hungry jaws and itching fangs. The one who saved you came flashing back into your mind.

Why was that one different? Why did they save me and then let me go? You tossed and turned with no clear answer in sight.

“Urgh!” you exclaimed, sitting upright in bed. The debate was killing you. “I don’t care anymore! I’m home! Why am I still thinking about it?!” you grumbled.

You threw off the covers to go pace the kitchen. Maybe a change of scenery and some walking would help you settle your agitated mind.

“Should I do something?” you wondered aloud. No, that’s preposterous, what more could you do? What else, besides staying home and being content with your life, the life you almost lost?

What would you possibly do, get the wolf a present or something? You stopped pacing. Your brain seemed to like the idea.

But what would a werewolf even want as a present?

You sat down at your kitchen table to write down some ideas. A biscuit? No. You crossed off the idea. A collar? Squeaky toy? A new bed? No. No. No.

Why were the only gifts you could think of for dogs? You knew the wolf was also part person, even though werewolves very rarely show humans their other form, but why could you only think of him like your pets?

What was something he’d actually enjoy?

Suddenly, an idea came to your head. You got up from the table and went into your closet, pulling things out and moving others over, until you found exactly what you were looking for.

“Perfect,” you smiled. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Part Five

#wolf #werewolf #female reader #werewolf x reader #sfw until its not #size difference #slow burn

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saniemoon · 3 months

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The Last Resort

Atsushi suddenly stopped, he tensed up. Looking at the paper in his hand. Terror and disbelief filled his senses as those two words were ingrained in his eyes. "Destroy it." Wasn't there other sources? Other... more helpful means? Did... something happen to caused this? ""Am I the *only* hope? Am I even interpreting this correctly? Am I? Of course I am... it came from Natsume-san, even in his cat form... but... I'll die. But... it's just one life against billions right? It's... it's better... one life doesn't acount nor is better than billions. It's just one life, even if it's mine. I'll just... just... have to find a way... to.. yeah. I need a safe space. Not in my room, not in the office... I can't think of anywhere! No. I can think of a place... but I don't know if I can handle it. Or if it's even available... he said I'm connected the book. If I so desire I could destroy via... killing myself. With the book in hand. I don't know... how to get the book. He just told me that I had to think about it appearing in my hand. Preposterous I know but still. It's the only way."" Atsushi folded the paper into a small square and hid it in his pocket. Walking to the agency with a sober look. Emotions out of the equation as he suppressed them deep within himself. Hiding them away for the last time. He thought and thought of ways to kill himself. He'll just have to figure out a way to summon the book when he's there. He couldn't slack, he was the last safety measure, who ever is threatening the book must be dangerous. Before he even knew it he was on the stairs and in the agency. He said his usually pleasantries and rushed over to his— height could kill me instantly. desk. Even though he was planning his death he still couldn't help but do his work. His thoughts were going 100 miles an hour, going through his work load and going thinking of quick deaths. Going over every words Dazai ever told him of a quick death. Drowning is peaceful and quiet but it'd also slow. The suspects are 3 people... Jumping off a roof would be quick if the height is tall enough. 1 girl and 2 boys, one suspect killed the other... but I have the Tiger, it wouldn't let me die quickly neither do I know what height would kill me instantly. The girl shot one of the males. Hanging is too slow, the tiger could take over at any minute. Something about a snitch. Electrocution is out of thw question. Both ran off but durned the corpes. Blood loss is out as well... a shiny thing caught Atsushi's attention. In the corner of his eye he saw a gun. His thoughts full stopped and his hand stopped writing. ""A gun if positioned correctly on the temple can be a quick and painless death, did you know?"" Atsushi remembered Dazai's words. I wonder if he would let me borrow it... ""a little above your ear to the left at the end of your hairline would make it quicker-"" but before Atsushi realized it, Ranpo took the gun and gave Atsushi a look. Shit. Was Atsushi's only thought when he realized that Ranpo knew what he was thinking. Quickly looking away, Atsushi looked back down on his papers. What should he do now?

Comment down bellow:

1 = Go through with plan

2 = Don't go through with plan

#choose your own adventure #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs atsushi #atsushi nakajima #au #fanfiction

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fiction-box · 1 year

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Leonie X Lorenz Pinch Hit

Happy February! I have been away from my computer these past few days, though when nearby, I've been working on this piece. Happy belated @nagamas to Kenzotenmas on Twitter! More pieces to come!

The story will be continued beneath the cut.

“Worry not! I will have any threat we run into removed in moments-”

“Or your name isn’t Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Yeah, I’m well aware.”

The noble in question raised a brow, “Perhaps. Though some members of our number seem to need a constant reminder of the fact.”

This would be the first (and the last, as his partner had assured him) time that Lorenz and Leonie had been assigned the duty of border patrol since they had first reclaimed it from those bandit-pests. Nothing eventful had happened so far, though as the gentleman and the noble, Lorenz naturally insisted upon leading their path.

“I think I get more than enough of them, thanks,” the commoner woman quipped.

Lorenz nodded back at her, “In that case, why not put your lance away and relax a bit? I’ll happily handle any issues on the patrol-.”

“Or your name isn’t Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”

“That was not what I was planning to say.”

Leonie rolled her eyes, “It may as well have been. Come on, if this is because I’m a girl, or because I’m some commoner you can’t risk being outdone by, I suggest you drop the act now. I’ll have you know I’m able to defend everyone else just as well as some stuffy noble. Honestly, you haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you.”

“E-Excuse me?”

He slowed his horse, allowing her to proceed next to him as he attempted to argue his point.

“I am only being considerate of you. You work hard enough as it is; there’s no reason for you to further exert yourself if it can be avoided.”

“So I can’t do the work, is that it? You’re fine on your own, and I can just head back to camp?”

Lorenz searched for the right words to say, “If that is what you want, I see no reason to stop you.”

“And what if I asked you to head back to camp?” she challenged.

He laughed, “How preposterous! I would never leave you to defend us on your own out in the woods.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Wordlessly, Leonie’s face morphed into a scowl. She steered her horse in front of his own and cantered up ahead, continuing until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Shaking his head, Lorenz debated going after her. A true noble wouldn’t let her go off on her own to get hurt, but perhaps this could be a lesson for her. It wouldn’t get through her head, otherwise.

Although…he had found himself rather…unconventionally fond of her during their academy days. That attraction had only blossomed further at how she had matured over the years he had not seen her.

What was he thinking? Leonie had proven herself far more than capable of taking care of herself, and Lorenz was well aware of that. She tended to be far more independent than the women he would meet in the court; he should have known suggesting otherwise would be seen as an insult.

“Leonie!”

Lorenz charged his horse forward, attempting to catch up with the woman. He needed to apologize before their relationship became any worse than it already was. The last thing he wanted would be for her to think he did not value her.

It was just difficult with her. Everything came out wrong any time he opened his mouth to speak, it seemed.

The more he charged on without luck, the more confused he became. There was no way she could have gotten that far in the short time he had hung back to think.

Glancing around the forest, he caught sight of a shift in movement. The swish of the tail of Leonie’s horse.

Relieved, he changed directions, heading toward that small clearing. Slowing down as he approached the animal, his entire complexion paled.

Leonie was not there.

He held his lance up in a defensive position as he anticipated an attack, looking from left to right.

“Leon-”

A shrill whistle interrupted his call, and his partner’s steed perked up. It galloped off further into the forest, Lorenz close behind as he gripped his lance tighter.

Reaching another clearing, the violet-haired noble identified the armor of three knights from the Empire. Granted, two of them were dead on the grass, but the third…

Leonie had the third pinned against a tree with the blade of her own lance.

“How many more of you are there?” she pressed.

“J-just us three! We were told nobody would be out here!”

The woman lowered her brows, “Tch! Then you were told wrong.”

With that, Leonie swung her lance around so that the wooden end knocked against the soldier’s head. He collapsed immediately, thudding onto the ground and dropping his sword.

Lorenz could only look on from the back of his horse.

“Some help you were. And after all that talk, too,” she scoffed at him.

“Three soldiers found you in the time you rushed ahead? And you didn’t think to call me?”

“I found them, and I wasn’t about to lose them to go cry for some help that I didn’t need!”

The dark mage sighed, relieved and frustrated at the same time. Was there truly no way to show that he cared for her well-being without her taking it as an insult?

“Think for a moment, Leonie! What would you have done were there more soldiers waiting out of sight? If there were ten soldiers instead of three, or archers in the bushes?”

“That’s why we go on patrol, genius! So that more than three never get this far!” she quipped. “Now if your noble hands aren’t tied, I could use some help getting this one back to camp.”

Together, they used their horses’ lead to tie up the surviving knight. He was then tied to Lorenz’s mare as the two prepared to return to Garreg Mach.

Leonie mounted her steed, “Honestly, my horse is a better patrol partner than you.”

“That is not fair in the slightest! Had you not…run off like that, I would have been right at your side for that skirmish!”

“Pssh, please! You know I’m just teasing.” She turned back to him, raising a brow, “Besides, I would hardly call that a skirmish.”

Lorenz frowned, “Be that as it may, I had originally meant to find you so I could apologize. I meant only to keep you out of harm’s way earlier; it was not my intention to insult you.”

Leonie turned her chin up, but the noble didn’t look away, “I offer you my sincerest apologies.”

As he watched Leonie throughout his attempt to make amends, Lorenz noticed a faint blush spreading across his partner’s face.

“‘Out of harm’s way?’ We’re out here looking for trouble, not wildflowers.”

It was his turn to feel embarrassed, “I am well aware…*ahem* that is to say…”

“Look, apology accepted. All I want in return is for you to acknowledge that I can take care of myself. If you can handle something on your own, so can I.”

“Understood,” the violet-haired knight nodded. Truly, he did understand. But some part of him that he could neither identify nor stifle knew that he’d be just as worried if he found Leonie in the same situation again.

Perhaps this matter was better left dropped than pressured. He could better communicate his thoughts to her once they were back at the monastery. At least, if he could muster the courage (and if she would actually hear him out).

#nagamas #nagamas 2022 #lorenz gloucester #lorenz x leonie #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fe3h #fiction

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transmogrified-in-the-void · 2 years

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I'm Not Okay (I Promise) (I'm Lying)

So here's the tl;dr for this essay/creative nonfiction piece. I first heard im not okay when i was at my worst socially, physically, and mentally. it became my gateway into a wonderful community, it was the catalyst for the most fun writing project ive ever been in, and single-handedly saved my life.

there will be discussions of minor eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, self harm, and toxic relationships.

i would also like to thank Joey @space-bones-official Rae @spacingout Naima @ianthe-the-dyke and biz @gayslutraytoro for being the people that helped bring me to where I am today. No matter what happens, I will never forget you.

September 2019. The beginning of my sophomore year of American high school. The small group of three friends I had made in my final year of junior high had increased near tenfold. No longer did we need the end of long tables filling a room that had become obsolete, and instead almost thirty people pushed two large semicircle tables together to sardine themselves in the largest social circle of the cafeteria.

Despite being close to the largest and loudest personalities of the group, it was very rarely that I was heard without acting preposterous or "insane". And even then, I would have to push my vocal boundaries to make a tiny dent in the cacophony of discussion I could barely participate in anyways.

This was the year where it became more apparent the narrow scope of my knowledge. My closest friends were talking about games and movies and music I had never even heard of, and could barely remember due to the amount of noise that took up the space in my head. Even if it was something I understood, I never understood enough to contribute, or I was never loud enough to have my contributions matter.

This special brand of isolation coalesced into a poisonous and slow-killing method of attention seeking. I started to cause small amounts of pain to myself in public. I had been hitting myself and causing myself unseen harm much earlier, but I started to pick and scratch at my skin, or stab a pen into my arm until there was a large and irritated black spot. When that didn't work, I started to not eat. Maybe, I had thought, maybe they'll notice now.

They didn't. Looking back, they wouldn't have noticed if I had said it out loud, but it's hard to see the situation when you're drowning in it.

Then came September. One of my best friends, J, had decided to join us and not sit with the band that day.

I can't remember the discussion, only that I had turned to someone next to me and said something, only for them to start talking to someone else right afterwards. Not even a moment passed where it seemed that I was heard. For the first moment, I felt like I was truly alone.

In the minute that lasted eternity, it felt like everything that was real had started to fall away. If I couldn't be heard, was I even real? Did I even matter?

And it was J's earbud being placed in my ear, and the whispered statement that started my spider's thread escape.

"This song is about having a shitty experience in high school." He had said. "I think you'll like it."

And then I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance started playing. My life would never be the same.

I went home and listened to the entirety of The Black Parade while cleaning my room. It was good background noise, something that I could listen to but not need to focus on because it was new. I remember finding the time that Blood played (1 minute 30 seconds, a discovery that brought me much pride). After that, I put My Chemical Romance to the back of my mind, where I was aware but not truly into it, and wouldn't pick it up fully until early November of 2019, shortly after the reunion.

I can remember the reason why, too. I had, by that point, met Joey and remade my Tumblr to get away from the toxic online situation I had found myself in, and I found a post that said that MCR had gotten back together. I told one of my closer friends this, and their response was along the lines of "Why does that matter?".

The sudden turning down of what I had said sent me into a minor spiral. Why does it matter? Why do they matter to me?

I went back to the first song I ever heard, and it made more sense to me. I ended up playing I'm Not Okay (I Promise) for three days straight, before venturing into the rest of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.

My journey from there was much more intense and streamlined than before. I listened to Danger Days next, and loved the more synth-pop sound and vocal performance (especially as a vocalist). From there, I listened to The Black Parade, and found that, of all the albums I had heard in my life, that was the one that fit my emotional state the best.

It went stagnant, and I wouldn't gain the confidence to listen to Desert Song or I Brought You My Bullets until a month after March 2020, when I started to make some of the most influential and closest friends I will ever have in my life.

Quarantine was what started my deep dive into the My Chem fandom, leading to one very important Tumblr post. I had made a fun post talking about a theoretical coming-of-age school drama TV show without the bad tropes based around the music video of I'm Not Okay (I Promise). My good and wonderfully talented friend Grody said that they were interested, and thus started a very fun writing project.

I won't speak on it long, it's not that important to the overall story, but the I'm Not Okay Projekt was the most fun and innovative writing project I have ever had.

I stopped listening to My Chemical Romance somewhere near the end of 2021. I don't remember why, it just happened, but it does bring me to today.

This past week I've been listening back to most of the MCR discography. I say most because I had been putting off I'm Not Okay (I Promise) because I didn't know how I would react to hearing the song that saved me from living in such isolation, a state where I probably would have ended up dead.

Today I listened to it.

I listened to it through headphones one of my best friends gave me when I lost mine a few weeks ago, running to my first and only class of the day, knowing that afterwards I would be hanging out with my friends.

Listening to a song that resonated with me so strongly that it single-handedly changed the course of my life three years after the fact, in a completely different situation, with completely different context, it still has the emotional weight. Not the same kind of weight, but the same weight nonetheless.

Instead of the weight of isolation and self-hatred and the shittiness that is high school (and that was my sophomore year), it was the weight of an old friend. Still heavy and draped on my shoulders, but this time it was spread out. Warm. The sensation of nostalgia mixed with waking up on a winter day.

Maybe I'm not okay. Maybe I'm lying. Regardless, I am a better person because of the domino effect that this song started.

#my chemical romance #personal essay #writing #p bangs the keys

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