#RIP to old faithful but I like the vibe of this one

[ontheverge-in]

New year, new choker

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself. 

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix. 

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire. 

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute. 

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy. 

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp. 

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow. 

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.” 

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart. 

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water. 

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all. 

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean. 

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess). 

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze. 

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon. 

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances. 

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters. 

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly. 

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward. 

“They’re handling the situation, your High–” 

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe. 

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares. 

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is. 

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?” 

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option. 

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself. 

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with  equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up. 

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father. 

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back. 

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.” 

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.” 

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain. 

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes. 

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold. 

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.” 

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.” 

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice. 

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here. 

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself. 

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?” 

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now. 

You wait with baited breath. 

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.” 

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle. 

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.” 

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends. 

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship. 

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.” 

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.” 

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember. 

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen. 

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul. 

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one. 

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel. 

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold. 

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?” 

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you. 

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in. 

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did. 

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you. 

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake. 

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work. 

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things. 

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands. 

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away. 

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet. 

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself. 

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place. 

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters. 

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is. 

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you. 

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind. 

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation. 

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink. 

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!” 

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.” 

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.” 

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel. 

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.” 

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was. 

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?” 

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths. 

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word. 

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this. 

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still. 

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument. 

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.” 

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause. 

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.” 

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway. 

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head. 

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience. 

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?” 

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull. 

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant. 

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?” 

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.” 

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?” 

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?” 

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest. 

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit. 

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt. 

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long. 

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level. 

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?” 

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.” 

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard. 

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope. 

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.” 

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion. 

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.” 

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed. 

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour. 

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising. 

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew. 

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime. 

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops. 

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another. 

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support. 

“I did.” 

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.” 

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.” 

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip. 

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it. 

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence. 

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship. 

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin. 

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water. 

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever. 

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table. 

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat. 

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men. 

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open. 

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong. 

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command. 

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.” 

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves. 

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map. 

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow. 

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.” 

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.  

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either. 

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker. 

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?” 

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile. 

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face. 

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.” 

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs. 

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest. 

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock. 

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein. 

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long. 

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach. 

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted. 

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself. 

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing. 

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support. 

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch. 

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place 

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!” 

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet. 

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have. 

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet. 

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again. 

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel. 

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth. 

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back. 

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms. 

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline. 

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room. 

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs. 

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day. 

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such. 

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head. 

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye. 

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either. 

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan. 

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone. 

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside. 

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through. 

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study. 

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle. 

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment. 

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same. 

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this. 

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands. 

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over. 

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get. 

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats. 

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings. 

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash. 

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest. 

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes. 

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard. 

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed. 

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore. 

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone. 

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.” 

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons. 

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this. 

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17. 

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling. 

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy. 

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship. 

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him. 

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life. 

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face. 

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck. 

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot. 

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest. 

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly. 

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.” 

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—” 

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks. 

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic. 

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts. 

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat. 

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing. 

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding. 

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent. 

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation. 

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. 

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature. 

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly. 

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says. 

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land. 

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself. 

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects. 

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies. 

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan. 

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause. 

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.” 

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy. 

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests. 

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum. 

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall. 

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’. 

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway. 

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain. 

There was something you wanted from him. 

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight. 

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky. 

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face. 

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face. 

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.” 

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever. 

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either. 

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person. 

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway. 

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head. 

So you pulled the trigger. 

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry. 

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway. 

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you. 

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly. 

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve. 

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.” 

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you. 

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back. 

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out. 

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks. 

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right. 

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them. 

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized. 

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch. 

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said. 

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention. 

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging. 

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop. 

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows. 

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices. 

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side. 

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand. 

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups. 

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer. 

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make. 

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size. 

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again. 

“I’ll do seven!” 

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks. 

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm. 

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left. 

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits. 

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you. 

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here. 

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley. 

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet. 

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market. 

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father. 

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand. 

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall. 

“Are you alright?” 

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze. 

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own. 

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe. 

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas. 

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless. 

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean. 

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.” 

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market. 

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.” 

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality. 

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market. 

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known. 

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to. 

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks. 

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air. 

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you. 

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it. 

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway. 

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him. 

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects. 

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above. 

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand. 

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away. 

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it. 

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh. 

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand. 

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says. 

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck. 

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it. 

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse. 

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.” 

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right. 

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands. 

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent. 

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck. 

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form. 

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs. 

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip. 

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck. 

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing. 

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone. 

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again. 

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving. 

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again. 

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air. 

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all. 

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so. 

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing. 

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back. 

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth. 

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort. 

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of. 

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done. 

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs. 

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck. 

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know. 

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle. 

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense. 

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position. 

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well. 

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?” 

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean. 

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice. 

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours. 

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day. 

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck. 

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat. 

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes. 

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters. 

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this. 

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress. 

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes. 

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt  hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident. 

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?” 

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun. 

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away. 

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping. 

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it. 

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled. 

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab. 

“Make me what? you grind. 

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain. 

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

[mothiir]

little rabbit - e.g the droit seigneur fic

authors notes: first time I’ve written fanfic in an age and it’s 40k smut. Inspired by @moodymisty’s amazing continuations of that one unhinged ask I sent about the emperor cucking his sons (on anon because I was not expecting people to actually vibe with it)

Cw: dubcon, size kink like woah.

It has been a long, long time since he’s had a human woman -- oh, back in the halcyon days of his youth, back when Terra was the only planet he knew, he was a warlord with the tastes of a warlord, and left many a pretty young thing with trembling thighs and flushed cheeks (or with teary eyes and puffy lips, depending on his mood). But the mission, the hungry endless gaze of the monsters beyond the stars, the crushing weight of his responsibility -- it distracted him. There were far more important things that called his attention, and as hundreds of years became thousands his power grew, and his humanity atrophied. Sexual desire, he assumed, went the way of compassion and affection: sloughed aside, deemed unnecessary and detrimental to his greater purpose. 

But even the greatest man to ever step foot on the red earth can be wrong sometimes, and for the first time in millenia he is glad of it. The girl in his lap was not even born --nor, for that matter, were her grandparents’ grandparents -- the last time he bedded anyone, and the thought stirs some deep, primal part of him, a sense of ownership. 

“Easy,” he rumbles, as she whimpers and shivers, her tiny body barely able to take even the head of his cock. He strokes her sides, kisses her jawbone, then mouths along her jugular, relishing the rabbit thrum of her heart against his tongue. “We have all the time in the world. Take it slowly.”

He’s getting sentimental in his old age, he swears. Time was, he would have split her clean open in his desire to get inside -- though, of course, that was when he was a good deal smaller than he is now. He has no desire to rip her asunder on his prick. 

She hiccups and whines, his hands moving to her hips, spanning not only her waist but the lean length of her thighs. 

“Hurts,” she manages, and he chuckles.

“Yes. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You can do it.”

He knows she’s stronger than she looks. When he found her, she was in Roboute’s quarters, smelling of the Primach’s sweat. He didn’t think his son indulged in his serfs, but he cannot begrudge him the distraction -- after all, Gulliman is precisely the soldier the Emperor needs him to be. A little too uptight, perhaps, and altogether too fond of spreadsheets, but a useful strategist. And, apparently, someone who shares his father’s excellent taste in human women. 

“I -- I don’t know --”

She wriggles herself over him, and he spares one hand to hold his cock still, making it easier for her. The mere fact that she is arguing back has him pulsing with desire; it has been so so long that a human has looked at his shining face without falling to their knees in supplication, let alone since one has argued back when he demands the impossible. 

Well: seemingly impossible. He is larger than Roboute, but not insurmountably so, and he has unending faith in the indomitable human spirit. And in the accommodating stretch of the human insides. 

There’s an almost audible pop as he finally pushes inside, and she cries out. 

“Oh god --  I mean -- shit -- I don’t mean I believe in gods -- I don’t -- ”

Her eyes widen with fear, and he laughs -- a deep bass rumble that she probably feels in her marrow.

“Lord is an appropriate term of address,” he says, teasingly, nuzzling at the top of her head. It’s adorable just how nervy she is; like a small animal clasped in his hands. A rabbit cowering before a bear. 

“Yes -- yes my lord --” she pants, and he allows her a moment to adjust, before starting to pull her down onto him. She’s warm and soft inside, overwhelmingly so, and the Emperor moans with appreciation, awkwardly hunching his shoulders so he can continue to lave his tongue and teeth over her neck -- before pulling back so he can admire the way her belly bulges around his girth, his cock pushing aside her insides to make room for him. 

She’s whimpering, her fists clenched in his robes, salt tears starting to drip down her cheeks. He licks them away. It’s all so much for her -- too much. And yet the little warrior does not quibble or complain; she takes him, and takes him, and when he’s seated all the way to the hilt, her small body flush with his lap, he rewards her with a moment’s pause, and another deep kiss, exploring the inside of her mouth. She’s small enough that his tongue practically fills her up, sinking almost to her gullet, heedless of her blunt human teeth. 

“There,” he says, and she coughs out a proper sob, so clearly stretched to the absolute limits. He rubs at the outline of his cock inside her, her skin stretched taut around him. “Now. Let’s begin.”

[starryknight-tarot]

18+ 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pile 1 -- > pile 2

pile 3 -- > pile 4 my masterlist<3 . paid readings

Hi beautiful souls!✨ I am back with my first +18 reading which means if you are younger than 18 please do not interact with this reading as it is not for you. I will be looking into your person's fantasies about you. This could be a crush, partner, future spouse, fwb, whatever you have in mind. Remember to meditate, take a deep breath and pick whatever pile calls to you the most. Make sure to take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Lastly, I would like to thank you for all your love and support on my readings. It means a lot ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Pile 1

Cards: Four of Cups, Page of Wands rx, Two of Wands, The Emperor, The Tower, Nine of Cups, Ace of Cups rx, The Fool rx Back of the deck: Two of Cups

Pile 1, your person has to restrain themselves from you. I am getting that your person has been crushing on your for a very long time but they feel too nervous to approach you with a love offering. I keep hearing this could be your best friend or a close friend but this may not be for everyone. But your person has A LOT of unattended feelings towards you that is getting harder and harder (wink wonk) to hold back. This person has a lot of passion towards you and really wants to rip your clothes off I keep hearing. If you let them, they would show you a good time. For some reason your person feels scared to really tell you how they feel cause they are afraid you are gonna reject them. But I feel like they may distance themselves because they can't control themselves around you. They may get an erection or wet when they are around you. They want to make sure your pleasure comes first. This person likes to give head. This person wants to be the best fuck you've ever had. I keep hearing they wanna kiss you all over your body, so this person definitely is into body worshiping. I heard they wanna show you how beautiful you are (aw). This might come through with gentle words in your ear as they wreak you. If you are into roles, your person seems like either soft dom or a service sub, making sure you're ok and they would have AMAZING aftercare. I am getting pretty vanilla vibes but it would be very passionate sex with a lot of emotion and love. I am hearing they would pour all their love for you in bed. Your person would love to see you in lingerie, especially lighter colors. They may want to fuck with the lingerie on. I am getting that your person may get jealous if anyone else were to see you like that so they would wanna keep things in the bedroom or around the house if nobody else was home, I'm hearing specially the washing machine. But they would make the room super comfortable with candles, dim lights, and rose petals on fancy occasions. Ok listen this may sound spooky but they wanna watch you sleep, I don't think in a creepy way, I think in a very loving way like would just be so happy to have you. Your person really wants to take action on this connection but they are a little too anxious and in their head to take action. You will probably be the one to move this relationship forward.

Advice Cards:

Expect good things to come to you Issues of balance are at hand You are moving beyond your old form. Congratulations! Keep the faith. Stay intentioned. Your perseverance will pay off. Take good care of yourself, especially your heart. Put your tasks and goals in order

Channeled Songs:

Pile 2 Cards: Six of Swords, Death, Five of Wands rx, Three of Pentacles rx, Knight of Cups rx, Temperance, Ace of Swords, Page of Pentacles Back of the deck: The Magician

I feel like by just making eye contact with this person, you can bring them to their knees. Your person could be your ex but I am hearing more of a past fling or maybe just an old crush of yours that you might not have seen for a while. very specific lol. This person regrets not asking you out or waiting too long to make a move. They want to make up for lost time. In the bedroom (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖). They have a lot of confidence that they can make you feel really good. They wanna make you orgasm multiple times. If they have a dick, they have a big dick or like the perfect dick for you. If not I am hearing they may have large labia or a big strap on. This person wants to try every position with you but I am getting that they prefer cowgirl and doggy cause they wanna see your body. Your whole body is a huge turn on for them. Your person wants to whisper things like "Nobody else can make you feel this good" and "You're all mine". Very possessive energy but I'm not getting in a toxic way. They may be a little jealous of someone around you Pile 2. Your person wants to try all the toys with you. They imagine coming home with a bag of toys and trying all of them to see which ones make you feel the best. I also heard they are into punishments, they really like handcuffs specifically. But I think they also really like to give you praise when you do good, I am hearing "You are doing so well baby". I feel like you may think this person sleeps around and has a lot of experience but they either have a lot less than you have imagined or are a virgin. I feel like we are getting pretty dominant energy but I think this person is more of a switch and would love for you to take control of them. I heard mark them all over their body to show people they belong to you. They would love that so much. Your person has very kinky energy but they may also like sex passionate, slow and sensual. A lot of eye contact and hand holding. Your person may not like to have a one night stand or a friends with benefits relationship. I am getting that they would only make these moves if you were together. This pile seems to be the most fun and less serious when it comes to sex.

Advice Cards: You need to make the first move It is important to ask for help This challenge is intended to promote your growth Deep, deep down, something needs attention Seek to understand from a place of connection rather than separation Have a closer look at your family situation

Channeled Songs:

Pile 3 Cards: Two of Wands, Two of Swords rx, Justice rx, Seven of Swords rx, Knight of Pentacles rx, The Hermit, Ten of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, The Emperor Back of the deck: Three of Wands

Your person has a lot of emotions for you Pile 3. I am getting this could be someone you had a falling out with or had a big fight with. Although I am getting that this fight will end almost as quickly as it started. But your person wants to keep up the energy. This fight has got your person all hot and bothered and now they wanna let it out. They are very into makeup sex, they may feel like makeup sex is slightly better than regular sex. I am hearing "I won't leave a single part of your body untouched" and "You won't be able to move when I am done with you". All piles have been pretty dominate but I think your person has been the most dominate out of all the piles. Your person wants to go all night Pile 3. They want the neighbours to know who you belong to. They like to have very rough sex, multiple rounds. They wanna grab you everywhere. Your person like foreplay a lot less than the act itself. Your person is really into receiving head, pulling your hair while they contain moans but fail. I am getting your person is very vocal in bed. Your person may like both of you getting off by yourself while they tell you want to do. This could be a long distance relationship. For some of you they may like to watch as you get fucked by someone else, telling both of you want to do. Your person may like to choke you (safely) while they ruin you. They want to claim you, they may have a breeding kink. They imagine coming inside of you and making you hold it inside while you go out. "If you can hold it all, you will reward you when we get home". If you are a woman, they want to see you pregnant. That really turns them on. I feel like they would be really rough and aggressive in bed but if you use a safe word or show any discomfort, they will turn dom mode off and immediately take care of you. Consent and safe sex are really important to them. I am hearing that sex with them is something to gossip about. That would really fuel their ego. I feel like people may not expect that from them. They make look skinny or weak but is actually super muscular. They could also be shorter in height. I feel like your person's dirty secret is that they want you to overpower them and degrade them. Advice Cards:

Keep your faith. Stay intentioned. Your perseverance will pay off You are intuitively gifted. Trust your guidance You have more power than you think Align body, mind, and spirit. Know that you are whole You are divinely protected. Remind yourself how safe you are Make your presence felt

Channeled Songs:

Pile 4 Cards: Queen of Pentacles rx, Seven of Cups, Four of Swords, Four of Wands rx, The Hierophant, Four of Cups, Three of Wands Back of the deck: King of Cups

I think you were your person's sexual awakening Pile 4. They also could have been raised in a very religious household that looked down on sex and discouraged them to learn about anything sexual. Before they met you, they may have thought they were asexual or that they won't be able to find anyone but as soon as they found you something awaken in them. They were flooded with millions of emotions. You are the first person that ever made them feel these kinds of feelings. Now they want to catch up on what they missed with you. They want to try everything with you and see what makes both of you feel the best. Your person may want you to guide them through sex and teach them how to please you. Sex to your person seems very sacred and special, only with someone they completely trust and feel a connection with. I feel like your person would be into tantric sex, connecting with you on a spiritual level. I am hearing for some of you this person is your soulmate or twin flame. Your person imagines you screaming their name as they please you. It turns them on so much when you praise them and tell them that they are doing good. I really feel like your person wants to be dominate and please you but always end up crumbling under your touch. I am getting that you could easily make your person cum in their pants with just a few touches. They imagine you teasing them for how flustered they get and punishing them. They want to go all night, no breaks, they can't get enough. They have missed out on this for so long they want to make up for it. Your person may be really shy normally but is a total freak in bed. They are begging and pleading for you to touch them but you refuse them to mess with them. But when you finally give in, it's so passionate and hot oof. Your person wants to pour their heart out for you. It's always the quiet ones I heard lol. I also just heard step on me. I am seeing they want you to wear all leather and spank them. My goodness lol. They also imagine pleasing you while you sleep and waking you up with sex (consensually ofc). Your person craves your attention and touch.

Advice Cards:

Something you've planted is coming to harvest. Results are forthcoming! Be aware of your inner messages It is time to unclutter your body, mind, and spirit The issue at hand is about reflection. What is the mirror showing you? Relax and feel good. You deserve more joy! It is time to take appropriate action

Channeled Songs:

Thanks for tuning in₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

[lavendernlilac]

So do we... do we ever get to know what other Big Event caused more Big Trauma for Grian a d Pearl in the Strawberry Lemonade AU? Or do you have plans to unravel that thread in fic form?

it’s something I’d like to unravel in fic but I have no idea how I want to do it yet ;-; I can talk about it here though !!! anyone who follows this blog will have super secret insider knowledge <3 I’m gonna put it under a read more because it is a bit dark and leans kinda heavy in some light horror vibes???

so uh. content warning for religious trauma (the vibes of it are there), horror elements, and child endangerment. whoopsies

mkay so! big traumatic event. one that really threw grian’s life off course….

so it’s no secret that grian, pearl, and jim grew up in a very religious household. their father was a pastor and a follower of the watcher religion. pearl is the oldest of the three, and as a child she was probably the one that took to following the watchers faith the most?? they all went to events and what not and were involved thanks to their father, but pearl was involved with it the most

grian didn’t really care? I think he did what a lot of young, curious kid do and he asked questions. and he asked too many questions. he def got in trouble with his father a lot. add in the piece of him seeing the dead and… hoo boy

he had very weak abilities when he was young. most of the time he’d see a shadow of movement, and it was extremely rare. and then his mother passed and he could see her. she tucked him into bed. and grian did what many eight years old do, and he talked about it. he told his father and siblings that he saw mom, that she tucked him in and kissed his forehead, he asked where she was. it wasn’t the first time that he had said something like that, having mentioned a strange shadow or humanoid figure before. it was all brushed off at first

but then it just kept happening. grian would constantly tell pearl that he saw their mother, or that she did something. pearl pretended to play along, as if she truly believed him. privately, she turned to her father and other members of the church and expressed concerns and well. it wasn’t taken well

I think in watcher belief, ghosts and the like are viewed as generally something not good?? bad omens, harbingers of death and negativity, that sort of thing. so hearing that grian was saying all this stuff was extremely concerning to them. they thought that maybe grian had an attachment, or worse

at ten years old, grian’s father and a few other church heads try an exorcism on him in the study and it goes So well (it goes horribly, horribly wrong). the only thing they manage to accomplish is getting grian stuck with an attachment, and ripping the lid off of his abilities. his abilities would’ve remained weak and non-obtrusive had they been left alone. however… that did not remain the case

pearl (12) and jimmy (8) were instructed to stay in their father’s room while this was happening, but pearl was very concerned about her brother. she told jimmy to stay put, and she snuck off to check in on grian. she saw nearly everything through a crack in the door, and it was horrible. grian looked like he was in so much pain and he was scared. it was enough to shake pearl’s belief in everything of the watchers and things going forward were very bad

grian was stuck with an attachment for a short amount of time, only being saved because his mother used her own self to get rid of it. in doing so, her soul fizzled out, leaving grian truly alone with nothing but his fear of the things he constantly saw. there was no off switch

it put a very large strain on his and pearl’s relationship for long time. he stopped trusting her with his secrets, and stopped talking to anyone about what he could see. all of this is the reason he studies the paranormal now, as a researcher. because he wants to understand that world and everything about it

and well… it’s partly why scar was so scared to tell grian the truth. I don’t think grian has told scar about the attempted exorcism, but he has mentioned the attachment and different paranormal interactions he’s had that have haunted him

so yeah. big trauma for grian and pearl :’)

[stacotto]

I shouldn't be surprised when the episode title is, "The End of Hope", but.....fuck. I can barely keep my thoughts together as I write this, but, here we go.

Watching Earth House deal with the fallout of Aerial being the new poster child for the evil Spacian overlords was damn sad, Aliyah pretty much nails how I feel about it, though Lilique going "not our problem" is both a mood and unexpected (not in a bad way ofc). It was really sweet seeing Petra be nice to Suletta, on top of commiserating over their love lives, really added some nice depth. Her dialogue was Death Flag city tho. For those that care, the post-episode radio program hinted that she might still be alive, though just judging by the rubble she was under she might not have working legs anymo- OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Clever.

Love to see Guel finally show off why he's always been an Ace in the making; my man faced off in his still school-spec'd Darilbalde vs a freshly upgraded Michaelis set to full power, and came out on top. Really appreciating his ability to use his drones, he's definitely the series' Quattro. Feeling bad for Lauda tho, dude just learned big bro just killed their father then gets the call at the end probably about what to Petra. Can already tell he's going to have a lot of internalized guilt over this happening because he skipped out on their date (for an admittedly important reason) unless she gets the chance to tell him otherwise.

RIP to the Earth House hangar and Chuchu's Demi, but I take solace in the fact that I called the Barding being her next custom suit the moment I saw the Gunpla images (obviously the Barding we saw in the episode was missing some details from the gunpla like the second head mounted on the backpack which is definitely going to be salvaged from Chuchu's old Demi but yeah, called it). Also now feeling the Felchu vibes, ya'll got me.

Speaking of new ships...why did I have to get so rabidly attached to 5nore only for her to get Anew'd literally one episode later, it's not fair. They were going to run away and see the things she drew then the rest would come later. It's not fair. 5 is either going to have a Guel arc or just go absolute villain mode, and I'm not ready. It's not fair.

Okay I'm going to ramble a bit because I have been absolutely normal about the fact that Suletta has been a rescue pilot for a significant portion of her life and that detail is only really known to those that read Cradle Planet but they absolutely showed that off right at the end because this girl is tearing her hands apart moving heavy concrete slabs because goddammit there are still people that could be saved and she did not memorize the canyon patterns of Mercury, learn to wield a beam saber with the precision of a scalpel and earn Eri's complete faith that if she said she could complete a mission in 4 minutes then it'd be done in 4 minutes for her to not put all that experience to good use. I hope her effort gets recognized. It probably won't, Gundams just attacked the school again and killed likely scores of students if not hundreds this time around, but she's gotta get some respect for this.

"What We Can Do Now" is a hopeful title, and probably another TitleDrop episode like "Not the Best Way", so here's hoping that it's either a breather episode gearing up for a descent to Earth or said descent episode proper. I mean, it's either that or Mio and Prospera coming back up to Plant Quetta to send Quiet Zero...into...oh no.

[beneathashadytree]

Hiiiiii! I wanted to request an angsty fic, where reader is like Scarlet Witch in WandaVision who makes this alternate universe where Whitebeard is alive and like Ace is Vision and they both have kids. While all that's happening in the Hex, the Red Hair Pirates, remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates, and the Straw Hats try to stop her since she's taking over the New World. (The Marines are trying to kill her) I'll leave the angsty details to you since I suck at thinking🤣 THANK YOUUU, HAVE A GREAT DAY!

PICTURE PERFECT - PORTGAS D. ACE X READER

Warnings : Marineford spoilers, mentions of death, blood, gore, and the like, grief and delusions, this can be generally unsettling, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst (plus creepiness)

Word count : 1.0K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! So sorry for taking a ridiculously long time to get to this, but as you might know by now, I’ve been on hiatus after certain traumatic events in my life. I had to change up quite a few things in this because I haven’t watched anything from the Marvel Universe, so I know absolutely nothing about how this would work🫠 Also, I’ve had requests for ficlets (4K+ word-long pieces) turned off for over a year now, so I couldn’t get into too much detail anyways. And of course, as stated in my rules, unless the gender affects the plot, I write my readers as gender-neutral to be as inclusive as possible. However, I hope this could be somewhat satisfactory to you, with the general vibes I could manage🥹💗

Requests : Are closed for the time being.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t how they’d planned out their future together.

They’d always expected a life on the run; they’d never imagined anything different. But still, the love between them was too intense to deny, and too unconditional to ever think for a moment that it would ever disappear. If they had no faith in anyone but themselves, they could, at the very least, believe in their love.

Wherever they would’ve gone, they’d still be just as smitten as they were the first day they met. No matter how their future played out, they were so sure that their love would have them dying in each other’s arms at a peaceful old age, their last breaths weaving in bed together. Wherever one went, the other would follow. That was how it was supposed to go.

It wasn’t supposed to end with them carrying Ace’s limp, ice-cold body in their arms. It wasn’t supposed to be the acrid smell of burnt flesh that suffocated them. It wasn’t supposed to be his blood that drenched their clothes and stained them unsalvageable.

They weren’t supposed to be gasping for air as their entire body shook violently, pure horror painting their features. Nor were they supposed to feel bile rising at the back of their throat and tears stinging their eyes at the terrible realization that his chest wasn’t moving, not one inch. As a matter of fact, nothing much remained of his mangled chest at all—if they could even recognize it as his chest anymore.

Their trembling only intensified, failing to register just how empty and mutilated he seemed in their lap. Vision swimming, they couldn’t help but let the ugly sobs rack their body, their tears falling freely down their cheeks. They hiccupped on their sobs, the sounds mingling with the moans of a deep, deep pain that threatened to swallow them whole.

Ace had left them. He’d left them behind. He’d left them behind in a world they no longer wanted nor cared for. He’d left them to look forward to nothing, to feel so empty and numb but somehow consumed by a sadness so immense it nearly ripped them apart.

Perhaps it was that moment, that moment when their entire world crumbled around them, that drove something to crumble inside of them. Something broke, and that odd, unfamiliar something awakened the deepest pit of their sorrow within them. Pandora’s box opened, and it shattered their very reality as they knew it. With Ace’s dead body in their arms, and their wailing piercing the stormy vortex of sudden bleak night, they were soon swallowed into it without even being the slightest bit aware.

The grief was blinding, and they’d lost all control. Where it took them, they didn’t care nor pay it any notice.

***

Having lost track of time, they hadn’t any idea how long it had been. In all cases, it didn’t matter. No, it truly didn’t matter what had happened on that day; after all, why would it? They still had Ace.

Yes, they still had Ace. And he was sitting right behind them on a small, tattered-but-well-loved couch. Strong arms cradled them close to his chest—a perfectly intact, moving chest, not even the slightest bit scarred. Would the universe demand a price from them, for the heinous crime they’d committed just to have this? Maybe. But this universe, at the very least, was one that handed everything to them on a silver platter.

“What’s on your mind?” he mumbled, lazily planting soft, open-mouthed kisses up their neck to their ear, and his teeth lightly tugging at their earlobe.

They hummed in delight, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Ace laughed a little. “You just called us “three snotty-nosed brats” an hour ago.”

“And? You know I’m right,” they teased him, before asking, “Speaking of, did the kids give you a hard time falling asleep?”

Yes; kids. Kids that kissed them goodnight, kids that clung to them whenever they went out, and kids that would get mud on their carpets but shoot them the sweetest smiles that got them out of trouble every single time. Kids that cried when they scraped their knees, and kids that ran into Pops’ arms whenever he demanded his favorite grandchildren visit him.

Kids that made the small house feel like a warm home, and kids that fit perfectly into that delusion of happiness they’d built, with a father and grandfather that were perfectly healthy and fine. Deceptively so.

Perhaps this sort of deception wasn’t as sinful as it sometimes whispered it was in their ear. Their Devil Fruit had never proved itself useful, and their lack of desire to use it had been the reason why they’d found themself stunned by the existence of this universe of their own creation. The grief that had nearly killed them of heartbreak had been the very same thing to offer some salvation to them, by granting them a second chance in a world where things were perfect, in an almost eerie way.

“—babe? Babe? Hey—“

“Yes, yes,” they sighed, momentarily snapping out of it. “Sorry, got lost in my thoughts for a second.”

“You’ve been doing that pretty often lately.” Ace’s handsome face contorted into a worried frown. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

They didn’t respond to that. Almost as though on autopilot, their feet carried them to the kids’ room. With stiff movements, they bent over to brush their hair back from their foreheads, hands subtly passing underneath their noses to check that they were breathing. Good. They were very much alive, and very much real. They were real. Not just figments of their imagination.

Ace still seemed confused as they turned to walk back to him. Peering into his beautiful dark eyes, they held their breath for a moment. Yes, yes. Good. His eyes were alive; they weren’t unblinking, nor were they unseeing.

And as they reached up with trembling hands, they could trace the freckles on his cheeks and feel him leaning into their touch. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the icy coldness that remained as a phantom touch in their memories.

They could live like this, forever and ever. No losses, no sorrows staining their flawless lives.

Plastering a smile on their face, they nodded. “Of course. Everything is picture perfect.”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @livwritesfics

[danieldrivesfast]

i do not get why you're still repping daniel if this is how you feel. if he has faith in himself then why are you here raining on people's parades? it's fans like you who feed into the narratives his haters spread (which now has reached 'credible' journalists, like that knob will buxton). fuck you honestly.

And anon asks are off again because of dumb cunts like this. And the other ones in my inbox.

Unlike the "sources," I will openly say this is only my thoughts based on what actual people from the team have said and vibes. Do you know what those words mean? Or is the literacy crisis worse than I thought? The fact that multiple people are in my asks so fucking upset over the thoughts of an admitted nobody is wild. I didn't know I was so important. This is a good example of people getting whipped up because they have no idea what a valid source of information should be.

PETER BAYER has said that the Red Bull shareholders are putting pressure on the team to have certain drivers doing certain things in the VCARB seats. Not "a source." Not some website. The fucking CEO of the team, in a press conference.

DANIEL HIMSELF has said, and I quote, "Maybe I’m at a point where it’s just like, what will be will be" and “I’m just going to put everything I can on the table for effort and performance, and if that is good enough to secure me a seat, great. If not, then OK, I did everything I could.” Those are the words of a man who is working his ass off while knowing his work might not even matter because there are shareholders/non-racing people meddling in racing decisions. Is critical thinking and reading comprehension really this far gone that people aren't getting this?

"But this website shared the Checo's seat rumor!!!" How fucking new are some of you? ALL OF 2023 the rumor was that Daniel was taking Checo's seat at the next race. Guess what happened? Absolutely nothing. Because Checo has huge money sponsors tied to him being in that seat, and unless the terms have significantly changed in his new contract, that's what's going to keep him in that seat. (And as I said, Daniel's sponsors could be what keeps him in the VCARB since shareholders look at bottom line.) The Checo's seat rumors are the exact same BS as the "Lawson is taking Ricciardo's seat next race!" rumors. The media knows Daniel's name sparks a lot of emotions, and they're fucking playing you both ways.

I'm not some delusional fan who ignores reality - and there is a big gap between delusion and hoping for the best, which I always do. As it stands today, based on words from the team, existing contracts, and on-paper results for the shareholders, there is no seat in the Red Bull organization for Daniel next season. At what point did I ever say I want that to be the situation? Nowhere. Did I ever say that Daniel is "washed" or doesn't have the talent? No. In fact, I said the opposite. Did I even say it's a guaranteed thing that's going to happen? I did not.

But it's sure a lot easier to acknowledge the situation, hope that Daniel is okay and happy with whatever outcome happens, and keep fingers crossed that something works out while keeping reasonable expectations based in reality. I WANT to be wrong. I want the team to be all "lol gotcha!" and give him three more years. I want Horner to rip Checo out of his seat as he drives by and let Daniel leap into it and run off to win a bunch of races. Today, as it stands, based on what the team has said and done, that's unlikely. When you've been a fan this long, of any sport, you learn that the good guys don't always get their reward and the fairytale endings don't usually happen. It's a business. It's a hard lesson, I get it.

One day, the children will grow up and realize that acknowledging reality, being objective, and even calling out issues with your fave isn't "being a hater," it's maturity. "Being a hater" is calling Daniel old, washed, ugly, claiming he's a shit person, laughing when he has a poor result. It's not "Daniel is likely going to get forced out because of corporate politics, I don't want that to happen because he's still fast and I love him, but I hope he's okay if it does."

You're all so busy being enraged, you can't stop and process what people actually say. It's fucking sad.

So, in conclusion, fuck you, anons. You're just more illiterate, spineless pieces of shit to add to the pile. Grow up, or at least grow a backbone and put your name to the shit you talk about people. 🩷

[2manyfandoms2count]

In anticipation of THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT I've been (obsessively) relistening to Taylor's albums, making friendship bracelets and lurking around for clues and crumbs (RIP to us who don't have Apple Music/Threads), and here are some thoughts I've been having, in a not necessarily very organised fashion (forgive me, I'm on less than 4h of sleep, but I needed to write this down)

The vibe of the album: obviously the fact that it's very black and white kind of reminds me of Reputation and Folklore, but listening back to Lover, there's also something devastating about looking at it with Daylight in mind :

I once believed love would be (Black and white) // But it's golden (Golden)

I could probably write an essay on what I imagine black and white could mean in this context, from something you only see in old pictures (in black and white), something that's completely clear-cut (no grey area, either there is or there isn't, either it's good or it's bad), to something that's associated with some kind of mourning. But there was a period of time when love, for her, was golden - shiny, solid, scintillating, unvaluable, that can't rust.

And now we're back to black and white.

---

The quotes we've been privy to from the Spotify library: I haven't been able to not draw parallels with other lyrics...

As she was leaving, it felt like breathing When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

I want to hypothesise this quote is from Clara Bow, simply because of the use of "she". Beyond the link to breathing, there's just a vibe there I can't shake.

Except that whoever she is walked away, unlike what Taylor did in most situations she describes in her songs, ending up drowning in the aftermath (adding to the death imagery linked to breakups).

It also has a Why She Disappeared vibe.

Lost the game of chance, what are the chances? Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

Again, Daylight. I am so, so afraid of the parallels there are going to be between Lover and this album (starting with the obvious London Boy and So Long, London parallel), mostly because there was so much love in the lyrics of Lover, so much faith in this love. Look at All Of The Girls You Loved Before. It's no wonder a lot of songs are in Taylor's Denial playlist. The uncertainty from his part was already quoted then (Cornelia Street, to only quote one), and yet they, she, went for it. And it's awful to look back and see the signs were actually there, before even Folklore/Evermore. That she maybe had an inkling that she'd be the unlucky one, already.

Screaming, crying, throwing up, etc.

One less temptress, One less dagger to sharpen Took this dagger in me and removed it

Okay so I don't know if this is just me reading into this because afaik it's the only two times she mentions daggers in her songs. The way I read this is that she perhaps feels like she was a temptress in a situation, stabbed as a result, but the person she's talking to in Tolerate it looked beyond it and even helped her heal from the situation, before turning away, leaving her to wither away.

Even statues crumble if they're made to wait I think he knows he better lock it down Or I won't stick around, 'cause good ones never wait

This one is the one that hurts most, but maybe it's just me projecting. Because it reads a hell of a lot like she was trying to convince herself she was one of the "good ones", pretending she could leave, when she was already too attached. So she waited, making herself a statue, (e)motionless on the outside, slowly but surely crumbling away at the lack of reciprocated love (and maybe the other person did love her; just not enough - after all, "you know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love; the slowest way is never loving them enough"). And in this situation, you can't help but wonder why you're waiting, because ultimately, if "the good ones never wait", but you do, then does that make you one of the bad ones?... (Again, this resonates a little too much with me atm and it might be me reading too much into it).

Come one, come all. It’s happening again.

This one is giving The Story of Us; the story-telling aspect, this time inviting us to listen in, like a Bard would usher people to listen to their tales. A (Tortured) Poet inviting us to share their woes.

---

And, finally:

We Hereby Conduct This Post-Mortem

It's not just the post-mortem of her relationship we're invited to. It's her post-mortem, as per You're Losing Me. Dissecting where it all went wrong; and seeing what's left after it- agony, grief, and poetry.

I can't wait to hear the full album 🤍

[edwardslostalchemy]

5 Fandoms, 5 Ships

I was tagged by @imakemywings , thank you bestie!!! 💖💖💖😎

BNHA - Shouto Todoroki/Izuku Midoriya

I am obsessed with them. They literally live in my brain rent free. They're so sweet and feral. The Sports Festival really did change everything in the series. Izuku opened Shouto's eyes to make the fire quirk he had his own, and he hasn't been the same since (and neither have I). Izuku is Shouto's hero. He changed his life. Because of that, now Izuku has a best friend in Shouto (and let's be real, a boyfriend). These two are so ride or die for one another. Shouto constantly remembers what Izuku told him. Izuku can rely on Shouto because they're on the same frequency. Reckless. They'd follow each other into the dark.

Princess Tutu - Fakir/Ahiru

Ultimate enemies to friends to lovers. Fakir literally tried to kill Duck as Tutu like twice, he didn't care. But then he and Duck started working together and Duck changed his whole outlook. Fakir was still a jerk, but he grew softer and fonder of Duck, and he was so protective of her. Duck is Fakir's muse. He is able to write about her because he understands her, unlike Mytho, and she trusts him with his storytelling powers. Plus, Duck was really the only one who had real faith in Fakir as a knight. They're so sweet and tender with each other. (We were also baited and robbed of that kiss from the trailer.)

Sailor Moon - Haruka Tenoh/Michiru Kaioh

I have an entire blog just dedicated to SM and harumichi. That's how much I love them. Haruka was so hesitant to become a sailor scout and even dreamt about Neptune, but she eventually became one because Michiru saved her from a monster and also because she couldn't fight her own fate. They have an amazing dynamic and they trust each other wholeheartedly and work so well together. They are also on the same frequency and have the same goal. They are also very tender with each other, especially when they hold hands and Michiru tells Haruka she likes her hands. They also have Pure Hearts.

House MD - House/Wilson

I've watched this show since I was like 16 and I've always liked House and Wilson. They give off such a huge Old Married Couple vibe, it's fantastic. They can be stupidly toxic for one another, though lmfao rip. But they get along so well, the way they riff off each other is so golden. Plus, House gets jealous of Wilson's fluffy cat receiving more attention than him. 🙄

FMA - Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell

Probably the first OTP I fell in love with HARD. I've written a lot of stories for them. I have a fic collection of 101 stories, I think, plus one shots and some chapter fics I didn't finish, unfortunately, but the ideas are still there. They are ridiculous and I mean that in the sweetest way because Ed is horrible at expressing how he feels, so he proposed to Winry in terms of alchemy. And Winry was like girl, I'll just give you my whole life. LMFAO. This ship is amazing. Winry figures it out by herself. Nobody told her she loves Ed, she did that herself. She accepted it herself. She focuses on her work while also supporting Ed. Ed also does his part by protecting her, being there for her, trusting her skills, promising her that the next time he makes her cry it'll be with tears of joy, etc. They both did their part. They both played their roles in the story, stayed objective, and still managed to be there for each other. Winry is waifu for laifu 🫰. And Ed is so lucky to have her, he loves her. He was so flustered he recited the elements from the periodic table. What a DORK. I love them.

I'm tagging @tododeku-or-bust @an-aura-about-you @non-canon-central @fate-defiant @eclipsedrawsthings @greyladyblue 💖💖💖💖💖

[ms-scarletwings]

(っ◔◡◔)っ 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜~!

You have reached the main blog of a twenty-something, avid enthusiast of biology, merriment, and several things fiction- Call me Scarlet! The homegrown flowers here bloom in many shades of passion, so feel free to take a stroll.

So yeah, this is mostwhat of a multi-fandom menagerie and dumping ground for the things which rattle around in my brain. It is mainly Queue-fed, and while my top interests are hella diverse and ever-fluctuating, this is the main group/area of media you can expect the most return engagement with from me in the foreseeable future:

• Dredge

• The Sly Cooper Game Series

• Rainworld

• Making Fiends

• Invader Zim

• A Certain Scientific Accelerator

• The lesser discussed works of David Firth

• Underrated Indie game creators the likes of KHS, Edmund McMillen, Scriptwelder, etc.

I no longer be continuing CFF or MMM one as a formal series, but instead just kind of speak my media brainworms when they choose to strangle me. Always looking for a new springboard to strike from, though 👀

Cont. on for some lists ‘n links.

Tags Guide, Sorta:

+ Scarlet talks about things - I release my worms, i.e. the takes. Pretty much what it says on the tin, a catch all for personal text posts ranging from long winded essays about Blorbo from my shows, infodumping about science, to just sharing something ponging around in my head lately. Usually try to reserve this tag for mid to long form original content.

+ Scarlet rambles about things - same deal, less filter, much more stream of consciousness. Includes short takes. Think of it like a bonus reel.

+ My Memes - self explanatory, ya goof.

+ Masterlists - if you showed up here off of, say, one of my media takes and wanted to know if there’s a highlight reel of mine dedicated to that specific show or series. Right now I’ve only got a couple but would be happy to pile together something else on request if there’s enough material.

Other bits of note:

* Following my interest trends, a lot of psychological and physical horror adjacent stuff is to be in-and-out expected here. Mostly on the level of stuff that wouldn’t get a show kicked off of a prime time children’s slot, but with lenient outliers. I’m also a massive bug enthusiast and it will bleed into the overall vibe and in the occasional real life photos i want to share. I will do my best to tag any potentially triggering content, but discretion be advised for the particularly sensitive. Lovecraftian terror fuel makes me go gaga and we’ll probably get along if it does you as well.

* Suggestions and friendly pokes about my blog content in general are welcomed in anons/asks, but not in my dms, thanks!

* This is user is critically and staunchly 🌈🍖

^ Only bothering to get this litmus test out of the way because I have noticed that some of the fandoms I am interested in are magnets for spicy discourse, and media discussion in today’s climate is a hotbed for this bandaid to get ripped off sooner or later. If you are someone who’s knee-jerk response to that emoji pairing and statement without any further elaboration was one of vitriol, extreme discomfort, and/or aggression, this is not a DNI; however, it is a request for good faith and clarification in whatever engagement you may or may not voluntarily choose with my stuff. It is a stern reminder of the old saying about assumptions. Something-something, makes an ass out of u and me. The less asses in the world, the less shit there will be all around.

* Not only am I quite the fanatic for others’ kinetic aesthetic, I’m something of an animator myself, sometimes! You can check out my Flipnote Studio projects over on my YouTube channel or as well on my art side blog (under-maintained at the current moment but looking to improve on that).

[redpiperfox]

It is a good idea, I think, to organize and verbalize one's thoughts when words and organization are suddenly available. To one. That one being me.

I admitted to myself a couple nights ago that ᴵ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁿᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ and after a proper breakdown, I find myself in a multitude of clear and rational thoughts of processing that had escaped me for so many weeks.

So basically, I present:

Ranting, but Maturely and Diplomatically, and using two songs to Convey Emotional Processing, because I am a Nerd and a Philosopher and have No Business being in a Science Field as my major

An Essay by Red

I am not a person taken by regret.

It doesn't fit in my worldview, my faith, or my personality. Granted, I might be a little extreme about it, but I genuinely find no good reason to look back on things with anything but gratitude and respect.

As a Christian, this stems from the simple idea that God is good, God does good, and the tapestry looks ugly on this side, but hey, He sent Joseph to slavery, Job through extreme loss and depression, and Jesus to the cross, and look at the beautiful stories He weaved from that. Who is the clay to shake it's fist at the potter, y'know?

But it is very, /very/ hard not to look at things and be regretful these days.

In summary, I am three out of four years into a program that looked very shiny and new when I applied. Currently, past me is looking very naive, and should have kept her nose to the ground and did what everyone else did and joined an established program.

...But I won't say that to past me, and I won't let current me dwell on it.

Allow me, if you will, to bring you through a very difficult path with two songs.

I did not vibe with this song when I first heard it. Again, regret? Resentment? Doesn't sit well with me. But today...

I do a funny thing where I rewrite romances into metaphors. I'm able to breathe a lot of TSwift easily this way-- she's a brilliant lyricist who writes one thing and paints it with such emotion that it becomes relatable no matter how outrageously unique the situation or story is.

My story is grief over my major. This beautiful new chapter of my life, which cost a little extra to get into, a little extra hope that the program would take off, and had a little bit of forbidden intrigue to hook me in.

Would've, could've, should've played it safe, but she danced with the devil to play with destiny and chance.

Where I find myself stuck in a time loop, is in the mournful heartsong between the bridge and the last chorus.

This year has already pulled me away from fellowship in the Church, from staying and ministering to people, from serving, from being emotionally available to people who I know need me, and yes, I would've stayed on my knees, in a solid and secure place if I hadn't made this gamble and found every hour suddenly something precious that no longer belongs to me. It belongs to my books, my lessons, these modules, to studying more, harder, faster.

Nineteen tipped from romantics to harsh reality.

Girlhood has officially been ripped from my fingers, replaced by the stress of adulthood. Give it back, it was mine.

I can't sleep well, I'm tired during the day-- the list goes on. A good description of my feelings? Sit with an empty head and let Taylor's panicked voice in the chorus and bridge and the breathlessness towards the end wash over you. It's like defending the unworthy, tripping over my words and falling short, because I really had no idea what was in store for me.

Honest truth? Being busy was fun the first two years. Being in uniform is bedazzling. Being in the workforce is amazing.

But "now that I'm old, I'm scared of ghosts." And let me tell you-- I fear nothing. Past and present. Another personality and worldview thing, I suppose. But this year?

Why hello there spontaneous anxiety, where did you come from? Oh, lack of sleep and overwhelming workload let you in?

How rude, they didn't ask me first.

Perhaps it was when the professors said we needed to learn to cope differently than most, or implied burn out would happen sooner than we expected, but I got lost somewhere in the punchline.

What do you mean this feeling of my soul slipping through my fingers doesn't end? I thought school was the hard part?

Memories of college life are going to haunt me. I have nothing but tears to bring out of this.

Taylor's wailing hit something deep in me today, and twisted it till I found out I was bleeding.

...but then?

For my soul, I sat in on Bible Study (my dad teaches and it's in our home), red eyed and exhausted, and we were in the passage of one woman who falls at the feet of Jesus and weeps, annointing his feet with expensive oil.

It reminded me of another song.

(God bless this man)

Another amazing lyricist, but I'm going to start with the music.

The song begins lamenting, like a funeral dirge, low and sorrowful. It's /crawling/ with grief, and drags us where we're told to be, with little hope or sight or joy about it.

"Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest." But it's before we know what we're getting. "Look upon the bronze serpant" but we don't know we'll be saved.

I woke up Wednesday morning to my alarm, real early, with a full day ahead of me. I love Wednesdays, but not this Wednesday. I was pretty sure I was going to pass out at the most and maybe fall asleep at the wheel at the least.

"Lord, strength. Just give me strength."

Simple line, little prayer in my head, because the only thing I knew to do in weariness was to pray. I was so tired.

He sent a possum to scurry across the road to wake me in the morning, and a truck to nearly kill me in the afternoon. In between? A lady who was very confused and a little boy who couldn't keep still. Oh, and a music lesson where my fingers remembered more than my mind. And a review session where I was given plenty of chocolate to keep me awake.

I lived to tell the tale, so I think He gave me what I needed...? XP

The song builds to another bridge that I find myself caught in: the key shifts, the lights turn on, and the singer lifts his eyes and realizes--

Coming to the feet of Jesus isn't /just/ to lay your burdens down. It isn't /just/ to pray for deliverance and ask in supplication. It isn't /just/ to mourn.

One might come to do that, but once I am on my knees, and my burdens are lifted, my eyes are able to look up, and /see/.

I've seen the darkness and muck and corruption, and when I look up, how much brighter! How much fuller! How much more overwhelming in beauty!

Lament turns to worship, there at the feet of Jesus.

Who looks back on that tapestry, and smiles at whatever it's being made to, while I walk through every stitch as faithfully as I can.

Hallelujah, there's no place for regret here.

Hallelujah, there's no room for remorse.

Hallelujah, /look at how beautiful/.

I'll stop there to keep from preaching.

It's by no means a solution.

Am I still exhausted? Yes.

Has this made my workload go away? No.

Do I feel a little less burnt out? ...ᴹᵃʸᵇᵉ

But I sat today, after three or more weeks of a long process of burn out, that certainly doesn't magically evaporate today, I found my tears marking a tipping point.

My words, which had been held captive under some spell of anxiety, had suddenly come loose. Emotional stagnation finally burst into a thousand little fires which I can /feel/ and be burned by. The skin is sensitive and raw, but that means its human.

And I can sink back into what it feels like to be me.

I don't regret being here. I can only look down at my feet...

...and make the next right step. Knowing it's already laid out for me.

[pxrxmoore]

hello there beth i've come bearing gifts! did some watching of 911 edits as one does and came across a few 5sos/911 edits you'll enjoy: we got a cute want you back buck, bad omens buddie 🥲 and the bi anthem for talk fast buck

also as you remember a few months ago i came to you with a question about schitts creek/5sos question so im here again! if you had to assign each boy to a character in 911 which will you choose and why?

ok hope you have a lovely day 💞 thank you for the endless gifs i saw of this show before i finally caved in <3

maya my darling 💛 welcome to the slowly expanding group of 5sos to 911 stans, it’s so lovely to have u join us 😌🫶 i hope u are well and i’m sorry for sucking u in to this 😌

my love thank you for these gifts they’re so beautiful 😭🫶 not the want u back edit starting w buck getting the kid outta the claw machine that’s the cutest scene 😭 god i am Devastated 😭 BAD OMENS BUDDIE!!!!! because Evan. that fuckin ripped me APART 😫 talk fast !!!!! bisexual anthem !!!!! evan buck buckley !!!!! 🙏💕💞💓💗💖💘💝

ooffff ok ok yes!!!! i love this q!! under a read more u know how it be

ashton - bobby / hen / buck

ashton was a rly hard one to pin down because i see parts of him in a couple of characters. firstly bobby - absolutely the father figure and very much the voice of reason when it comes to his team/band/friends. but also shoulders too much of that weight sometimes until it’s noticeably heavy to others. little stubborn to ask for help. i see those characteristics in hen too. such a strong beautiful person who has a clear mindset in what she wants and how to reach it. but takes on way too much at once and only asks for help when it all crumbles. and lastly i see some of buck there too, maybe not so much now that buck is on his breakdown era 😌 like i think ash has come a long long way to break out of his self destructive habits and of putting others first without even thinking about how it could affect him but i’m sure old habits die hard. but i also see buck as ash in the way he lights up a room and is so charming and thoughtful

luke - buck / ravi

i also see a lot of the same destructive tendencies of buck in luke. passing out the ‘good’ pieces of himself to others, putting on a brave face. putting all of the weight of the world on his own shoulders. but also. youngest brother and all the teasing that comes with that 😌🫶 god and he is just so pretty they’re both devastating. but i also for sure see luke as ravi - again youngest brother (idk if that’s canon but he deff gives those vibes of the younger sibling) and getting ribbed by the others, slightly awkward in new situations and around new people and uses comedy as a way to deflect 🫶

calum - eddie

not because i said ash could be buck i swear 😌 no but strong silent type, takes a while to warm up to people but you have his full trust once he’s got you under his wing. he is so fucking expressive 😭 background eddie in scenes vs calum in any interview when he’s not being asked something directly 🫶 he’s made some fucking tough decisions that altered his entire life path, tho calum’s giving up soccer to play in the band is obv a huge positive force that changed everything for him whereas i think eddie has really had to come to terms with his decisions in maybe a more negative way to begin with. therapised eddie tho giving out that love and positivity freely to his friends reminds me very much of calum

michael - chim

god he is so fucking strong and he loves so deeply and loudly. will drop everything to be there for his friends and give them his full support. when he’s so fucking sure of something he’ll pursue it to the ends of the earth. very much michael putting everything in to the band to give himself and the boys a new start at life and he carries that with him now in every band decision. he’s such a strong force within the band he has so much faith in his friends. also he’s fuckin funny mans got jokes 😌🫶

thank u so much my love!!! i hope u have a wonderful day 🥰💛

[thewyrdwritere]

The Martyr by Anthony Ryan My rating: 4 of 5 stars Master Alwyn Scribe is back! Escaping death with only a throbbing headache in Anthony Ryan's 'The Martyr' another rip roaring adventure of heroic, despite Alwyn's protests, fantasy. Everdine Courlaine's ascent as a risen Martyr has truly set the cat among the pigeons in the Duchies, with the Covenant and the King wary of her rapidly growing popularity with the Churls. It is a popularity that could well destabilise their positions of power and one thing power hates it is a rival. Add in Shilda's Testament that Alwyn holds regarding the King's parentage and The Covenant Company finds itself in quite the pickle. Luckily as it turns out the King has a cunning plan to accept Everdine into his loving embrace as a Sword, to then be promptly unsheathed and sent to defend a ruined castle on the border with a belligerent and heretical Duchy with only the King’s writ in lieu of resources. Who better to face the heretics than a risen Martyr and if the Martyr doesn't come back well that would be a shame wouldn't it....but plans never really go according to er plan, certainly when Alwyn Scribe is involved. In a world of religious fervour a schism is forming and war is bound to follow all Alwyn really wants to do is run and survive like a true outlaw yet something keeps him in the Covenant Company regardless.... Religious fervour and political machinations form a compelling background to The Martyr but it is Alywn's outlaw cynicism that really shines through. Admittedly I kind of hate first person narratives especially ones set on a future voice that kind of drops spoilers, but as Alwyn ponders his own and other's responses to Evidine's Risen Martyr, some intriguing philosophical comparisons arise. The supporting cast offer examples of the truly devoted, the non-believer but loyal friend, the practical believers, to go alongside Alywn's reluctant cynic. A good contrast is offered through the 'heretical' Aludians who believe a slightly different version of religious events. Again fanatical and pragmatic believers provide interesting foils for Alwyn's tale as he encounters fanatics who want to cleanse and the nobles who just want to defend their own. As events escalate the theological and political machinations that occur breathe life into a complex set of characters and shroud Albermaine in a bit of moral ambiguity..... The political moves drive the action which is suitably epic though Alwyn's first hand prose is prone towards bland recounting, (see I told you I hate first person narratives). The world building rescues it though with each encounter given depth through Scribe's philosophical recollections and observation of allies and foe alike. A good old siege allows for some eventful scenarios, a ruined castle, vastly outnumbered, the dangling possibility of no reinforcements, daring raids, skirmishes, knightly charges by irrepressible youths make for an entertaining read, Scribe even allows himself some humour amidst the stress of it all. Scribe's recollection of past events allows some deep retrospective introspective character growth to shine, the good/bad dichotomy between outlaw thief and noble knight is played with beautiful. As the events progress Alwyn’s reluctant soldier/scribe remains in the thick of it all and his responses offer tantalising questions, posits narrative ambiguities that keep characters and action compelling to read. The breadcrumb hints of magic and supernatural vibes from The Pariah are pleasingly expanded on. Again Alwyn's personal conflict of believer Vs cynic drives the compelling ambiguity of theological, political and personal schisms. Mysteries are revealed only to lead to more mysteries, what Alywn knows and what he believes about his world and his allies are cast in doubt, yet love and loyalty are a powerful drug and with a spectacular blood soaked consummation all bets are off...... An exciting character driven epic fantasy that twists through faith loyalty and devotion, The Martyr is a step up from The Pariah and I am really excited for the Traitor View all my reviews

[sunflower-sunshinesuperman]

The Diner

Pt.1

Eddie Munson x Reader series

An: This is my first little series that I’ve done, this isn’t the most exciting starter chapter but in part 2 it will start to pick up. It won’t be too long until part 2 is ready to post! I don’t have a posting schedule as I work a full time job lol but I will do my best to post regularly. Any feedback is welcome 💕

You'd only been in Hawkins for a very short amount of time and finding a job had been proving to be extremely difficult. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, interview after interview. It's not like Hawkins is overflowing with places to work either.

You had no job, no money. Currently living out of a small shitty motel, no possessions or prospects and only a small bag full of clothes. You took off from home leaving everything behind, craving change and a new start. Back home, grades were low, causing tension with your mother, amongst all other things.

All of your younger siblings were ungrateful for all you've done for them. Fair enough your mother was struggling since your dad took off, leaving her to care for your younger brother and 2 little sisters. But it ended up all being put onto you, not only leading to your grades dropping, but completely draining any energy and want to live out of your body.

So you ran. As fast as you could, just snapping one day. Not even thinking about what would happen to you or your family. You just ran, not looking back. You got on the first bus that came to the bus stop by your house, hopped on and sat there until the very last stop.

And here you are. Hawkins. Walking from business to business just trying to find a job. Any job. You don't even know anyone at all that could help you in the search so all you have on your side is blind faith, there has be something.

The summer heat was beating down on your shoulders as you walk along the busy street, school was out so kids are running everywhere, laughing and playing as their mothers watch on from afar, keeping an eye on them as they run their errands.

That blind faith you had was starting to run out as you made it to the end of the street. One place left to try. A diner. Standing alone on the street but busy enough.

Come on this my last option. Every diner need waitresses or something right? Ok let's do this.

You march towards the entrance, a little bell dinging on top of the door, alerting everyone of your arrival. It's seems nice enough, cute little 50's vibe. Not too busy and not too quiet.

"Hia! Can I help you honey?" Your gaze snaps up to see they sweetest looking older lady standing behind the massive counter, polishing the silverware. "Oh yes! Actually. I was just wondering if you had any jobs going?" Her lovely little wrinkled face seemed to drop slightly at your query. "Oh. Honey I'm sorr-"

"Please. Anything. This is my last chance." You begged, cutting off her sentence, not wanting to believe what she was saying. Trying not to be upset as your eyes started to burn. "I'm so desperate, I've tried everywhere. Please." Your shoulders slumped as the woman eyed you with a sad look, pity behind her big, brown eyes.

"Sweets I would give you something if I had anything, I'm so, so sorry. Everyone's trying to find summer jobs you see?"

Great. Perfect. So much for blind faith. You're eyes watered, beginning to spill. But you just sniffed and rubbed your palms into your eyes, then pushing the baby hairs out of your now red, hot face as you started to get a cold sweat.

"No, no I understand. I'm so sorry for bothering you ma'am, I'm sure something will come along." You forced a shaky smile. Trying not to become hysterical in the middle of a random diner, in front of a clearly, very sweet old lady. Really you just want to rip your hair out and fall to your knees, screaming up into the sky.

You turned hastily trying to leave as quickly as possible, as not to cause a scene, converse slightly squeaking at the speed of your feet moving on the black and white checkered vinyl floor. Gripping your bag tightly. That was it. There really is nothing, Your going to have to go home.

If you can't make money, you can't stay here. Going home is the worst case scenario, but the very small amount of money you bought with you all went into the motel, there isn't even money for food. Not a dime.

Just as you grabbed the door handle, pulling and making the bell ding once more. A miracle happened. "Wait! Honey, one second!" The tiny woman scuttled around the counter, rummaging her chubby little hands through her apron that was tied around her waist.

She pulled out a pen and a little note book that she used to scribble down peoples orders, holding it out towards you. "Here, write down your telephone number, I'll see if I can find anything and give you a call. Okay?" Her face sympathetic. For a moment you just stared down at the notepad in front of your face, more in disbelief than anything.

Maybe there is a god? Hell no. But this old lady must be some sort of angel.

"Oh thank you so much!" You suddenly exclaimed. "You're more than welcome sweetheart, it's not a lot but I'll see what I can do, although it might not be a full time role." A sweet smile made its way to her face while she waited for you to hastily wrote the telephone number for your motel room. "It doesn't matter! Really ma'am I'm so grateful for anything at all!"

"I'm Patricia, everyone calls me patty." She pocketed the notebook once more, then grabbing you hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Y/n, thank you again Patty, you really don't know how much this means to me. Really!" And with that you turned on your heels and walked towards the door and back into the sunshine, a sudden spring in your step. Waving a goodbye to patty through the window with a smile on your face. But a slight headache at all the emotions you had just experienced.

Laying on the uncomfortable bed in your motel you just waited by the phone, with your fingers crossed. The television was playing some talk show in the background as you tried to distract your mind.

Maybe I shouldn't get my hopes up, patty said she'd try to find something, but realistically it's the summer and lots of people are searching for jobs. A day had gone by with no call. Apparently there used to be a big mall here,but there was a fire. Burning it completely to the ground. It would have been so perfectly easy to find a job there.

You find yourself thinking back to your old life. All you had to worry about was keeping your grades up and if you'd get a date to prom. But after your asshole of a so called father walked out, your life literally flipped upside down. Not to say you were ever the most popular prom queen in school, but you got on with most people from different cliques.

But your mum completely withdrew herself and just became dead behind the eyes, unresponsive and not caring about you or your siblings. So you had to step up. Basically becoming a young mum of three. They were ungrateful but they didn't understand what was happening or why things were the way that they were.

All you could do was be there for them and be the best that you could be. But honestly, you still don't understand why things happened the way they did, so how can you explain that to kids? You knew that your dad ran off with a younger girl. But you couldn't explain that to them, they're not really old enough to process the information of what a dickhead he was for doing what he did.

Maybe one day, when they're older they'll find out. But it definitely didn't help when they asked constantly, "where's daddy?" Or "when's daddy coming home?".

The loud ringing of the phone cut you out of your thoughts. You launched yourself off the bed picking up the phone on the second ring. "Hello?" You spoke hopefully. "Hello! Is this y/n? It's Patty from the diner!" You signed in relief. "Hi! Yes it's me!" "Hi sweetheart" she chuckled "You're in luck honey! We're extending our opening hours because of the summer, and we need someone to work nights! Does that sound good for you?" Honestly, you shed a single tear at the thought of finally having money to eat.

"Yes! Yes! I'll take the job Patty, you will never know how greatful I am!" She laughed once more at your ecstatic response. "Ok lovely, can you start tomorrow night at around 8pm?" "Of course I'll be there!" You squeezed your eyes shut to stop the happy tears, releasing a breathe you didn't know you were holding. "Ok perfect! I'll see you then honey! Bye now!"

And with that your hope had been restored, everything's going to be alright.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Twisted Tarot XVII — The Star

“Certain darkness is needed to see the stars.”

The Star, Upright: hope, faith, purpose, renewal, spirituality

The Star, Reversed: lack of faith, despair, self-trust, disconnection

He is full of hope for a better tomorrow, and actively works toward it. Having already endured many challenges, he has an open attitude and meets adversity with an easy smile. He will make his dreams come true by his own hand, regardless of how bleak or unlikely the path ahead is.

Reveal the Shape of thy Soul...

... Ruggie Bucchi!

7 am, the usual morning line up.

Ruggie ran through the list of things he had to do before he departed. It came as naturally to him as breathing and coin pinching—it might as well have been a second instinct.

Start on the chores, and sweep ‘til the floor’s all clean... Polish and wax, do laundry, and mop, and shine up... Check in with Granny, grab my stuff (not that I own much)...

... then he would be out the door and boarding one of the famous dark carriages.

He’d have to find new part-time jobs and cheap, ample food when he got dropped off.

With those thoughts in mind, Ruggie grabbed a broom and set to his first task.

His home was but a small hole (or, as the more fortunate would often phrase it, “a hovel”), so it wouldn’t take long to cover the entire area. 15 minutes at most, by his estimation.

Ruggie knew he had to be delicate around the furniture, as a bump or a scrape could cause lasting damage or make them collapse entirely. Even the broom he used was slowly falling apart: its handle chipped, the broom head constantly falling out of its metal coil, and the bristles extremely frayed and dirtied. But until the items were literally no longer useable, Ruggie would find some purpose for them.

He was crafty like that.

The hyena made a game of the chore. In his head, he imagined that the broomstick’s bristles formed feet, and that the handle had sprouted a pair of arms. The tool became his dance partner, and, together, they spun around his home, clearing the floors of dust and debris.

There was no music--and so, Ruggie made music of his own, humming a song set to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Hakuna matata~ It means no worries, for the rest of your days~ It’s a problem-free philosophy~ Hakuna matata~

He was mid-magical march before his partner was unceremoniously ripped from his hands.

Ruggie snapped to attention at the hunched figure standing before him. “Hey, what’s the big deal killin’ my vibes, Granny?”

The elder hyena lightly bonked her grandson on the head with the broom’s handle and shoved a rucksack of his (few) belongings at him. “You know very well what the ‘big deal’ is, young man! What’re you doing sweeping the house at this hour?”

“I always do the chores before I leave for my part-time jobs.”

“You aren’t leaving for a part-time job today. You’re leaving for Night Raven College,” Granny Bucchi corrected him. “You can’t be waitin’ around like this. Get your tail out of the door now!”

“I’m gonna be away for a long time after today. Let me do one last thing to help out around here, and then I’ll get out of your fur.”

“Not a chance! Do you think my bones are too old and weary to handle sweeping the house?”

“No, but...”

Ruggie’s ears flattened. He had seen his grandma shouting at the town rascals, bargaining for a good deal with the local merchants, and scraping together all that she could to make ends meet during the toughest of times. She was strong--but more importantly, she was a survivor.

Granny Bucchi gave him a gnarled smile. “You’ve got your whole future ahead of you, so don’t you worry about me.”

“You know I still will.”

She chuckled--and those chuckles quickly swelled into howling laughter. “Darn right you will. Now get out of here.”

“I’ll try to find some part-time work as soon as I can so I can send some money home,” he promised as his grandma ushered him through the front door. Beyond it, the fabled black carriage awaited him. “I’ll...”

“Ruggie-nii!!”

“... Shoot, they’ve found me.”

At once, a group of small kids swarmed him. They were various shades of troubled--dark circles under their eyes, bodies thin and wiry from lack of proper nutrition, oversized or ragged clothing, and smiles that spoke of mischief. All children of the slums, all his family not by blood, but by bonds.

“Well if it isn’t the neighborhood brats,” Ruggie playfully snickered. He gave the nearest kid a rough pat on the head, messing up their hair. “Come to see me off, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah!” cried one.

“We gotcha some going away gifts, too!” said another, rattle a few loose bottlecaps in their palm.

“We wanted to see ya one last time before you go to the fancy school!” a third declared, tugging at his pant leg. “Ruggie-nii’s gonna be a big shot!”

“Sheesh, you guys... Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not going away forever. It’s not like I’ll forget you guys, either. Even if I do become a big shot, I’ll never forget where I came from.”

Cuz... I’m everyone’s hope. 

Living proof that street rats could become princes, and hyenas could be crowned as kings. That hard work and determination could reverse one’s fortune, even when the deck was stacked against them.

Something born out of nothing.

Stardust collected to make a planetary body.

The single shining star that guided them all, just like the great kings of the past.

Ruggie clenched a fist to his chest. “I’ll make you guys proud.”

Granny Bucchi smiled broadly, bringing a withered hand to her grandson’s cheek. “You already have.”